Heavy Metal Heart: A Bad Boy Rock Star Romance (17 page)

Seriously? She kidnapped me because she’s jealous?

"Look, Torsten will give you money, a new job, whatever else you need for your family. He actually cares about people who struggle. If you need help getting by, you could have asked! You didn't have to snatch me from my room."

Crina threw her head back and laughed as if Helena was a stand-up comedian. The sound of her laughter filled the small room and echoed almost as loudly as the music upstairs. Clearly, she didn't think anyone would hear her. Helena also realized she could no longer hear the concert, and wondered if it was over or if they were too far away. 

"I thought your boyfriend was a rock star, not one of our politicians," Crina guffawed, wiping tears in her eyes. "But even if he is an angel on earth, you're already cuffed to a chair. He probably won’t be pleased, so we'll just stick with the plan." 

"How exactly are you going to pull this off?"
And how do you expect to not get caught? There are thousands of people here for a concert!

"A drop-off location has been established." Crina's cool, carefree demeanor returned. "I left a note for your dear hubby to find. All he has to do is drop the cash at the spot by the deadline and he gets his princess back." 

"And if he doesn't?" she challenged.

Another wry smile tugged at the corners of Crina's darkly painted lips. 

"Then he's not a smart man." 

Helena's eyes flickered over to the giant, masked man who remained silent the entire time. He stood in front of the door with his tree-trunk forearms crossed in front of his chest. He towered over both women with his feet slightly apart. She wondering how this silent sentry got involved with Crina. 

"Gregor's a strong, silent type, as you can see." Crina caught Helena's gaze and walked over to pat the giant man's forearm affectionately. "He's the best security I've ever hired. Too many stupid kids tried breaking in and vandalizing the castle until he came along. Of course, he gets a handsome chunk of the ransom money, too." 

Gregor's eyes were dark underneath his dark mask. Helena couldn't read any expression or intent from them. She shifted again in her seat, praying he wouldn't get any closer to her.

"Oh, don't worry, dear. Gregor is not the type to rape or torture you." 

Ah, good. So comforting.

"But if your music man doesn't pay on the deadline, there will be consequences. And we'll need to send him photos of those consequences." Crina spoke as if she were placating a child. 

She leaned down until she was inches away from Helena's face, holding onto the armrests of her chair. "Gregor is an expert at giving black eyes without causing serious bodily harm. So cheer up, sweetheart. At best, we won't touch a hair on your pretty blonde head. At worst...well, you won't look so pretty for a few days." 

Helena tried to swallow the dry lump in her throat but instead felt like her throat was closing up. Fear paralyzed her. She couldn't move or spit out a "Fuck you, bitch.". She tried to think, but couldn't pull her thoughts together. She wished desperately to remember what Torsten said to her during her drunken outburst. 

Maybe he said he loves me, but what if that was a dream?

If her frazzled, hungover brain could just recall his last words, she would at least have an idea of whether or not he would come to save her. 

Torsten felt thankful that, as a rock star, he wasn't obligated to smile. His jaw would be as sore as a prostitute’s after all these fan photos. Still, the nervous impatience filled him to return to Helena.

"You are a hero in our country!" exclaimed the young man who would not let go of his arm. "Your music expresses all the struggles and frustrations that our people feel!"

"Thank you." He tried his best to sound earnest, but his eyes kept flickering around the room, hoping to see the fans filing themselves out, rather than overstaying their welcome. The Romanian fans were generally a reserved, quiet bunch, maybe due to the language barrier. Many of them came to the meet-and-greet, asked for photos, then left. Even the girls did not throw themselves at him like those in western Europe.

"Look, man, it was great to meet you," he said, throwing in a smile for good measure. "But I've got to go somewhere quiet. You know, let my eardrums recover."

"You will come back to Romania?" the fan asked desperately.

"Of course, man. I love Romania!" Torsten gave him a comradely slap on the back and the guy finally let him go.

Torsten walked quickly out of the great room, not bothering to say anything to his band mates. He figured if Helena was still passed out, he’d come back to drink and properly mingle with the fans.

