Captured By The Jungle Warlord

1.Chapter 1 The Kidnap

In the lavish cabin of the private jet, a heavy, obsidian-black coffin was securely fastened to the right side, an oppressive and jarring presence that clashed starkly with the aircraft's luxury.

The air seemed to grow heavier around it, as if the mere sight of the coffin cast a shadow over the opulence.

Seated nearby, Natalie Reed remained motionless. The sunlight streaming through the cabin window kissed her clear skin, giving it an ethereal glow. She looked so delicate, so otherworldly, it was as if she might fade away at any moment, a fragile phantom teetering on the edge of existence.

The sudden chime of her phone broke the suffocating silence. Her long, curled lashes fluttered slightly, the only sign of life in her otherwise still figure.

Slowly, the bewildered sorrow clouding her captivating eyes began to dissolve, replaced by a faint, flickering warmth—a fragile trace of emotion returning to her expression.

"Grandpa, Dad and I..." her voice faltered as she spoke, the word Dad catching in her throat. Her gaze drifted toward the black coffin, and the color drained completely from her face. "We've arrived at the airport."

"Nat," her grandfather's voice came through the line, unusually heavy with urgency, though he addressed her fondly by her nickname. "There's been a terrorist bombing at Hocem Airport. The plane had to land farther from me than expected."

His tone was calm but grave, each word a deliberate attempt to mask his worry. "Don't be afraid. I've arranged for someone to pick you up. Stay on the plane, do not move..."

The call began to break up, static crackling through the connection. His words became fragmented, distorted. "If anything... happens... just say... you're Jonas Lawson's fiancée... Remember to—"

Before Natalie could respond, a deafening explosion shattered the moment. Boom! The private jet's cabin door blew open with a force that sent fiery debris and scorching heat flooding inside.

The air was filled with the acrid smell of smoke, burning metal, and seared leather, a hellish assault on the senses.

Shouting erupted as a group of armed men stormed into the cabin, their harsh voices barking commands. Panic coursed through her veins, but she had no chance to react. A chemically soaked cloth was pressed over her mouth and nose, the sickly sweet scent overwhelming her as her vision blurred.

Darkness claimed her, swift and unrelenting, as the chaos spiraled further out of control.

*****

Natalie's body slumped limply against the car door, her head leaning against the window. Her hands were tightly bound, and a thick blindfold covered her eyes, leaving her with no idea what was happening around her.

Even as her forehead bumped against the glass with every jolt of the car, she didn't dare move. She couldn't risk letting the kidnappers realize she was awake—losing the element of surprise could mean losing her only chance.

Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt.

Her heart clenched, and she strained to pick up any sound, her ears desperate for clues.

The rough movements of the car earlier had loosened the fabric of her black blindfold just enough to create a tiny slit above her left eye. Through that narrow gap, she caught a glimpse of two towering figures standing outside, clad in camouflage military uniforms.

'Soldiers!' For a fleeting moment, hope flared in her chest like a match struck in the dark.

She shifted slightly, bracing to call out for help, only for her stomach to drop as cold sweat broke out across her skin. The words she overheard turned her fragile hope into sheer dread.

The men outside were speaking in Nocriudorian. Panic stabbed through her as she remembered where she was—not America, her peaceful homeland, but Nocriudor, a war-torn country embroiled in brutal conflict for over twenty-one years.

This wasn't a haven of law and order. Here, armed factions ruled with bloodied hands, and soldiers were anything but saviors.

The voices outside grew louder. One of the men demanded a toll, his tone laced with impatience. Natalie watched as another soldier peeked into the vehicle, his sharp eyes catching sight of her bound form.

Instead of intervening, the man let out a lewd chuckle, his lips curling into a crude smirk.

"She looks good. Bet she'll fetch a decent price, huh?" he jeered, his words sending a sickening wave of fear coursing through her.

The kidnappers responded without hesitation, upping the toll they offered. Money exchanged hands quickly, and the car rumbled back into motion, leaving the so-called soldiers behind.

Natalie's entire body stiffened. Her limbs felt ice-cold, the kind of numbness that crept in when terror froze one from the inside out.

She shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if she hadn't understood Nocriudorian. If she'd recklessly cried out for help, not knowing the soldiers were no better than her captors, the kind of punishment she might have brought down on herself would've been gruesome.

But just as quickly as relief surfaced, a crushing weight pressed down on her chest, as if an invisible hand had clenched around her heart.

The sharp sting of panic was replaced by a violent thudding in her chest, her thoughts spiraling, her pulse roaring in her ears. 'What am I supposed to do? How can I, alone, stand a chance against two heavily armed, muscle-bound kidnappers?'

Suddenly, a chilling sensation crawled up Natalie's spine, the unmistakable feeling of being watched by something vile.

One of the kidnappers, Felix Woods, sneered, his voice dripping with frustration and vice, "Damn it. Bro, this little bitch is so damn hot. I can't hold back any longer. Come on, let me have a little fun. I swear I won't kill her."

The heat of his sweat-soaked body radiated closer, the sticky warmth making her skin crawl with revulsion. Fear, sharp and all-consuming, surged through her veins like liquid ice.

Just as Natalie's muscles coiled, ready to lash out and fight back in desperation, a harsh voice from the front seat barked an order.

"Didn't I just tell you to keep your hands off her until we get the 70 million dollars?" Leo Watts, the other kidnapper, snapped sharply.

His tone was cold, commanding, leaving no room for argument. "If she tries anything and kills herself, she'll ruin the whole deal. And don't forget that the brass said she's connected to Jonas Lawson. You really want to piss off that psycho? Who knows what he'd do."

At that, Felix grumbled under his breath, but the nauseating warmth of his presence withdrew slightly.

As the crisis momentarily passed, Natalie's stomach unclenched by a fraction, but her terrified brain—previously in a state of numb paralysis—finally began to process the chaos unfolding around her.

She thought to herself, '70 million? My family's well-off, sure, but we could never scrape together that kind of money. And Jonas Lawson? Who the hell is that?'

If it weren't for her grandfather having mentioned the name before, Natalie might have wondered if these kidnappers had mistakenly kidnapped the wrong person.

Felix, clearly frustrated, hissed, "We're already outlaws, Leo. What's one more mess? And if she really is tied to Jonas, well, didn't that lunatic just sit on his hands when her dad got offed? He didn't do a damn thing."

Natalie's head whipped toward him instinctively at the shocking news, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. 'What does he mean, got offed? My father died in a car accident, didn't he?'

The motion betrayed her, and Felix's eyes locked on hers. His lips twisted into a malicious grin as he reached over, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking it cruelly. Pain ripped through her scalp like fire, her head jerking back under his iron grip.

"Awake, huh? And still playing possum? Listen up, bitch." His American English was broken, each word guttural and laced with venom. "You'd better play along, or I'll make you regret it. Hey, bro, what do you say—want first go at her?"

The stabbing pain shot down to her neck, tears stinging Natalie's eyes as she felt like her scalp was about to be ripped clean off.

But pain was the least of her concerns now. All the fear, confusion, and desperation bottled up inside her erupted in a blind fury. She struggled wildly, her bound hands flailing uselessly as she fought back with everything she had.

Her efforts, though frantic, were pitifully weak. Felix's arm was thicker than her thigh, his sheer size and brute strength making her resistance seem laughable, like a child's tantrum against an immovable wall.

Her voice, though shaky, carried an unyielding resolve as she forced the words out. "If I die, you'll get nothing..."

The driver, Leo, snapped his head around, barking in frustration, "Damn it, this girl's got some fight in her. What if she really ends up dead? We may not fear death, but if we cross Jonas, his methods are worse than dying. Do you understand, you idiot—worse than dying."

Jonas wasn't some warlord commanding armed forces, but his power ran deeper than anyone dared to imagine. Rumor had it even Queen Estelle of Nocriudor, a sovereign not known for kneeling to anyone, had once begged him on her knees.

Jonas was feared by both the underworld and those who walked in the light, a figure of ruthless authority whose grudges were legendary. To anger him was to invite torment beyond the grave.

Leo's anger and preoccupation with berating his accomplice distracted him just long enough for disaster to strike. He didn't see the vehicle approaching from the intersection ahead.

The van slammed into it with a deafening crash. Natalie felt herself thrown into the air as gravity momentarily lost its grip on her. When her body slammed back into the seat, pain radiated through every nerve, and for a fleeting second, she thought her soul might leave her body.

Sharp ringing overwhelmed her ears as the chaos settled into an eerie silence. Then, the van door was yanked open, and a rough, clammy hand gripped her arm, yanking her out into the open.

Natalie stumbled forward, her legs barely cooperating as she was dragged along. Through the tiny gaps in the black fabric covering her eyes, she strained to take in the scene.

The van they had been traveling in was crumpled, smoke curling ominously from the wreckage. Opposite them stood a hulking military-grade SUV, its imposing figure like a predator cornering its prey. The kidnappers—Leo and Felix—now stood with guns drawn, their stances tense but clearly faltering.

Leaning nonchalantly against the hood of the SUV was a woman with a buzz cut clad in camouflage. Her features were sharp, bold, and arrestingly fierce, though her expression remained icy and detached.

