Free Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) by Manda Mellett

door ajar, I carry the box in and put it down. I move through to the sitting room to get a pen from my desk. Picking one up, I turn round.
    “Oh!” I gulp. The delivery man is standing right behind me. Stunned, I stupidly do nothing but stand and gape, too shocked to move, and then I hear my front door firmly slamming shut, and another man appears.
    Taken aback, I gasp in surprise and say indignantly, “Will you get out of my house, please?”
    But they ignore me. The one who’d entered first shrugs off the courier jacket, revealing a smart, expensive-looking business suit underneath. My outrage at having my home invaded becomes tinged with nervousness, and then promptly progresses to outright fear. I haven’t a clue why these men have forced themselves into my house, and any satisfactory reason evades me. This can’t be good. In fact, it’s damn terrifying.
    “What are you doing here? What do you want?” I start trembling. My home’s my safe place, my refuge, and now it’s being violated. I open my mouth to scream, but the first man quickly covers it with his hand, cutting off any sound. His hand is warm, his touch firm, the scent of sandalwood wafts to my nostrils. I recoil from the stranger’s touch but his free arm snakes out around me, pulling me back.
    “Just do as we say, Miss Carson. Don’t make a sound, and you won’t get hurt.” Logically I know that screaming won’t help much as my neighbour on one side is deaf and the house on the other side is empty. No one could hear me so, reluctantly, I nod, and he removes his hand. I’m relieved I no longer have physical contact with the man. I note that while he takes a small step back, he keeps his eyes fixed on me as if trying to read my face. I swallow.
    “What … what do you want?” I’m visibly shaking now. “Please tell me what you want!” Trapped in my house with two unknown men, both tall and imposing, towering over my small five-foot-four frame, I’m terrified. Hunter’s warnings come back to me. This time, I might have gone too far!
    “Be quiet,” the second man commands. I shudder at the harsh order and look up at the man who’s spoken. Dark eyes give nothing away, but he regards me as intently as the one who pretended to be a courier. I watch as he looks around the room until his eyes alight on my desk chair. He wheels it over.
    “Sit.”
    Frozen, unable to move of my own volition, I stay standing. Though I try to shake off his hold, the pseudo-courier takes my arms and manoeuvres me gently until I’m sitting down. Something in his eyes changes, and I see a glint of compassion there. The features of this man’s face are softer than those of his companion. I force myself to take in as much detail as I can. If this is a robbery, I’ll need to describe them to the police. If I survive, of course. As I take in their appearance, I can’t prevent a whimper escaping.
    Their slight accents, together with olive skin and dark eyes, show they are not English. They look perhaps Mediterranean or, and I can’t avoid the obvious truth, Arab. I swallow, thinking fast, as they offer no clue as to why they are here. Amahad. It’s something to do with Amahad. A cold shiver runs down my spine, at odds with the sweat on my palms. My heart starts racing as I panic, with the realisation that my chess pieces have come to life.
    “I would say fifty, sixty kilos at most.”
    I hear the voice from behind me. What the heck are they doing? It sounds like they’re discussing my weight now? If so, they’re obviously grossly underestimating, but I’m certainly not going to enlighten them. There’s no way I’m only nine stone – are they blind? Unbidden words from my memory sweep into my mind, the words my father had so caringly spoken seven years ago at that one and only meeting I’d ever had with him. You’re an utter waste of space. You’re disgusting. Fat, ugly and utterly useless to me.
    “I agree.” The man in front of me is speaking to his