Wrongfully Claimed

Chapter Forty-Three

Aurora sat in Ryder's bedroom, waiting for him to return, but as the seconds soon turned into minutes and minutes eventually became hours, Aurora could no longer stop herself from wanting to go downstairs and see what was going on.

Worrying thoughts began to enter her mind, clawing their way up into her throat, leaving her with questions she couldn't ignore or suppress in her any longer.

If these men were gone and Ryder had taken care of them, why wasn't he coming upstairs like he promised he would do?

What if he needed her? What if Ryder had been badly injured and hurt and needed her to come to his aid and help him?

She knew Ryder had told her to stay up here until it was safe to come down, but what if he couldn't? What if he was left incapacitated by these men who had broken in here, or worse dead?

Willing herself off his bed, she fought the rising panic filling up inside her as she warily treaded to the door, bracing herself for the possibility of what could be lurking around the corner, waiting for her once she stepped outside the room.

Her stomach clenched when she heard voices in the house and the sound of footsteps moving back and forth along the floorboards, indicating there was no more than one of them in the house.

As soon as she reached the bottom of the staircase, Aurora knew coming downstairs had been a bad idea, but by then it was too late.

One of the men from the group already spotted her and grabbed her before she could turn around and make her way back upstairs.

She was shoved against the wall by a tall, gargantuan-sized man wearing a ski mask covering his face, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans.

The putrid odour of liquor, stale sweat and cigarette smoke oozing from his pores hit her hard, and she had to force the urge not to throw up.

He gripped her by the nook of her neck, his clammy, nicotine-stained fingers wrapping around her throat as he held the muzzle of his rifle directly at her throat, alerting the others of his newfound discovery.

"We got her! We got the other one!"

She stood there, mute with horror from not knowing what would be waiting for her in the living room, as the brawny, terrifying man took hold of her arm and brought her into the room.

She breathed out a sigh of relief when she caught sight of Ryder in the living room, but the dull ache lingering in the pit of her stomach she felt seconds ago, soon resurfaced again once she saw what they had done to him.

He was taken hostage by two men all wearing the same ski masks, hiding their faces. They stood behind him with their guns lifted to his head, his face coated in thick layers of blood and severe grazing and cuts running all along his cheekbones.

He was looking downward, his mouth gagged with some piece of cloth they had jammed down his throat to silence him until he saw Aurora stepping into the room, and his head snapped up within seconds.

She watched his soft brown eyes widen and rim with tears as he glanced back at her. He looked relieved to see her, but the sadness in his gaze told her he wasn't happy she'd been taken captive and there wasn't a single thing he could do to help her.

A sob rose in her throat as she watched the first man from the group who seemed to be the leader of the group, remove his ski mask.

For some reason, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off the good-looking, tall, athletically built man with thick, wavy, highlighted caramel blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

He looked familiar - she could have sworn she'd seen him somewhere before until she noticed the distinct tattoo markings on his bicep and the front of his neck.