She held a submachine gun with a casual ease, the barrel resting across her thighs as if the weapon were merely an extension of her.

The standoff seemed theatrical. On the surface, it looked like a tense confrontation, but in reality, the kidnappers were hopelessly outmatched. It was clear to everyone who held the upper hand.

Even Leo seemed to grasp the futility of resistance. He raised his hands slightly, his tone adopting an uncharacteristic note of submission. "We mean no offense. Name your price. Or just take her instead. She's worth 70 million dollars. Gorgeous face, flawless body—she's as premium as it gets."

A soft, mocking laugh cut through the heavy tension, slicing it cleanly in two. The sound was so sudden, so dismissive, that all eyes turned toward the SUV.

From within the vehicle, a muscular arm wrapped in rough bandages extended lazily. A lit cigarette dangled between his two fingers, the faint glow of its tip catching the glint of a silver bracelet coiled loosely around his wrist.

The casual flick of his fingers sent ash scattering into the air, the gesture dripping with an air of untamed recklessness.

The man's voice followed, rich and deep, dripping with sarcastic amusement. "She's worth 70 million dollars? And you're just handing her over to me like that?"

Leo exhaled in relief, thinking they had found common ground for negotiation.

But the stranger wasn't done. His tone shifted, laced with a devil-may-care edge that sent a shiver down the kidnappers' spines.

"Shame," he drawled, his words deliberate and unhurried. "I'm not in the mood to take anyone to bed today. So..."

2.Chapter 2 The Code

The man in the car, Jonas Lawson, let out a low chuckle, his voice casual yet laced with menace. "Looks like I'll just have to settle this with your lives."

Before his words had fully settled in the air, the sound of gunfire ripped through the silence.

Natalie barely had time to comprehend what was happening before the grip on her arm slackened. She felt the kidnapper's heavy body collapse against her, the sudden weight pressing her legs down.

Warm, sticky liquid splattered across her calves, soaking into her skin. The sickening sensation jolted her nerves, and a chill of raw terror crawled down her spine.

An overwhelming surge of fear coursed through her, leaving her muscles drained and her legs buckling beneath her. She sank to the ground in a trembling heap. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out, her voice strangled by the sheer panic gripping her chest.

Her head buzzed with chaos, thoughts spinning like an unstoppable storm. Around her, the world fell eerily silent. Not even a groan escaped from the bodies strewn nearby. The sudden quiet was broken only by the amplified sound of a car door creaking open.

Natalie's trembling fingers dug into the skin of her wrist, nails biting down painfully. The sharp sting grounded her just enough to force her thoughts into coherence. 'They didn't kill me... That means there's still room to negotiate.'

The rhythmic thud of approaching footsteps echoed in her ears, each step sending a fresh wave of tension flooding her veins. She nervously raised her head, her gaze catching on a pair of sturdy combat boots moving toward her.

As her eyes trailed upward, they took in the muscular legs encased in black tactical pants, the taut lines of a lean waist, and broad shoulders that exuded an air of unyielding dominance. She craned her neck further, her breath catching when her gaze finally met his face.

The first thing that caught her attention was Jonas's eyes. Deep-set and framed by thick, impossibly long lashes, his piercing blue gaze shimmered with an almost hypnotic brilliance, like sunlight dancing over a sea of shattered diamonds.

Jonas must have noticed her stolen glances because his lips quirked up in a slow, deliberate smile. As the corners of his mouth lifted, he looked over and his eyes followed suit, curving into a half-lidded expression that was both captivating and dangerous.

That smile was a weapon in itself—devastatingly alluring yet laced with the promise of untold peril. It disarmed her defenses effortlessly, leaving her vulnerable in a way she hadn't thought possible.

Before she could gather herself, the buzz-cut woman who had been lounging casually against the hood of the SUV straightened and strode forward. She lifted her phone, snapped a couple of nonchalant photos of the fallen kidnappers, and uploaded them to the Nocriudor military network.

Her voice was flat and devoid of emotion as she announced, "Two fugitives from the red notice list, neutralized."

The woman's gaze then shifted to Natalie, her tone as indifferent as if she were debating what to have for dinner. "She's likely with them. Boss, do we shoot her?"

'Shoot... me?' Natalie's pupils constricted, and the words echoed in her mind, pulling her back to reality.

Logically, the first thing anyone would do after hearing that would be to deny any association with the kidnappers. But the woman had spoken in Nocriudorian—heavily accented, regional Nocriudorian at that.

Natalie's heart pounded as suspicion coiled around her. "Was she testing me? Seeing if I understood?"

Most Americans can't be bothered with Nocriudorian. Why learn it when English gets you 90% of the way? Plus, everyone in the tourism industry speaks enough English to get by.

Even Natalie's grandfather, who had done business in Nocriudor for years, only knew a smattering of the language.

And yet, here Natalie was, a supposedly ordinary traveler, not only fluent in Nocriudorian but in a dialect so obscure that even locals might struggle with it. Trying to explain that away would be a nightmare.

Worse still, the reason she’d learned it in the first place was something she herself found laughable.

No. That was a complication she couldn’t afford.

So she did what made the most sense—she pretended not to understand.

"I'm American," she said, sticking to English, her voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. "I was kidnapped at the airport. If you can get me somewhere safe, I'll pay you."

Her gaze darted between them, calculating. "I don't have seventy million, but I can sell my family's estate. That'd get me three million. If tha's not enough, I’ll find another way."

Her tone was sweet, almost pleading, with just the right mix of desperation and sincerity to tug at even the coldest heart.

Jonas, however, didn't so much as blink. He didn't confirm or deny her words. Instead, with languid ease, he lifted his cigarette to his lips and took a slow drag, exhaling smoke into the thickening air. Time seemed to stretch, his silence heavy with unspoken decisions.

His sensual lips parted slightly, releasing a thin stream of smoke that curled around his face, shrouding his features in a veil of mystery. Whatever thoughts lingered behind those striking eyes were impenetrable, hidden behind his nonchalant facade.

"Oh, so you're an American." The words came out in flawless American English—low, unhurried, and maddeningly smooth. His accent was impeccable, unnervingly so. The sound of her native tongue, spoken with such casual ease, sent a strange warmth trickling down Natalie’s spine.

But the foreign danger in the air kept her rigid with caution.

Swallowing hard, she forced her voice steady. “Yes. I am.”

Jonas finally crouched down. The action caused the lean muscles beneath his camo uniform to tense, outlining a sculpted, taut physique. The sheer intensity of his presence, commanding and suffocating, stood in stark contrast to his youthful, strikingly handsome face. And yet, somehow, the two were perfectly in harmony.

He let out a soft scoff. "Identification?"

Natalie froze, her heart, which had barely calmed from its earlier frenzy, began to race again.

She knew all too well how vital passports and IDs were in war-torn regions like this one. Without proof of identity, she might as well be invisible—or worse, expendable. But the truth was, she didn't have them.

She knew exactly how much identification mattered in war zones like this. No passport, no ID? She might as well not exist. Worse—without proof, she was disposable.

Panic clawed at her chest. She could never have predicted any of this. No matter how she turned it over in her mind, she couldn’t understand why the kidnappers had blown up the private jet, or why they had taken her alive.

The jet had been leased under her grandfather's name. Was she expected to compensate for the damage?

She barely registered her own voice when she finally spoke."It’s… it's in my bag. On the plane."

"Then it's gone," Jonas said flatly. His tone was calm, almost indifferent, but there was a chill lurking beneath his words that sent a shiver down her spine.

An inexplicable sense of foreboding surged within her. Something about his demeanor, the way he spoke, made her feel as though he'd already made up his mind to abandon her.

Desperation gripped her like a vice. "I really am American," she blurted out, her voice trembling but determined. "I can prove it."

"Oh?" Jonas's response was a low, throaty sound of curiosity, as though humoring her. But his body told a different story. Slowly, he began to straighten, his movements measured and deliberate, signaling his intent to leave.

Natalie's mind raced. She could feel the sand of time slipping through her fingers. She knew her next move would undoubtedly come off as crazy to anyone watching, but she didn't care. She was out of options and had no other way to prove her identity.

She didn't want to die. Jonas's earlier interactions had made one thing crystal clear—he wasn't hostile toward Americans. That, in this war-torn hellscape, was her one sliver of hope. She had to seize it, no matter how ridiculous it made her look.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she did the only thing she could think of.

She opened her mouth and began to yell in a single, desperate burst, "It's me. Hi. I'm the problem. It's me. I identify as a brat. Money doesn't grow on trees? Yes, it does. It's paper. I'm working late cause I'm a singer. It's hoa hoa hoa season. I know what you are. Say it. Out loud. Say it..."

Jonas listened to her trembling words, her voice cracking from fear and nerves. For a brief moment, he appeared stunned, as if caught off guard. Then, a low, sardonic chuckle escaped his lips.

Natalie instantly froze, the sound cutting through her like a whip. Her face flushed a deep crimson, both from embarrassment and the suffocating tension. Her wide, anxious eyes fixated on Jonas through the narrow gap in her blindfold.

