KING : Children of Wolves Book 1 - MC Romance Series | Dark Romance

Chapter Two- Serafina

"I am going to fucking kill you!" I scream as the arrogant asshole enters the van.

He put a gag in my mouth, but the idiot didn't even do that right because I've already got it out. I'm sure my lipstick is smeared all over my face, but now is not the time for vanity. My Givenchy red looks like bloodstains all over the white rag. Now I'm even more pissed, this motherfucker has no idea how much I paid for that shit.

He smirks and turns around in the driver's seat. Cranking up the music, he blasts Kid Cudi like it's 2009. Day N Night blares, reverberating off the walls of the Mercedes Sprinter we're in.

Real fucking cool. It's not like I've been kidnapped or anything. It's not like he left me in the back of a hot ass van in the middle of a Tampa summer. It's so damn hot. My foot sprints out and I kick the back of his seat, "I could have died in here!" I scream. The asshole ignores me.

At first I tried to track where we were. I could hear the hum of the interstate and I'm pretty sure we were heading east. Now though, I can't hear anything. No other cars and a rough road. It's either dirt or not well paved. It smells like salty ocean air and oranges.

The van pulls inside something, a garage I'm assuming. Or maybe a warehouse? It's dark, so I can't tell.

The back of the van opens and my captor appears. He's tall and lean with dark hair slicked back. His brows are thick and dark and his eyes are just as colorless. He'd be hot if he wasn't a fucking psycho.

He slides off leather gloves, and I can see the tattoos on his hands. I can't see his left, but his right knuckles say K I N G. The back of his hand has a giant black crown that looks like it's clouded with smoke. What a fucking tool.

The leather gloves clap in his palm with a cracking smack. He's dressed like he's going to a fancy ass night club, like it isn't a million degrees outside right now. A black dress shirt with very faint dark pinstripes is tucked into black slacks.

At first, I doubted he was a biker. But I know he is. Tanned skin from riding, and a smell like leather and expensive bourbon. The place we're in smells like oil and grease, probably a garage where he keeps his bikes.

"Who kidnaps someone from Jamba Juice?" I scream at him as he pulls my legs forward. When I kick at his face, he dodges me in a quick movement. His hand is firm around my ankle and then he slips it up my calf.

I'm not stupid. I know who he is- kind of. I know he's a part of an MC. I know that he knows who I am too. Serafina Markovic, daughter of the President of the Royal Sons.

From a young age, my dad taught me what to do if something like this happened. Fight like hell and stall time until him and his men find me. And they will find me. That much I know. So I try to buy as much time as I can until that happens. For starters, kicking and screaming and making his life a living hell.