Yeah right,
 he told himself.
Once you see her angelic, sleeping face, you'll stay up all night watching her sleep, just to make sure she's okay. Because you're fucking hopelessly in love with her.

In his mind, he pictured her twisted, drunken expression as she threw those poisonous words at him. He didn't expect her to stab him right as his core.

She made him feel like no other woman did. He couldn’t get enough of her smile, her quick wit, and those dangerous curves, but love? He didn't know the depth his feelings until she accused him of not having them at all. Seeing her heartbroken because of him jolted his stubborn head out of the sand. He closed off his heart to loving another person for so many years. It only opened for music and running his business like a well-oiled machine.

He slowed his walked down the hall when he saw their room door was wide open. Curious, he cocked his head. Was she expecting him? Waiting in bed naked, showing an exhibitionist streak?

He smirked to himself as he approached the door.
Oh, Helena. I'll have to spank you for this. Nobody gets to see those lovely tits and ass but me.

He stopped in the open doorway. The fire in the massive brick fireplace still burned, casting a warm glow across the entire room. Helena was not waiting for him in bed, but a piece of paper sat on the pillow. Intrigued, he picked it up and unfolded it.

As he read it, his blood ran cold. 

WE HAVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND. BRING ONE MILLION EUROS TO THE EAST TOWER BY 5 AM OR WE’LL TURN HER BLACK AND BLUE. COME ALONE. IF WE SEE POLICE OUTSIDE THE CASTLE, WE'LL START EARLY.

Torsten's hands shook as the corners of his vision began turning red. Rage built up inside him like a volcano under pressure. He knew he'd explode once he saw the faces of whoever did this.

He crumpled up the note and threw it in the fire. The clock on the wall read 1:00 am. That gave him three hours to put together the money
if 
he actually intended to pay them.

Fuck these cowards, they're not getting shit. But I
will
get Helena back.

"FUCK!" he cried out in anguish and slammed his fist against the bedpost. The thought of Helena captured and scared tormented him. If they hurt her at all, those fucks wouldn't leave the castle alive.

He paced the room trying to think clearly through his rising rage.

I need to be smart about this. If they outnumber me I could be dead before Helena can get away.

His hand coiled into a fist at his side like a snake. He raised it to punch the bedpost again but stopped himself, flexing his fingers.

I need to save my punches for the ones that deserve them.

***

At four o'clock Torsten left the room with a large duffel bag in one hand, his demeanor noticeably calmer. He headed east, unsure how exactly to get into the tower but trusting he would find the way.

The castle was eerily quiet and felt empty at this time of day. There was no feeling of tension in the air, nothing seemed amiss. He'd gone to the room last night feeling tired, but was wide-eyed with adrenaline as soon he read that note. Outwardly he remained cool and collected. Inside, he felt like an enraged bull whose only purpose was to gore the matador that toyed with him.

The end of the hallway stopped abruptly. Before him stood a roped-off staircase. The sign in front of it read, "EAST TOWER CLOSED FOR RENOVATION. FOR YOUR SAFETY, DO NOT ENTER."

Torsten stroked his beard thoughtfully then stepped over the tape and began to ascend the staircase. He didn't notice this off-limits area earlier and the castle staff never told him about any renovations.

Could this kidnapping be orchestrated by someone who works here?
 he wondered.

As he ran up the narrow steps, taking two at a time, he glanced out the small, triangular windows. Dawn approached, lighting up the sky in a rich, pale pink. The full moon began to fade as distant wolves howled in the dark, Romanian forest.

It would have been a perfect, beautiful sunrise to watch with Helena if these fuckhead cowards hadn't snatched her like stolen merchandise. Torsten ran up the steps faster, eager to lie in wait at his destination. 

After what felt like an eternity he reached the top of the staircase and stepped into the circular room.

The tower stood empty except for a single table against the stone wall. Not a soul was in sight and Torsten felt a wave of relief wash over him. He'd gotten there first. Across the room, Torsten saw a doorway and another staircase leading down, identical to the one he just ascended. 

Whether they come from there, or from the stairs behind me, I'll be able to hear them
.