It felt as though a guillotine were poised above her neck, the blade ready to drop at any second. Every muscle in her body went rigid, fear locking her in place as she barely dared to breathe.

Without warning, Jonas moved. The hand holding his cigarette casually shifted, and before she could react, his fingers grasped her cheeks, firm but not bruising. His deep, velvety voice followed, tinged with an almost amused warmth. "You better hold on tight, spider monkey."

Natalie's breath hitched, her eyes widening in disbelief. He had joined in, finishing her sentences as if it were second nature. Her heart leapt, a flicker of hope sparking within her. In that instant, the excitement made her body tremble slightly.

Jonas had simply replied casually, but when he saw her expression, as though she had just cracked some secret code, surviving this ordeal, he couldn't help but find her naivety amusing.

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. His sharp gaze dropped to her slender neck, her delicate skin glowing.

Slowly, his free hand moved, fingers teasingly brushing her collar. He tugged the collar down to reveal the smooth expanse of her collarbone. A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes.

The faint chill of his touch made Natalie flinch, but she forced herself to stay still and calm.

Jonas, sensing her tension, released her collar, his voice dripping with malicious amusement. "They didn't have their way with you? What happened? Did they suddenly grow a conscience?"

3.Chapter 3 His Fiancée

Jonas's remark was so abrupt and brazen that Natalie froze on the spot, unsure how to react. A flush of panic surged through her as she thought nervously, 'Why... why did the conversation suddenly turn to this?'

Still, she obediently shook her head, even though her mind was racing.

As she moved, the soft flesh of her cheeks pressed and rubbed against his palm, the sensation impossibly tender and smooth.

Jonas finally took a moment to properly examine the girl in front of him. She looked barely twenty, her petite frame deceptive with its striking curves. The black cloth loosely wrapped around her eyes contrasted starkly with her flawless, clear skin, which appeared almost luminous.

A few stray locks of hair clung to her delicate face, framing her pale lips, which seemed so soft yet so fragile that it was as if a single harsh touch might shatter her.

For a fleeting moment, he simply stared, his gaze inscrutable. Then, without warning, he lifted his thumb, pressing it against the corner of her lips. He toyed with her lower lip, lightly brushing and rolling it under his thumb.

Her soft lips, cold and pale at first, turned a vibrant shade of pink as blood rushed to the surface, leaving them plump and impossibly alluring.

'Not bad...' he mused, a lazy smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. 'She's quite the knockout, now that I take a good look. I wonder what those eyes of hers look like.'

Jonas was never one to second-guess himself. The moment the thought crossed his mind, his hand moved. With a swift tug, he pulled away the bothersome black cloth, letting it fall to the ground.

But Natalie squeezed her eyes shut tightly, as though she could somehow shield herself from his piercing scrutiny.

Jonas chuckled, his voice low and unhurried, tinged with a teasing edge.

His calloused fingertip brushed her closed left eyelid, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down her spine. "Weren't you staring at me earlier? Looking like you were ready to pounce on me? What's with the sudden change of heart?"

His tone was so light, almost playful, that it was impossible to discern any hint of genuine emotion—whether amusement or menace.

Beneath her tightly shut eyelids, Natalie's eyes darted back and forth, her thoughts scrambling for a response. But nothing coherent came to mind, leaving her in silence.

Just then, the buzz-cut woman's crisp voice broke the tension. "Boss, time to go," Myla Carr said, glancing at her watch before shifting her sharp gaze to Natalie. Her tone was calm, almost businesslike, but there was an edge of impatience in her words.

'If we don't leave now, we'll be spending the night out here,' she thought grimly.

She let her eyes linger on Natalie for a moment longer, her expression unreadable but undeniably assessing.

The question she had posed in Nocriudorian earlier had indeed been a test. Despite her cold and ruthless demeanor, she wasn't interested in killing a defenseless, stunningly beautiful woman—it felt too cruel, even for her.

But it was understandable that she suspected Natalie might be working with the two kidnappers. The pair were notorious terrorists wanted on red notices for their brutal acts—murders, looting, and, most infamously, torturing women.

It would take about an hour to get here from the nearest airport.

It didn't add up that such a delicate, strikingly beautiful woman like Natalie could have been untouched in their hands. It defied logic. And the timing of her appearance was too suspicious, especially considering the crude way the kidnappers had crashed their van.

Myla figured that if even she could piece things together, Jonas must have seen through it long ago. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered checking Natalie for any signs of abuse.

If time had been on their side, they might have interrogated Natalie thoroughly. But this mission was tied to a classified operation involving military cooperation between America and Cataguna—an undertaking at the highest levels of national security. Jonas, currently representing the Cataguna military, couldn't afford any mistakes.

'Now's clearly not the time to dig into this,' Myla thought. 'We'll just leave her here and move on. Anyway, I'm not worried about the boss losing his head over some pretty face. He's practically allergic to women.'

Jonas cast a glance at Natalie, who still kept her eyes squeezed shut, her entire body radiating unease. The sight made him lose interest entirely.

With an air of indifference, he rose to his feet and spoke with deliberate nonchalance, "Well, since you're American, I suppose I should help you out..."

Natalie's heart leapt with a flicker of hope, and she was just about to thank him when his next words hit her like a slap.

Jonas continued, his voice as cold as steel, "Leave her a knife. That way, if she runs into more bandits, she can slit her own throat and save herself the trouble."

Natalie froze in shock. Her gratitude evaporated, replaced by a rush of panic so overwhelming she momentarily forgot the risks of seeing his face. She had no time to think about being silenced for good. Her eyes shot open, desperately searching for Jonas's figure.

The moment their gazes locked, the intensity of his eyes was like a jolt of electricity. Deep and unfathomable, his eyes seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words. For a fleeting second, it felt as though he were looking straight into her soul.

But just as quickly, that flicker of indifference and playfulness vanished, replaced by a chilling detachment. His gaze grew sharp, full of emotions Natalie couldn't decipher—disdain, anger, and something far darker.

Her chest tightened as she realized what being left behind here would mean for her. Death would be the best outcome—what came before it would surely be worse.

Gathering every ounce of courage she had, Natalie stammered, "If you could just... just drop me somewhere safe. Please. If money's not enough, I'll give you whatever you want. Name it."

Her plea hung in the air, unanswered. Jonas stared at her, his expression growing icier with every passing second, as though he were fighting back some inner turmoil.

Natalie felt her resolve crumbling under his unrelenting gaze. Her mind was a whirlwind of panic, her lips parting as she struggled to find the right words to negotiate for her life.

Then it happened. A flash of silver caught her eye, swift and blinding. Before she could process it, the sharp tip of a blade was inches from her left eye, poised like a viper ready to strike.

Jonas's expression was utterly transformed. The sharp lines of his chiseled features hardened further, his brows drawn low in a way that made him look even more dangerous. His jaw was clenched tight, his rage barely contained.

It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of anger. 'They actually dared to send someone with those eyes to me? Was this deliberate? A calculated move to provoke me?'

His thoughts burned with fury. 'Only a handful of people know about that incident... and that person. Who's behind this? Who's stupid enough to play this game with me?'

His grip on the knife tightened, his knuckles whitening. His voice turned icily sharp, like a blade slicing through the air. "Oh, I don't mind playing the knight in shining armor. But I don't do charity. How about we call it even with your eyes as payment?"

The chilling sensation of cold steel grazing the corner of her eye was enough to make Natalie snap her eyes shut, a raw, primal instinct taking over. Desperation boiled up inside her, and before she could think, she shouted with all the strength she could muster, "Jonas Lawson!"

Jonas froze mid-motion, the knife hovering precariously close. 'Not pretending anymore, huh? Just one scare, and she's already blown her cover? Calling out my name, of all things?'

A flicker of disappointment crossed his mind. 'And here I thought she'd at least put up a fight. This spy—wherever they dug her up from—is a joke. No skill, no finesse. But those damn eyes... really bug me.'

His jaw tightened as his thoughts darkened. 'Anything—or anyone—that unsettles me always gets what's coming to them. Anything less would be impolite.'

Then came the trembling voice, "I'm Jonas Lawson's fiancée."

"What?" The corner of his lips curled into a wicked grin. He couldn't help it. He laughed—a low, sardonic sound that felt more dangerous than reassuring. 'This little spy is full of surprises. Stumbling into my lap, all wide-eyed innocence? Is she pretending, or is she really that clueless?'

Without warning, his arm dropped, and the gleaming blade vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, sliding back into its sheath.

Natalie stood frozen, her body trembling with leftover adrenaline. When the expected pain didn't come, relief washed over her in a shuddering wave. Her heart was pounding so loudly it drowned out her thoughts. 'Jonas Lawson... He must be a terrifyingly powerful figure here in Nocriudor.'

Tentatively, she cracked her eyes open, her lashes fluttering like she was bracing herself for a death blow. But when no strike came, she managed to muster a flicker of courage. "If you bring me to him, I'm sure he'll reward you handsomely."

Jonas's lips twitched into a broader smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Jonas Lawson, huh? Now, that's a name to be careful with. He's a ruthless madman. Not the kind of guy I want to cross."

