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He turns his head and eyes me. For a split second, concern flashes in his eyes. That is until the length of his gaze rolls down my chest and to the tight leggings clinging to my legs. I temper my body’s reaction to his assessment. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me in tight clothing before. It’s practically a uniform. His eyes linger on my thighs. Oh...he’s a leg man for sure. Good to know. It has been feeling a little hot in here. It might be time to get out the shorts to make him a little more amenable.

I walk up the stairs calmly, swaying my hips confidently since the poor guy deserves a treat after being tied up in a basement.

When I reach the door, I wait for a moment, but I hear nothing.

I close it, lock the door, apply the dead bolt, attach the padlock, and then I run to the bathroom, sink to my knees, and throw up.

Chapter Three

Austin

This isn’t too bad. I’ve been in worse situations. Sure, I’m tied up and chained to a hot water pipe, which thankfully has yet to turn on. But I’ve put others through worse, and I’m not sure this entirely counts as torture.

The comfy bed, the memory foam pillow, the handmade blanket. She’s gone out of her way to ensure I’m comfortable, which has me slightly concerned I’m here for the long haul. But darling Olivia,such a pretty name, looked sick with guilt. I bet she’s up there pacing as I lie here relaxed. The thought brings me a little joy.

The chains are good quality, not thin or wispy. She’s obviously done her research. The cable ties are an added touch—quite simple to remove if you know how, but I’ll leave them on for now.

I have a reasonable amount of room to move around despite the death-row-style chain around my waist binding my hands and feet. I’m almost surprised she left out the Hannibal Lecter mask.

I can bite, too, baby.

I scan the room. It looks like it’s under renovation. The flooring is half complete, and spare wooden boards lean against the corner. Sports equipment fills the industrial shelving unit: yoga mats, blocks, weights, medicine balls, and even one of those shaking dumbbells that tone your arms is on there. Not sure I can imagine her using one of those very often.She seems more of a no-frills kind of girl.

My mattress is pressed up against the corner of the room, next to an array of pipes that connect to a water heater on the other side of the basement. The wooden stairs hug the far wall, and from my position, I have a full view of the entire space. Despite the concrete floor beneath my mattress, a worn rug had been placed at the side so I could stand without placing bare feet on the cold floor.

Paint is peeling on all four walls, a small yellow water ring stains the ceiling on the far corner, and the window rattles as soon as there is a light breeze. Basements generally aren’t where people’s interior design skills should be judged, and I bet that given her effort to make me comfortable here, the upstairs of the house is significantly homelier.

Standing up, my knees creak a little, and I try to stretch my muscles loose. I step off the rug and reach as far as possible. The chains impede much exploration. Like a dog tied to its kennel, I’m kept on a tight leash.

I can’t see anything obvious that I’ve missed. The wicker chair she was perched on earlier has a little cushion. I attempt to reach it, but it’s a few yards away. No luck there, but its presence forms a small ball of anticipation in my chest. Perhaps she’ll be spending some time with me down here after all.

Now that I’m standing, I pat myself down, checking my pockets. My phone and wallet are gone.Clever girl—always remembers the details.

However, she’s left my shoes on, which means she probably hasn’t checked the small pocket inside my boot.

It’s a little James Bond. But when you’re the boss, you can indulge in a little excess. Besides, my past life isn’t entirely in the past, and it’s good to be prepared.

I lean back against the wall, balancing so I can awkwardly lift my foot and pull it over my knee. Lifting my jeans, I slip my fingers past the tough leather and into the side of the boot. I unhook the piece of string that's wound arounda small button and pull out the tiny burner phone. Switching it on, I call Luca, my right-hand man, oldest friend, and a ruthless bastard.

He answers immediately.

“Boss, fuck, I thought you were missing. You never miss Friday lunch. You know I like to get your opinion on the new experiments.”

“I am...technically. Although I’m starting to think I should miss Friday lunch every now and then. I’m starting to get a reputation.”

“You know you love trying the new product just as much as I do, old man,” he jests, despite being only six months younger than me. “So, where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

“No need. I’m with someone, and I want to see how this plays out. Can you cover things for a few days?” I keep my voice steady and words vague.

“Yes, boss. What’s your favorite animal?” Our code question for situations like this. Another habit from our pasts that we haven’t been able to shake. My answer determines the message I want to convey.

“Polar bears.”

Cold. Ruthless. Killers. And complete goofballs.

I’ve told him I’m fine, and he’ll believe it now.

“Wait, did you feel that?” He panics.