Page 11 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

A tumble of blonde hair fell down around her oval face, with her pink lips, her high cheekbones, and her dark green eyes.

Gorgeous.

She was gorgeous.

Oblivious to my thoughts, she set the gun on the table, swallowed hard, and pinned me with those stormy eyes.

Huh.

Well.

Spreading my fingers wider so the cuffs stayed in place, I leaned back in my chair, curious to see where this was going.

This was the most interesting thing to happen to me in years.

CHAPTER FOUR

Caitlin

A girl doesn’t simply hold a mafia capo hostage on day one.

But it wasn’t day one.

And I was running out of options.

So there I was in a home improvement store, buying zip ties, rope, and duct tape.

Then, realizing just how bad that looked, I added a bunch of random crap to my car: a painting kit, a random houseplant, batteries, and a flashlight.

I already had a set of handcuffs, which I’d purchased at an adult toy store. Along with a very embarrassing clitoral stimulator and a flogger, because I didn’t want it to look hinky to just buy the cuffs.

So this was a several-day-long process.

Along with some light (read: heavy) stalking of this guy’s apartment building. But he just… never emerged. He never went anywhere.

It wasn’t until my fourth day watching him that I realized the only way to get to talk to him would be through a food delivery scheme.

I was painfully aware of how insane my plan was. I was no professional criminal. I’d never even been pulled over. I got myself so worked up worrying that it was illegal to rip a DVD onto my computer so I could have it available on demand that I couldn’t finish the process.

I was, as the girls in my college dorm called me, a goody-goody through and through. I never smoked weed, not even when it became legal. I didn’t speed. I read terms and conditions. I used crosswalks. I brought cash I found in a parking lot into customer service in case the owner came back for it.

I’d never held a gun, thrown a punch, or even raised my voice above a stern tone in my entire life.

I didn’t do crazy things… like break my way into some guy’s house with the plan of handcuffing him to a chair.

But desperate times could drive a woman to things she didn’t think she was capable of.

I double-checked the contents of my backpack before slipping it on my shoulders. There wasn’t much inside, yet it felt impossibly heavy. My shoulders ached.

But not nearly as much as my heart did.

So I forced my wobbly legs to keep carrying me forward toward this Gavino guy’s apartment building as I pulled the baseball cap lower on my head.

I felt like my stomach was up in my throat and my heart was in my gut. Everything was upside down.

From my observations of him, I knew that he ate dinner late. Almost nine at night.

So I leaned against the building, waiting for the nightly delivery person.