Natalie's heart sank as she realized he still had no intention of helping her. Desperation overtook pride. If one lie wouldn't work, she'd pile on another. "I... I'm very important to him."

"Oh?" His gaze was fixed on her now, sharp and unyielding. "Just how important?"

His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made her skin crawl.

A faint shiver ran down her spine as she tried to ignore the goosebumps rising along her neck. Something about the way he asked made her feel like he was a predator playing with its prey.

Backed into a corner, Natalie clenched her fists to steady herself, though her voice betrayed her fear. "He... He loves me. Very much."

Natalie's heart pounded like a drum, each beat loud enough to drown out rational thought. Her lips trembled as she nervously licked them, trying to calm her frayed nerves. 'If I can convince him that I'm Jonas's beloved fiancée, maybe I'll survive this...'

Her mind raced, frantically piecing together a plan. 'Staying alive is all that matters right now. I'll just have to apologize—and find a way to make it up to Jonas—once I meet him.'

To her surprise, Jonas tilted his head slightly and nodded, a mocking grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Makes sense. Jonas's fiancée, looking as tempting as you do? He's probably head over heels for you, can't live without you."

There wasn't an ounce of sincerity in his tone, but he delivered the line with the ease of someone enjoying a private joke.

Myla, standing nearby, instinctively glanced up at the sky. She thought, 'The sun still rose in the east and set in the west, right? Then what the hell was she witnessing? Since when did Jonas play along with anyone's little dramas?'

Her gaze flicked toward Natalie, taking in the girl's delicate features. Those bambi eyes—wide, shimmering, and impossibly pure—softened her otherwise strikingly beautiful face, adding a touch of innocence that felt almost out of place.

With her flushed cheeks and tear-brimmed eyes, Natalie looked heartbreakingly vulnerable, like a lost lamb in a wolf's den. Myla swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a little restless. There was something about Natalie's sweet, fragile charm that made it hard to look away.

But as Natalie's quiet sobs grew softer, Myla's attention shifted back to Jonas.

Myla's brows furrowed in disbelief. 'Wait a damn second. No way. Was he actually—? Was the infamous Jonas Lawson falling for her? That would be a first. If that was the case, why the charade? Why not just throw her in the car and get on with it? If he wanted her, he could take her. Right here, right now. So why play the big bad wolf?'

Lost in her musings about Jonas's motive, Myla barely noticed when his expression shifted, his eyes narrowing in a way that sent a chill down Natalie's spine. His lips curved into a sly smile as he raised his hand.

The flash of steel caught Natalie's eye before her brain registered the movement. The same deadly knife reappeared, its blade gleaming with an ominous light.

This time, the edge pressed directly against the soft curve of her neck. The cold, venomous touch felt like a serpent coiling around her throat, its hiss a silent promise of death.

Jonas leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper that seemed to slither through the air like poison. "But wouldn't you know it? Life's funny that way. Jonas Lawson and I? We've got bad blood. We're sworn enemies."

4.Chapter 4 The Kiss

Natalie froze, her wide, startled eyes locking onto Jonas. Those soft, innocent eyes of hers widened even further, almost comically so.

Jonas let out a low, raspy chuckle—deep and dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder. There was a twisted edge to it, as though he was thoroughly enjoying this sick game. "I heard he's got a thing for lanterns.

"You, with that silky, flawless skin of yours? If I peel it off and turn it into a human-skin lantern for him, I bet he'll be moved to tears."

He said it with such unnerving calmness, even nodding to himself in grim approval.

The words landed like a gut punch, but instead of breaking down, Natalie felt a strange shift inside her.

Maybe it was the series of shocks that had battered her nerves into submission, or maybe her brain had simply short-circuited from the sheer absurdity of the moment. Whatever the reason, her mouth suddenly found the strength her legs couldn't.

"No," she blurted out, voice trembling but still audible. "If I die, he'll grieve, sure, but he's a man with bigger ambitions. He wouldn't let himself get bogged down by emotions for long. My death would just give him another excuse to destroy you."

Jonas didn't respond right away. Instead, his knife—cold and gleaming—moved with unnerving precision along her neck. The blade's edge grazed her skin, not deep enough to cut but sharp enough to send a shiver racing down her spine.

His control was so meticulous it bordered on inhuman, as if he truly did treasure this "perfect skin" of hers.

Every nerve in Natalie's body screamed in alarm. Goosebumps prickled along her arms, her breath catching in her throat.

Fighting back the urge to break down completely, she forced herself to keep talking, though her voice quivered like a fraying string. "So... so why not take me to him?

"Let him see how madly in love I am with you. That would humiliate him. Crush him. Make him wish he were dead."

Something in her words must have struck a chord because Jonas finally turned his full attention to her. His sharp, calculating gaze bore into her, as though he were dissecting her every thought. "That's your fiancé. And you'd do that to him?"

"It's... it's an arranged marriage," she stammered, her face heating with embarrassment. The excuse sounded flimsy even to her own ears. 'But desperate times call for desperate measures. Pride means nothing when survival's at stake,' she thought bitterly.

"Oh, rebelling against outdated traditions, are we?" Jonas's lips curled into a cold, mocking smile. His voice was laced with disdain, but there was an undertone of amusement as he added, "But tell me, how exactly do you plan to convince him you're head over heels for me?"

Before she could stammer out a response, Jonas's arm moved with lightning speed, his grip strong and unyielding as it clamped around her thighs. With a single, fluid motion, he lifted her off the ground with one arm like she weighed nothing.

The sudden shift made her gasp, her stomach flipping as she realized her feet were no longer touching the floor. When her mind caught up, she found herself cradled in his arm, her body held securely against his solid frame.

Their eyes met on a level playing field now, though her position left her slightly higher than him. It didn't feel like an advantage. Not with the way he lazily looked at her—his sharp, smoldering gaze pulling her in like a whirlpool.

Jonas's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the sound deep and deliberate. His voice, low and husky, seemed to reverberate in her chest as he murmured, "What's the plan? Offering yourself up to me?"

There was a new spark in his eyes now—curiosity mixed with wicked amusement. For the first time, he seemed genuinely entertained, leaning in ever so slightly as if eager to see what clever little excuse her trembling lips would spit out next.

Natalie was still frozen in a daze, her wide, bewildered eyes darting helplessly. Jonas smirked, his tone laced with wicked amusement as he offered a cruel suggestion. "If you want to prove you're madly in love, there's got to be some blood involved, don't you think?

"Maybe carve my name into your forehead? Shave your head bald for me? Or better yet, rip out your nails one by one?"

The more he spoke, the more Natalie's scalp tingled with sheer terror. Every word felt like the blade of a guillotine hovering over her, ready to drop.

She was certain of one thing—if she didn't come up with something convincing, this lunatic would actually go through with every single one of his twisted ideas.

Jonas seemed to grow impatient with her silence. Without warning, the hand supporting her beneath her thighs tightened, his grip firm and unrelenting. The sudden shift sent a jolt of panic coursing through her, and her heart raced wildly as she struggled to keep her balance.

Her hands were tied behind her back, her center of gravity thrown off. Whether it was the sheer terror or the precarious position, her body instinctively arched forward in a desperate attempt to steady herself. And that was when it happened—her soft lips collided with his.

For a second, the world seemed to stop. The shock of what she'd done slammed into her like a freight train. Natalie's back snapped straight, her body stiffening. Her wide, startled eyes grew impossibly bigger, so much so that they looked like they might pop out of their sockets.

Her heart pounded violently, each beat a deafening drum inside her chest. It felt as though a frantic little rabbit had been let loose in her ribcage, thumping and leaping in utter chaos. The sudden rush of adrenaline made her head spin.

'This is it. I'm doomed. I can feel it. If I say that it wasn't intentional, he's definitely going to cut off my lips for this.' Her panicked thoughts swirled as her beautiful eyes began to shimmer with unshed tears.

Summoning every ounce of her survival instinct, Natalie did the only thing she could think of—talk. Words tumbled from her lips in a wild, breathless rush, her voice trembling yet determined to save her skin. "H-he cares about me. Treasures me, even. I've never slept with him."

Her face burned with mortification, but she pushed on. "S-so, if I get intimate with you in front of him—if I show him how much I adore you—it'll destroy him.

"He'll believe I love you with every fiber of my being. That kiss just now... that's my sincerity. My absolute sincerity."

She finished with a quivering breath as she didn't even buy it herself, clenching her eyes shut as though bracing for a blow. Her delicate features twisted with despair, her expression so pitiful it could have melted even the hardest of hearts.

A heavy silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Unable to bear it, Natalie peeked through her lashes, her gaze cautiously drifting up to Jonas's face. To her surprise, his piercing blue eyes were wide, their usual sharpness dulled by something almost like disbelief.

Jonas blinked, seemingly coming out of a daze as he registered the hesitant look she was giving him. His focus shifted, zeroing in on her lips, now slightly swollen from the unexpected kiss.

His own lips parted faintly, and his tongue flicked out, tracing over one of his barely noticeable canines. 'What the hell? Did I just get kissed against my will?'