He dropped the duffel bag on the floor with a heavy thud. Leaning against the table, he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and lit it. The raging, white-hot anger building within him subsided to a cool, calculating simmer. 

Growing up on the streets of Oslo taught him a few things about petty criminals like these. From what he could gather, this was being pulled by very few people, probably between one and three idiots who also had about three brain cells between them. They probably hadn't hurt Helena
yet
, and almost certainly wouldn't kill her. They were definitely too pussy to do that. 

They'll turn into the most straight-laced angels on earth after I'm done with them.

He took a long drag and exhaled the smoke slowly through his nostrils. His watch read 4:15 am. All he had to do was wait 45 minutes for the scumbags to show up. 

"Keep fucking walking!" Crina jabbed her billy club into Helena's back as Gregor kept shoving her up the stairs. 

Helena hissed between her teeth in pain as she fell forward again. Her knees were certainly black and blue already, and they'd only gone up about twenty steps.

"I can't keep fucking walking if you keep fucking shoving and prodding me!" she protested loudly.

"You better check that attitude, missy. Or Gregor will get an early start on that pretty face." 

Helena rolled her eyes in reply. After hearing that threat hundreds of times in the past four hours she felt fairly confident it was an empty one. Gregor remained silent and did everything Crina told him to do. She appeared to be the mastermind and his only purpose was to look intimidating. 

Helena kept on clumsily up the steps, her hands still cuffed behind her. The stairwell was dark, but daylight began creeping through the arrow slit windows. She bit her lip against the soreness in her joints and wished to be back in the bath house soaking in luxurious hot water, but this time with Torsten. 

Torsten, did you ever find their note? Are you going to pay them? Are you even coming at all for me?

Her heart and mind raced in unison as her exhausted feet trudged up and up. They were almost to the top. She didn't know what the time was, but it had to be nearly five. Crina spent the last two hours pacing the small storage room, glancing at the clock every two minutes. They left for the tower at four-thirty after Crina determined they should get there early to be ahead of Torsten. 

"We're going to be rich, Gregor!" she squealed in delight, adding a small spring in her step. "We can leave this forsaken country and go to western Europe! I'd really like to settle in Spain, or maybe Italy." 

Despite her situation, Helena smiled to herself. Crina's mentions of those countries brought memories with Torsten to the forefront of her mind. In Barcelona, they walked along the beach to a semi-secluded alcove where they fucked against the cliff wall. He made her come so hard, she saw stars in broad daylight. In Rome, she couldn't keep her hands off his thighs, ass, and crotch during the Pope's Mass at the Vatican. He insisted that she stop teasing him, or take his cock down her throat until she drained him dry. They found a secluded corner and she chose the latter.

Helena stepped one foot out then the other and realized there were no more steps to climb. 

She looked up as Gregor’s rough hands forced her to her knees. Tears flooded her eyes as raw emotion overloaded her. There he stood, Torsten. 

He looked positively casual as if he waiting patiently while she finished her makeup for a date. Leaning against a table with his feet crossed in front of him, the sinewy muscles of his forearms crossed like ropes in front of his chest. A nearly-finished cigarette dangled from his mouth, soon to join the several butts littered on the floor surrounding him. 

As soon as he laid eyes on Helena his entire stance changed. His expression went from boredom to worry. His brows furrowed as his razor sharp eyes focused on her. He stood up straight, immediately filling the small room with his powerful presence and tossed the cigarette from his mouth. 

"Helena! My love, did they hurt you?" 

She shook her head, speechless and overwhelmed with the emotion of just seeing him there.
You really came for me! 

Torsten held out a hand, palm open. "Hand her over to me." His voice was calm, if even friendly. 

"Hand us the money first," Crina demanded. 

Torsten didn't move except to narrow his eyes and cock his head slightly at Crina. "You're one of the castle employees."

"Quit stalling! It doesn't matter who I am. Just hand over the money and we'll let your precious girl go." Crina's voice tremored and became shrill. Helena glanced at her and saw her lips trembling ever so slightly. Even with Gregor at her side, Torsten scared her, as he should.