Trapped in a madman’s arms, trapped in a madman’s house—trapped in a world gone mad—Kelly Doyle finally gave up trying to get free. Neither of the two men seemed to speak plain English, and she had given up trying to remember any of her old high school French, so she couldn’t try to see if they spoke that language, either. Of course, they didn’t sound like they were speaking French, or Spanish, or German, or any language she recognized. So she lay there, squeezed to borderline bruising, panting and trying desperately not to cry, in the arms of the unnervingly good-looking, overly muscular stranger who was holding her.It wasn’t easy. Some people had bad days. She was having a bad decade. First had come the death of her parents in a collision with a drunk driver, leaving her almost penniless three years before. Then had come the offer of a great job, which had forced her to move away from all of her friends and family, halfway across the country. Then the company employing her had gone bankrupt, and all the employees had been let go a year and a half ago.So she had tried to profit from her hobbies.