"I..." Natalie's trembling voice had barely left her lips when she felt the rough, bandaged hand clamp firmly around the back of her neck. In a flash, Jonas yanked her downward with unrelenting force, leaving no room for escape.

He tilted his head slightly, his mouth parting just enough before his lips descended on hers—not in a kiss, but in a savage, primal bite. The sharp sting of his teeth grazing her made her heart lurch, but just as he was about to sink in, his grip softened.

It wasn't mercy. No, the raw, untamed energy that exploded from him was like a storm crashing through an open window, violent and overwhelming.

It bore none of the playfulness he'd shown earlier, none of the fleeting softness she thought might still exist in him. This was domination—uncompromising, absolute, and suffocating.

His piercing blue eyes, which moments ago had carried a deceptive trace of warmth and tenderness, now blazed with unrestrained aggression.

The feral, untamed edge hidden deep within him surged to the surface, taking over entirely. "This," Jonas growled, his deep voice rolling like thunder, "is what I call sincerity. Understand?"

Then he thought of something and leaned in closer. His lips brushed so near to her ear that the warmth of his breath sent shivers cascading down her spine.

His voice dropped lower, rich with huskiness that both threatened and enticed, as he added with a dark, almost teasing clarity, "Oh, so this is the game you want to play, huh?

"Then don't forget, sweetheart, you need to love me like your life depends on it. Lie to me, and we'll get back to skinning you alive and gouging out your eyes."

The languid drawl of his voice carried a sinister edge, its rasp still tinged with a maddening seduction that left her unable to breathe properly. His next words sliced through her, soft and unhurried but no less ruthless.

"Oh," he added, almost like an afterthought, "and let's throw in cutting off those lips this time."

"So," he asked, his words curling like smoke, "do you still want to stay with me?"

5.Chapter 5 Blood

Natalie jolted at Jonas's words, her body stiffening. She knew the trap lying in his question. If she agreed, it would be like handing herself over to a predator—willingly walking into the lion's den.

That kiss, searing and unrelenting, had been his warning. And his words were the reminder. If she got into that car, she was silently consenting to more of this—to the dangerous intimacy he'd made clear he wouldn't hold back.

But she had no choice. She was stranded, without a single piece of ID to prove her identity. Worse, with her striking looks, being left behind in this place wasn't an option.

She didn't need a vivid imagination to foresee the horrors waiting for her if she fell into the wrong hands. She wouldn't even make it to the nearest embassy. Just the thought of being captured by terrorists, tortured, and left to rot made her stomach churn.

Her survival instinct kicked in. Natalie swallowed her fear and gave him a small, obedient nod. She would live—she had to live. She needed to tell her grandfather the truth that her father's death might not have been an accident.

She needed to return to her homeland, where the years of blood, sweat, and tears she'd poured into getting accepted to her dream university would not be wasted.

Over a thousand days of relentless effort were on the line. If she gave up now, it would all be for nothing. Dying here wasn't an option for her. She clenched her fists tightly, her resolve hardening.

Jonas's lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. His piercing eyes narrowed slightly, taking her in as though she were a helpless prey caught in his snare. There was a glint of something almost exhilarating in his gaze.

'There's no way this girl's appearance in my life is a coincidence,' he thought, his mind calculating. 'Either she's a damn good actress, playing this role to perfection, or she's an unwitting pawn, dragged into a game far bigger than she realizes.

'Either way, I'm going to enjoy finding out who dared to mess with me—especially if they thought using those eyes was a smart move.'

Ignoring the faint struggles of the girl in his arms, Jonas carried her effortlessly and yanked open the car door with casual confidence.

He shoved Natalie into the backseat without so much as a glance, then slid in beside her. He leaned back against the seat, his posture as relaxed as ever, though the intensity in his demeanor never faded.

It wasn't until he noticed Myla still standing frozen outside the car that his lips quirked into another lazy smirk. He extended one elegant arm out the window, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the doorframe.

"What's the matter?" he drawled, his voice drenched in that maddening mix of mockery and nonchalance. "Still can't get enough of this? Should I get you a monthly subscription or something?"

Myla snapped out of her daze, her expression shifting to something caught between amusement and disbelief.

'Seriously?' she thought, biting back a sigh. 'Even the good-looking ones are shameless flirts these days. But then again, it's him. Should've expected no less from our boss.'

She strode toward the driver's seat without a flicker of emotion on her face. The moment Myla climbed into the car, she noticed Jonas's mood seemed off. A wry thought crossed her mind. 'Great. Looks like I'll be taking the heat again—his ever-reliable, talented, one-in-a-million lackey.'

After a brief pause, Myla decided that playing it safe with some flattery was her best bet. With an exaggerated tone of admiration, she said, "Boss, you're incredible. That move you pulled back there? Smoking hot."

Jonas's reaction was immediate. "What the fuck," he muttered, annoyed, his low growl carrying a rare edge of disbelief.

Jonas didn't swear often—usually, he was the one making others lose their composure. It was a rare feat for someone to rile him up enough to curse, and Myla wore that badge proudly.

Myla, after all, was a force of nature. With her striking, intimidating demeanor, Myla seemed even more intimidating than Jonas. She exuded an aura of icy arrogance, but beneath that, she was unapologetically cheeky and unabashedly shameless, especially when it came to her twisted sense of humor.

As soon as she plopped herself into the seat, Jonas wasted no time delivering a sharp kick to the back of her chair. "Head back. Three days of private training as punishment."

Myla froze. Her usually impassive face nearly cracked under the weight of her dread, but she didn't argue. She was smart enough to know better.

Still, her thoughts ran rampant. 'Boss and that girl are both drop-dead gorgeous. If I could witness them getting it on for a couple of rounds, I'd take a year of private training without complaint.'

The thought alone sent her eyes darting to the rearview mirror, where she could barely conceal her giddy anticipation as she sneaked a glance at Jonas.

He caught her look and knew what was on her mind instantly. Without missing a beat, Jonas lashed out with another kick. "One week."

Myla's expression shifted, a glimmer of realization crossing her mind. 'Wait a second. When it comes to women... Boss never lays a hand on any of them. Hell, rumor has it he can’t even get it up.' Her excitement deflated in an instant. 'Well, shit. All that anticipation for nothing.'

But Myla wasn't one to sulk for long. With a shrug, her thoughts shifted gears. 'So what if he can't get it on with her? I can.'

She turned her burning gaze back to Natalie through the rearview mirror, her intentions unmistakable. 'Well, if he isn't interested... I'll take over when he's done,' Myla thought.

The entire scene was enough to make Jonas feel like he'd been unwittingly cast as the lead in some raunchy adult film. He shot Myla a warning glare as irritation bubbled to the surface.

Then his gaze landed on Natalie, curled into the furthest corner of the seat. His brows furrowed as he thought, 'What's with the shaking? Wasn't she the one who kissed me? Now she looks like I'm the one who did something unforgivable.'

Jonas wasn't in the habit of pretending to be a good guy. In fact, he took a certain pride in his bad reputation. He thought, 'When I decide to take someone's life, rip out their eyes, or skin them, I'm at least courteous enough to let them know beforehand.'

Jonas gave a lazy nod toward the passenger seat, his tone casual. "Sit there," he said to Natalie, his words dripped with the kind of aristocratic arrogance that could make anyone grit their teeth—and yet, left them with no choice but to comply.

By this point, Myla had already started the engine.

Natalie's wide eyes darted around nervously. Her pulse quickened with an irrational fear. 'What if the moment I step out of the car, Jonas gives Myla the order to drive off?' she wondered.

The ropes binding her wrists had been cut by Jonas the second she got in the car, but that didn't ease her anxiety.

Without wasting a second, she scrambled between the seats, crawling her way toward the passenger side like her life depended on it.

She was wearing a black, knee-length cotton dress, stiff enough to hold its shape but far too snug for the situation. As she moved, the hem rode up, revealing her slender legs that seemed almost luminous in the dim light.

Jonas's gaze flicked upward just in time to catch a glimpse of soft white fabric sliding out of view. His brows furrowed briefly before relaxing, as though brushing away an intrusive thought.

Leaning idly against his seat, he raised a hand to his lips, tracing them with a slow, deliberate motion. 'Turns out she is trying to seduce me. It's not that I'm horny or desperate—it's her,' he thought.

The dry, dusty desert air swirled around the vehicle as Myla drove off, forcing the windows up in an effort to keep the grit at bay.

Jonas let his eyes drift shut, sinking into the quiet, his expression turning contemplative. In his mind, he began sifting through a list of names, trying to piece together who could've set Natalie up to trap him.

But then, without warning, he furrowed his brows and suddenly spoke up, "Throw her out."

His voice, laced with irritation, cut through the silence of the car like a sharp blade, making the stillness feel even more oppressive.

6.Chapter 6 Another Test

Natalie had a peculiar trait. When she got startled, her reactions always lagged by a few seconds.

By the time the fear registered, the scariest part of the ordeal was usually over, leaving her no room for panicked screams or over-the-top reactions. Instead, she managed to appear unnervingly calm.

