“You know nothing about me,” Becca screamed as her knees plunged down onto the cold hard ground.
“I know enough,” Ryker countered. “I know you’re a witch.”
Becca wiped her sweat covered face with her bare arm. Of all the days to be kidnapped, why did it have to be on a day she picked to go to the lake. Bikinis were not the greatest for protection in battle. “And I know you’re an asshole.”
Ryker eyed Becca. One side of his mouth curled into a subtle grin. “I’ve been called worse, by way better people than you.”
“Fuck you!” Becca spat towards him.
Within the blink of an eye, Ryker knelt beside Becca and fisted the hair of her ponytail in his closed fist, craning her neck back to expose her delicate throat. “I’m the only thing stopping them” —he pointed toward the long, dark hallway— “from tearing you apart. I’m the one who thinks you have more value alive then dead.”