Kidnapped a Don for Christmas

A Stranger in Need

Elyandre’s POV

I’ve been staying here in the middle of nowhere for the past three days, and honestly, it’s starting to drive me crazy. Of course, my parents have been calling nonstop, worried sick about me. I don’t blame them. I just couldn’t tell them what really happened. What would I even say?

Hi, Mom, Dad, my boyfriend cheated on me with my sister, you know, your other daughter, Andrea, and I had a full-on emotional breakdown, so I ran away to our family cabin in the woods.

Yeah, no. That’s not a conversation I’m ready to have. So instead, I told them I just needed to get away, that I wanted some time to think and didn’t want anyone to know where I was. When they asked what went wrong between Mark and me, I told them I’d sort it out when I was ready. I didn’t say a word about Andrea. I don’t believe it’s my place to tell them. If Andrea had any conscience at all, she’d confess what she’s done. But knowing her, she won’t. She’ll probably play the victim, like always. Still, I can’t think about that right now. I came here to clear my mind, but this little cabin is starting to feel smaller and smaller by the hour. The silence is too loud, the walls too close, and the loneliness too thick. I can’t sit here any longer. I glance out the window. Snow clouds are gathering again, but I don’t care. I need air.

I pull on my thick jacket, grab my old wooden sleigh, and step outside. The cold hits my face instantly. The path that winds past the cabin leads deep into the forest. Everything is silent except for the crunch of my boots in the snow. The cabin is a little isolated, so far that I haven’t seen another soul since I arrived. I kind of like that. No people, no drama, no reminders of Mark and Andrea. Just me, the woods, and the sound of my thoughts. But as I round a bend, something catches my eye, dark metal half-buried in the snow. My steps are slow. There, down in a ditch, is an SUV. The front end is smashed, the windshield cracked. My heart jumps. There’s someone inside.

“Oh no,” I whisper.

Without thinking, I hurry down the slope, my boots slipping a little in the snow. The closer I get, the clearer it becomes, the car must’ve gone off the road last night. I reach for the door handle and pull. To my relief, it’s unlocked. Inside, there’s a man in a dark suit slumped over the steering wheel. He looks… expensive. The kind of man who doesn’t belong in a snow-covered ditch. His hair is dark, his jaw sharp, and blood is trickling down from a cut on his forehead. His suit is ruined, his tie loose.

“Hey!” I call softly, tapping his shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t move at first, and panic flares in my chest. Then, slowly, his eyes flutter open, unfocused but alive. I let out a shaky breath.

“Thank God,” I mutter. “For a second, I thought you were dead.”

He groans, and I try to help him sit up. That’s when I feel it, the cold, hard press of a gun against my side. I freeze. For a split second, my heart stops. But then, surprisingly, I just roll my eyes.

“Seriously? You’re bleeding and half-dead, and you still want to play tough guy?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at me dazedly. I sigh. “Okay, look, I don’t care who you are or why you have a gun. You’re hurt, and it’s freezing. Either you let me help you, or you’re going to die out here. Your choice.”

I point toward the sleigh. “Get on. I’ll take you to my cabin. It’s not far, and you need warmth. Don’t argue, just nod.”

To my relief, he nods weakly, clearly too exhausted to fight. It takes some effort, but I manage to get him onto the sleigh. He’s heavy, really heavy, and by the time I start pulling, I’m already panting. Snow begins to fall again, light at first, then thicker. My arms ache, but I keep going. By the time we reach the cabin, it’s snowing hard. The man has passed out again, his head lolling to the side. I somehow get him inside, half-dragging, half-carrying. It’s a miracle I don’t drop him. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of guy you’d expect to see in a movie, not unconscious on my floor. When I finally manage to haul him onto the bed, I notice something that makes me gasp. There’s blood seeping through his shirt, not just from his head. He’s been shot.

“What the hell…” I whisper, pulling back his jacket. The wound looks bad. Was he robbed? Attacked? He doesn’t look like a criminal. His watch alone probably costs more than my car. Maybe someone tried to kill him.

I shake my head. “You just had to crash near my cabin, didn’t you?”

I try to make him more comfortable, but I’m clumsy as ever. At one point, I accidentally bumped his head against the bedpost. He groans, and I whisper. “Sorry! Sorry! I’m new at this whole nurse thing!”

I know I need to get his wet clothes off, but the thought makes me blush. Still, he’s soaked through, and if I don’t, he’ll freeze.

“Oh, crap,” I mutter. “Okay, mister, please don’t wake up while I do this.”

I grab the scissors from the bathroom and start cutting his shirt open. My breath catches, and I cannot help staring. His chest is sculpted, hard muscle, perfect lines, a literal six-pack. He looks like he was carved by the gods themselves. When I move to take off his trousers, I realize he’s not wearing anything underneath.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “You’re commando?”

My face turns bright red. “Seriously, who even does that? How do you walk around with that thing?”

My eyes are darting away. Still, I can’t help but glance back. The man is… well, definitely not lacking in that department. The only other man I’ve ever seen naked is Mark, and let’s just say, Mark doesn’t compare.

Then a deep voice startles me. “If you’re done staring at me, maybe you can tell me where I am and why I feel like I’ve been in a war?”

I jump, nearly dropping the scissors.

“Oh my God, you’re awake!” I stammer. “Umm… sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just, wow. Never mind. You’re in my cabin. You had a car accident, and you’ve been shot. I don’t know what happened to you. Maybe you were robbed? Who are you, anyway? You look like a rich businessman. That suit is definitely Armani.”

He groans again, his voice low and hoarse. “I just know I’m in pain. Can you give me something for it? Whiskey? Anything? Maybe you should… I don’t know, get the bullet out of me. I’m not a doctor, I think.”

“What do you mean you think? Okay, you know what, don’t move. I’ll find some whiskey. My dad always keeps a bottle here somewhere.” I turn toward the kitchen, muttering to myself. “Please let the bullet be out already, because if I have to take it out, I’m going to faint.”

I rummage through the cupboard, hands shaking slightly. Behind me, I hear him shift, groaning again. Whoever he is, he’s lucky I found him. Still, I can’t help but wonder what kind of man drives through the mountains, gets shot, and carries a gun like that.

Whoever he is, he’s now my problem, at least until the snow stops.