This odd quirk had been her saving grace so far. Despite everything that had happened, she hadn't broken down, hadn't screamed, and certainly hadn't lost control. She might have looked composed, but deep inside, she knew better than anyone that her calm was nothing more than delayed processing.

At this moment, Natalie couldn't be more thankful for her delayed reactions, because Jonas had just spoken in Nocriudorian, and Myla hadn't moved a muscle after his words. It was clearly another test.

People were most vulnerable to revealing their secrets when they were relaxed. Jonas's sudden remark wasn't idle curiosity—it was a trap, a calculated attempt to gauge her response. Fortunately, she hadn't taken the bait.

From the very beginning, Natalie had chosen to hide the fact that she understood Nocriudorian, knowing admitting it would've only deepened their suspicions about her. Now, though, the window to come clean had long since closed. If she got caught now, the consequences would be even worse.

Still, there was an upside to her pretense. Once they decided she didn't understand the language, they'd stop being cautious when speaking Nocriudorian around her. That meant more chances to gather useful information—information that might help her survive.

A tense silence stretched in the car. Jonas waited a moment, his sharp eyes flicking toward her. Natalie remained curled up in the passenger seat, unmoving, her face a mask of oblivion.

His tone, though still laced with annoyance, had softened slightly, losing its earlier edge. "What's that smell?" he asked abruptly.

This time, he spoke in American English, leaving no doubt that he wanted her to understand.

'Does he mean me?' Natalie's stomach sank as a chill ran down her spine. Before she could process it, Myla leaned closer, sniffing the air, her head tilting in Natalie's direction.

Panic seized her. Her heart, which had just started to settle, now felt like it was roasting over open flames. Her face drained of color as she hastily lowered her head and sniffed her clothes. 'I didn't sweat, so I shouldn't smell weird... right?'

But Jonas's growing impatience was impossible to ignore. From the backseat, his voice cut through the air, sharper this time. "Open the window."

Then, in the same breath, his tone shifted, darker and more decisive. "Forget it. Just throw her out."

Natalie's eyes went wide with shock, her stomach twisting into knots. 'It really is me? I smell bad?'

Myla, who had been content to stay out of it, caught a glimpse of Natalie's damp, glistening eyes through the corner of her gaze. Her pitiful expression tugged at something deep inside Myla—an instinctive flicker of compassion she couldn't ignore.

Myla pulled out half a pack of wet wipes from the glove compartment and tossed them onto Natalie's lap, her tone flat yet commanding. "The blood—wipe it off."

'Blood?' Natalie stared at the wet wipes in her hands, her mind racing as her eyes darted across her body. Her shoulder throbbed, and the back of her head ached, but she was sure she didn't have any bleeding wounds. 'Where's the blood coming from?'

Her gaze dropped to her knees, and then it hit her like a bolt of lightning. The realization drained the last traces of color from her face, which had only just begun to recover after Jonas's earlier, soul-shaking kiss.

With trembling hands, she yanked a few wet wipes from the pack, scrubbing frantically at her calves. It only took a few swipes for the pristine white tissues to be smeared with ominous red stains.

Her hands began to shake uncontrollably. The memories she had desperately tried to suppress clawed their way back to the surface, tearing at her already fragile nerves like a relentless storm. 'Dead bodies. Those were actual dead bodies. And those two kidnappers were lying right at my feet.'

Biting her lip so hard it nearly bled, she willed herself to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. She couldn't afford to cry—not now. Not when every second counted.

Natalie scrubbed until no visible traces of blood remained, even though her skin felt raw from the friction. She clutched the blood-streaked wipes in a daze, nausea rising from the pit of her stomach, choking her.

"Throw it away." Jonas's voice cut through the tension. His gaze locked onto the bloodied tissues, his irritation barely veiled beneath his cold tone.

Before Natalie could react, Myla reached over, snatching the tissues from her trembling hands. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Myla rolled down the window and flung the mess out.

She wanted to let in some fresh air. But the moment she cracked the window open, a gust of gritty air whooshed into the car, carrying with it the metallic tang of blood.

Myla hurriedly rolled the window back up, but it was too late. The stench had already reached Jonas.

Myla winced inwardly. 'Damn it. The monster in the backseat is definitely about to lose his temper.'

Her instincts proved correct. Jonas's face darkened, and his sharp brow furrowed in displeasure. "Stop the car," he growled, his voice low and menacing, like the calm before a violent storm.

Without hesitation, Myla slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to an abrupt halt. It was clear from her precise maneuvering that this wasn't her first time dealing with his temper.

Before the vehicle even came to a complete stop, Jonas shoved the door open, stepping out in one fluid motion. His legs carried him effortlessly to the side of the car, where he leaned against the doorframe with an almost predatory grace.

From his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He tapped the box against his wrist a couple of times before pulling one out and biting down on the filter. His bandaged hand flicked a lighter open, the small flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

For a moment, the shadows danced across his features, making him look almost otherworldly—beautiful and dangerous, all at once.

Before he could take the first drag, a phantom pain began to crawl up his left arm, so vivid it felt like a hot iron branding his skin. He knew it was nothing more than a cruel trick of his mind, yet the sensation refused to fade.

It wasn't until the cold weight of the silver bracelet on his wrist shifted slightly, sliding down to his forearm, that reality began to pull him back from the edge of the abyss.

He inhaled deeply, letting the sharp tang of tobacco flood his senses, forcibly suppressing the irritation boiling inside. It had been years since Jonas had thought about those days—years since the memories had clawed their way to the surface.

Jonas leaned against the passenger-side window, his imposing frame nearly blotting out the sunlight streaming into the car.

Natalie, practically glued to the seatback, peeked nervously toward Myla. She wanted to say something, but the realization hit her—she didn't even know the woman's name.

Myla, cold and stoic on the surface, was sharper than she appeared. The moment Natalie turned her head, Myla caught her gaze and locked onto it like a hawk.

As if reading Natalie's mind, Myla pointed at herself and spoke, her voice matter-of-fact, "I'm Myla Carr." She shifted her attention toward Jonas, who was standing outside the car, smoking. "Boss doesn't like the smell of blood."

The truth was, the metallic tang of blood in an enclosed space brought back childhood memories Jonas would rather forget. It made his head pound with the kind of pain that didn't just stay in his skull but seeped into his very bones.

And when Jonas had a headache, his notoriously foul temper came out to play. It wasn't just his own peace of mind that suffered—everyone within a ten-mile radius felt the ripple effects.

'Though today seems worse than usual,' Myla mused, stealing a glance at the pronounced vein pulsing at his temple. 'Could it be... after he kissed her, he suddenly remembered his embarrassing dysfunction? Maybe he's feeling insecure... or heartbroken?'

Her face remained impassive, but inwardly, Myla sighed, 'Guess we won't be making it to the rendezvous point on time today.'

Of course, Myla had no intention of sharing any of these thoughts with Natalie.

Natalie, meanwhile, couldn't begin to guess at the whirlwind of inner drama playing out behind Myla's blank expression. Instead, her focus lingered on Myla's earlier comment that caught Natalie off guard.

'Doesn't like the smell of blood?' Natalie thought, her heart skipping a beat. 'Maybe that means he won't hurt me...'

The faintest sense of relief seeped into her anxious mind, taking the edge off her mounting panic.

But Jonas wasn't one to miss even the subtlest shifts in mood. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Natalie's fleeting expression—the slight ease in her shoulders, the shallow exhale of breath. He saw right through her.

'Does this little spy really think I'm that easygoing?' He pressed a thumb against the throbbing vein on his temple.

Without warning, Jonas turned, pivoting back toward the car. He bent slightly, leaning in with one arm propped casually on the window frame.

7.Chapter 7 Dig Up Your Father

Natalie felt a shadow descend upon her. Retracting her gaze from Myla, she looked up to find Jonas's sharply defined face looming above her.

This time, Natalie didn't cower as she had earlier. Instead, she forced a stiff, polite smile, tugging the corners of her lips upward in a careful curve.

After all, she still needed him to take her somewhere safe. If playing nice could smooth things over, she was more than willing to try.

Jonas's brow arched slightly, his expression unreadable. 'I've got a splitting headache because of her damned eyes, and now she's smiling?'

He had always been contrary to a fault. A moment ago, her shrinking away from him, mistaking him for some brute, had rubbed him the wrong way. But now, her lack of fear was just as irksome.

Without warning, his calloused fingers gripped her soft cheek and gave it a playful tug, the roughness of his touch at odds with the smug, unruly grin spreading across his face.

His demeanor screamed reckless defiance. "Yeah, I really can't stand the smell of blood," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

'Can't stand it? Really?' Natalie thought uneasily, her nerves fraying as she caught a flicker of something unsettling—almost gleeful—in his gaze. "I..." she stammered, her voice faltering.

"Shh." Jonas silenced her with a finger pressed gently against her lips, his touch firm yet oddly intimate. With his other hand, he pulled the car door open, unbuckling her seatbelt in one fluid motion.

Before she could fully process what was happening, his strong arm was around her waist, lifting her out of the car with unsettling ease. She barely had time to gasp before something rough snaked around her wrists—a rope, coarse and unyielding, binding her hands tightly together.

The fear of the unknown had her trembling uncontrollably. It wasn't until she noticed him tying the other end of the rope to the car's handle that panic began to bloom in her chest.

Natalie tilted her head upward, her wide eyes meeting his as she searched for some explanation, her confusion evident.

Jonas lowered his gaze to meet hers, his striking blue eyes catching the golden hues of the setting sun, giving them a fleeting warmth that was almost deceptive.

With an air of infuriating calm, he reached out and lightly patted her head, as though she were a child who'd just done something praiseworthy.

Bending slightly, he leaned in close, his deep voice dropping to a velvety murmur, every syllable laced with a lazy, disarming charm. "So, do me a favor, will you? Run a couple of laps. Air it out a bit?"

The scene was almost picturesque—the warm light of dusk softening the sharp lines of his face, his tone so absurdly tender that it momentarily dulled the horror of his words. For a heartbeat, Natalie was too stunned to react.

It wasn't until Jonas climbed into the back seat of the car, reached out to pull the door shut, that the weight of his command hit her like a freight train, making her realize he wasn't joking.

Her body moved on instinct. She lunged forward, her stomach slamming painfully into the edge of the seat as she scrambled to stop him. She ignored the sharp sting in her ribs, focusing instead on grabbing hold of his arm with her bound hands.

Her slender fingers, soft and delicate, turned pale as she clung to him with every ounce of strength she could muster. The pressure made her fingertips flush a faint pink, leaving shallow indentations against the hard muscles of his arm.

Jonas held a cigarette between his teeth, exhaling lazily as if entirely unbothered by Natalie's feeble grip.

Truth be told, he could've shaken her off with just a flick of his arm, but instead, he chose to toy with her, using his free hand to pry her fingers off like someone indulging a curious kitten.

Natalie's wide eyes clung to him, her long, curled lashes trembling with unease. Her soft cheeks, still faintly marked from where his fingers had pressed earlier, flushed a delicate pink.

Every time he loosened her hold, she would lunge back, clutching his arm again with a pitiful determination, as though letting go would spell her demise. The desperation in her made her all the more tempting to torment.

Her fingers, already sore and reddened from exertion, began to lose their grip. Panicking, Natalie finally broke down, her voice trembling with a pleading note. "Sorry. I was wrong."

The wavering cry in her tone tugged at the air, fragile and full of regret. But not a single trace of pity flickered across Jonas's face. If anything, his smile grew wider, more devilishly handsome.

He tilted his head slightly, mocking her with feigned curiosity, "Oh? And what exactly were you wrong about?"

Desperation clawed at her chest. 'Wrong? About what? How am I supposed to know what I did wrong? I made sure to clean every trace of blood, stayed as silent as a ghost curled up in the back seat.

'What on earth did I do to provoke him like this? Is it because I thought he might be a decent human being? Or because I smiled at him? If that's the case... then he's a complete psychopath.'

"Can't figure it out? Maybe running a few laps will jog your memory." With that, he nudged the driver's seat with the toe of his boot, signaling Myla to start the car.

He kept his instructions vague on purpose. Watching Natalie flounder in confusion and panic was part of his game—a calculated ploy to rattle her, to see if fear would loosen her tongue and reveal something useful.

After all, this mission was critical. It involved delicate cooperation between two nations, leaving no room for error.

Myla, sitting in the driver's seat, lifted a hand to brush her forehead, her thoughts betraying her calm exterior. 'With tactics this brutal, it's no wonder Jonas is single. No woman would want a husband who treats a delicate beauty like this so cruelly.

'If she actually ran two laps, she'd probably collapse into pieces... What's the point of interrogation if she's not even in one piece?'

But she knew better than to undermine her boss in front of others. Instead, she glanced at Natalie and offered a small, measured consolation. "Don't worry. We don't kill civilians, nor do we torture spies to death. We are still in friendly cooperation with America."

In Nocriudor, they had the authority to enforce the law, which was why they had executed the two criminals listed on the red notice without hesitation.

But Myla thought there was no point in telling Natalie that. After all, they still didn't know where Natalie's loyalties lay. If she'd been sent to sabotage their covert mission, revealing too much could backfire disastrously.

To diffuse the tension, Myla quickly tossed Jonas an out. "Boss, the rendezvous time is almost up."

Her message was clear. She wanted him to stop playing around before this got out of hand.

'Ugh. It's exhausting being the emotionally competent one in this group,' Myla thought with a sigh. 'Without me, this team would fall apart faster than a cheap chair.'

Jonas's eyes flicked toward Myla, his gaze sharp and cold, clearly displeased with her interference. "Feeling sorry for her, are you? Why don't you run a few laps in her place?"

Myla froze, her lips pressing into a thin line. '...And this is why you've been single your entire life, Jonas. Completely deserved.'

Satisfied with her silence, Jonas turned his attention back to Natalie, his expression hardening as he noted her bowed head and rigid posture. "Speak," he ordered curtly.

Natalie's mind spun in circles, fixating on the earlier assurance that they wouldn't kill civilians or torture spies to death.

The realization hit her like a tidal wave—she wasn't going to die from torture here, at least not yet. The taut string of fear holding her together snapped all at once.

Still, she remained polite, her voice small and tentative. "I'm sorry..."

The words were barely out when she raised her head and her tears spilled over, glistening droplets cascading down her smooth cheeks. They shimmered like pearls, falling onto the dark leather seat beneath her and scattering into tiny, glistening splashes.

Jonas rolled the cigarette between his teeth, shifting it to one corner of his mouth as he squinted at her. 'Crying? Seriously? I didn't do anything to her.

'What, does she think running a couple of laps will kill her? Is this some kind of act? Though, I'll admit, she looks pretty when she cries.'

A low, mocking chuckle escaped him as he asked, "What's there to cry about?"

Natalie hadn't wanted to cry. She'd fought against it with everything she had. But the sheer relief of surviving, the realization that her life wasn't immediately at stake, was too much for her frayed nerves. Her defenses crumbled completely, and no amount of willpower could stop the flood.

"Scared of me?" Jonas asked, his voice laced with dark amusement.

Though Natalie's emotions were in shambles, a thin thread of reason still anchored her.

Hearing Jonas's neutral, almost unreadable voice, she forced herself to think. She knew one thing for sure—Jonas might not torture her or kill her outright, but his unpredictable moods could still spell trouble. Angering him might mean a slap or worse. And she hated pain.

"No, it's not that. I just... I remembered... Yesterday, around this time..." Natalie began, her voice trembling, her words barely coherent as fresh tears welled in her eyes.

She sniffled and tried again, though her voice quivered like a leaf in the wind. "I was... I was at home with my dad. We'd just decided... we were going to Glacier Peak to watch the sunset."

She'd intended to throw out some random excuse to appease him, but the words felt too real. As they escaped her lips, the weight of it all crashed down, shattering her fragile control.

Not even twenty-four hours had passed, yet her life had been upended so completely it felt like a cruel dream.

From the moment she'd been jolted awake by the news of her father's car accident in the middle of the night, everything had unraveled at breakneck speed.

She'd been whisked away by her grandfather's men, shoved onto a private jet. Aside from the sight of that cold, black coffin, she hadn't even seen her father's body.

And because she hadn't, a tiny sliver of hope clung stubbornly in her chest together with overwhelming sadness and fear, whispering lies she wanted desperately to believe. 'It's not real. Dad's not gone. This is all fake news, some nightmare I'll wake up from.'

She'd told herself that as soon as she reached Nocriudor, as soon as she stepped into her grandfather's house, her father would appear. He'd laugh, shake his head, and call this all an elaborate prank.

But the kidnappers' words, that cruel confirmation that her father had been murdered, kept echoing in her mind. Over and over, their callousness chipped away at her fragile denial until there was nothing left.

She finally realized that her father was gone. Forever. He'd never be there to take her to Glacier Peak or anywhere else ever again.

And now, the only thread connecting her to safety was this unpredictable, cold-eyed man. She wasn't even sure if he'd see her safely to her grandfather's house, let alone in one piece.

The weight of it crushed her, and Natalie crumbled beneath it. A fresh wave of grief hit her, fierce and unrelenting. Tears spilled down her cheeks like an unbroken string of pearls, each drop carving a trail of heartbreak on her delicate face.

Her slim shoulders began to quake, her frailty laid bare as though she might collapse into herself at any moment. She looked like a brittle, dying flower battered by a storm.

Jonas had never seen a woman cry like this before. In fact, no woman had ever dared cry in front of him.

He figured he should feel annoyed. Yet, as Natalie's tears spilled like tiny crystal beads, her quiet sniffles barely audible, there was something disarmingly delicate about the way she sobbed.

She cried so vulnerably, so unassumingly, that even Jonas, whose conscience had long since been scorched away, found himself wondering if he'd gone too far.

He wondered, 'But... I didn't even torture her. What's her deal?'

Her tear-streaked face didn't match the fierce, defiant glare from his memory. Now, with her wide eyes reddened, she seemed like an abandoned puppy, looking both vulnerable and lost.

'Damn it,' he thought. 'If I scare this little spy half to death and she loses her mind, where am I supposed to dig for answers?'

With a sigh, Jonas leaned back, summoning a patience he didn't even know he had. "Listen," he said, his tone softening ever so slightly. "Be a good girl. Tell me what you know, and in a few days, you'll be climbing that mountain with your dad."

The words had barely left his mouth when Natalie crumpled even further, like a wilting rose deprived of sunlight. Her soft sobs turned into heart-wrenching cries.

Jonas's patience—what little of it existed—evaporated in an instant. 'Is she seriously pushing her luck with me right now?'

Then her voice came, trembling, weak, barely more than a whisper. "My dad... My dad passed away yesterday... I don't have a dad anymore..."

Jonas blinked. 'Huh? If she's lying, she's damn convincing. But if she isn't... Well, poor girl.'

Still, in a war-torn country like this, death wasn't exactly a novelty. Lives were cheap, fleeting.

Jonas didn't even care much for his own, let alone anyone else's. As for family, he'd long since given up on the concept. When all his relatives want him dead, it'd be natural for him to stop expecting tearful goodbyes.

Her grief was incomprehensible to him. He couldn't wrap his head around how someone could cry over something like this.

With a shake of his head, Jonas decided this wasn't worth overthinking. "That's not a big deal," he said flatly. "Dig up your father, carry him to that mountain, and you can watch as many damn sunrises as you want."

8.Chapter 8 What A Hassle

The moment Jonas uttered those words, an awkward silence seemed to blanket the air.

Even Myla, who rarely displayed anything beyond her usual stoic demeanor, turned her head with an almost imperceptible wince. She couldn't help but think, 'Seriously? Even the biggest blockhead in the squad, Dominik Brooks, would know to at least mumble an apology after that.'

Her inner monologue continued, 'Hell, even if he didn't, he'd have the common sense to shut up .But our dear captain? Oh, he had just casually suggested digging up a corpse.A rotting corpse. To carry up a mountain. Talk about completely killing the mood.'

Natalie's wide, tear-streaked eyes shot up in stunned disbelief, a creeping suspicion filling her mind that she must have misheard him, wondering if she'd cried so much her brain was deprived of oxygen and she was hallucinating.

But no, those words had been real. And as their weight settled in, an overwhelming sense of sorrow and humiliation swept through her, crashing over her like a tidal wave.

Lowering her head, she let the tears fall silently, one crystalline drop after another, each landing with a soft, heartbreaking rhythm.

Though her crying wasn't disruptive, it stirred something uneasy in Jonas's chest. He couldn't quite name the feeling. 'Great. Just my luck if she cries herself to death in front of me. And these days, it's not killing that's hard—it's getting rid of the body. Especially a American one.'

With an irritated click of his tongue, Jonas reached under Natalie's arms with a swift, practiced motion, pulling her into his lap like she weighed nothing at all. At the same time, he flicked the cigarette from his fingers and slammed the car door shut with a sharp bang.

The sound made Natalie flinch. Her watery gaze fluttered upward, her vision blurred with tears, only to meet the piercing blue of his eyes closing in on her.

By the time her brain registered that something wasn't right, it was too late. Jonas's hand was already at the back of her neck, his grip firm and inescapable. And then he kissed her—hard.

"Mm..." A muffled whimper escaped her as his lips claimed hers with a ferocity that left no room for resistance. The kiss was urgent, searing, as if he wanted to imprint himself on her very soul.

Meanwhile, sitting behind the wheel, Myla caught a glimpse of the scene unfolding in her peripheral vision. With a resigned sigh, she thought, 'Well, there goes my peace. And this damned car doesn't even have one of those privacy partitions I read about in billionaire romance flicks. Unbelievable.'

Myla reached for her camouflage jacket hanging off the back of her seat and threw it over her head, as if blindfolding herself could free her from this erotic scene.

Back in the backseat, Natalie, already in a daze from all that crying, felt herself sinking deeper into the moment, overwhelmed by Jonas's scorching proximity.

His grip on her nape was unyielding, his heated breath enveloping her like a cage. She was drowning in it, her thoughts slipping away as her senses filled with him.

Jonas didn't stop until her soft gasps and sobs turned into faint, desperate pants. When he finally eased up, the kiss softened, his pace slowing just enough for her to catch her breath. Satisfied, he shifted his arm, pulling her closer against his chest.

Natalie slumped against him, soft and compliant like a doll without a spine. There was a faint scent of fruit lingering on her, and Jonas had to admit—holding her like this wasn't half bad. Comfortable, even.

When she remained still, he smirked lazily, tilting his head down to nip at her smooth, delicate cheek.

A soft whimper of protest escaped her lips, weak but unmistakably alive. Content, his calloused fingers slid slowly along her silky neck and into her hair, pressing gently against the back of her head to guide her face into his chest.

Natalie's face smothered against the solid wall of muscle, the heat and firmness making her feel like she might suffocate. She wriggled just enough to nudge her nose into the slight gap between his pecs, gasping for air as she tried to reposition herself.

That movement earned her a sharp pat on her butt from his large, warm hand wrapped around her waist. "Keep crying, and I'll really toss you out and make you run laps," he muttered, his tone half-teasing, half-serious.

Jonas snorted inwardly, 'Well, well, the little one finally stopped squirming.'

Deciding he might as well commit, his bronzed, muscular arms tightened around her slim waist, pinning her against the seatback behind the driver's seat. And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed her again.

In the driver's seat, Myla sat bolt upright, her usual stoicism crumbling under the weight of sheer disbelief.

Her expression, or what little she could manage, twisted into a monumental eye roll. 'Could he at least pretend to be decent? Seriously, all this kissing is so annoying. Does he not know when to quit?'

Meanwhile, Jonas pulled back slightly, just enough to study Natalie who was dizzy from all this kissing. She was nestled in his arms, her cheek resting against his chest. Her hair clung to her flushed face, damp with sweat.

Even her delicate eyelids were tinged pink, trembling faintly as if she were caught in some restless dream. She let out soft, barely audible murmurs, her dainty fingers clutching at his shirt as though afraid he might vanish.

It didn't take long for Jonas to make out the faint words she was muttering.

'She's cold?' he thought, irritated. 'What a hassle.' Still, he raised his foot and nudged the driver's seat with it. "Turn off the damn AC."

Myla, the ever-reliable chauffeur, pressed a couple of buttons like a machine. "Boss, the AC's probably busted from the crash earlier," she said dryly.

Jonas sighed inwardly, resigned, 'Figures.'

But the girl in his arms kept inching closer, her small body instinctively seeking warmth. Her soft wiggles stirred an unexpected frustration in him. He grumbled, pressing a hand to her forehead in an attempt to push her away.

She refused to be deterred, nestling back into him with stubborn insistence, clinging to him like a vine.

Jonas's brows drew together, his patience slipping. "Why are you so damn clingy?" he muttered, the irritation in his voice laced with something he wasn't quite ready to name.

Myla perked up at Jonas's remark and offered with a friendly tone, "Boss, want me to take over and calm her down?"

Jonas raised his head, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "You? You have the gut to let me drive you around?"

The jab shut Myla up instantly. She clamped her mouth shut and returned her focus to the wheel, sulking silently. But her attention snapped back when Jonas stretched a hand toward her.

Confused, she shot him a questioning glance.

"The jacket," he said curtly.

Myla rolled her eyes but complied, passing him the jacket with a muted grumble.

Jonas snatched it from her without much care, then wrapped it around the small figure in his arms. His movements were brisk, almost impatient.

A few moments passed, and he found himself glaring at Natalie, now fast asleep and tucked snugly against him. His lips curled with disdain as his thoughts turned sharp. 'What, she thinks I'm some kind of human pillow? Is she out of her mind?'

Annoyed, he shoved her forward, grabbed the edges of the jacket swaddling her, and hoisted her up. Without a second thought, he plopped her onto the seat beside him like she was nothing more than luggage.

The abrupt loss of warmth made Natalie frown in her sleep, her delicate brows knitting together as her body instinctively curled tighter into the jacket. Exhausted from her earlier crying fit, though, she didn't wake, merely burrowing deeper into the makeshift cocoon.

The car bumped and jolted along the war-torn, cratered road, the uneven ride making Natalie's small frame sway precariously at the seat's edge.

Jonas leaned back lazily as he watched her with detached amusement. She teetered with every bump, and he didn't lift a finger to stop it. To him, it was just entertainment.

When the car hit another pothole, her body finally rolled into the narrow gap between the seats, the soft rustling sound pulling his attention.

'Oh, so she's awake now?' His gaze flicked downward, the corners of his mouth twitching in a condescending smirk.

But what he saw only deepened his disdain. Natalie lay crumpled in the cramped space, her head tilted back slightly, her soft lips parted as if she couldn't breathe through her nose.

Jonas scoffed internally, 'Seriously? Still asleep? What happened to all that whining? No more complaints about being cold? No more gasping for air?'

His fingers drummed idly on the armrest, but his mind wandered back to the awkward way she'd fumbled in his arms earlier. He looked away, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. 'Where on earth did this clumsy little fool even come from?'