Page 10

Chapter Nine

Quinn

Jacob carries me into his bedroom, and I’m smacked in the face with the most bizarre sight I’ve ever seen. I close my eyes and open them to make sure I’m not seeing things. Nope, still there.

The bed is a massive gothic structure about the size of my whole bedroom. Four posters, carved into patterns of vines, and a red canopy to match the silky sheets. Where Dracula would ravish his victims before jumping in his coffin for a nap. It’s as unlike the rest of the man-pad apartment as anything could be.

I’m so surprised by the bed it takes me a second to notice the additions. Metal restraints and leather cuffs are all around it, attached to the bottom corners and hanging from the tops of the posts.

When I manage to look at the rest of the room, my mouth slackens. There’s equipment everywhere. A rack full of dildos and butt plugs. Another with all sorts of spanking implements. There are a couple of benches in different shapes and, over in one corner, a shiny metal cage. He pauses at the entrance and lets me take it all in.

“Was there a closing-down sale at a sex dungeon?” I manage to squeak out.

“All custom-made. Never used. You’ll be the first to try it.”

“Oh.”

It’s the most I can bring myself to say. The man is serious. He’s been planning this for a long time. My eyes drift to the cage again, and I shiver. “Are you going to lock me in that thing?”

“Not tonight. That’s for serious punishments, if you do something really bad.”

He sets me on the bed. The silk sheets are slippery on my skin, but I keep the towel clutched tight. “What counts as really bad?”

“Endangering yourself. Lying to me. Touching yourself without permission.”

Say what? He sits next to me, and the mattress dips under his weight. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to. Only I decide when you get to come. It could be ten times a day or not for a month. My choice.”

Not for a month? There’s no way I’m going to follow that stupid rule. I smile sweetly. “Of course. I understand.”

His snort tells me he’s not fooled, but who cares? That’s one thing he’ll never stop me doing.

“Right. Towel off.” He holds out his hand.

“Do you have pajamas for me?”

“Of course not.” He waits, and after a moment, I unwrap the towel and hand it over. He’s already seen me naked, so what’s the point of getting shitty about it? He uses the towel to rub the worst of the water off my hair.

“That’ll have to do for tonight. You need to sleep. Lie down.” He taps the pillow, and I realize all over again how exhausted I am. I lay my head on it, the silk cool beneath my cheek, and watch as he carefully hangs the wet towel up in the adjoining bathroom.

Jesus fucking Christ, his body. I didn’t realize actual humans could look like that. He’s like some old Greek statue of a god, muscles chiseled out of stone. Everything is in perfect proportion, from his massive shoulders down to his tree-trunk thighs. No wonder it hurt like hell when he spanked me. He could probably punch through a metal door.

I can’t help but stare at his cock. That thing shouldn’t be legal—a weapon of mass destruction. It’s never going to fit.

And I have no choice in where it goes. A shudder runs through me as that knowledge clangs into place. He catches me looking again and smirks. I need to learn to keep my eyes on his goddamn face.

“Just lift your head up a bit, love. Need to get you fastened in.”

“What?”

He reaches behind me and pulls out a slim, circular restraint. Metal lined with soft red cushioning on the inside. “This is what you wear to sleep.”

“What? No!” I sit up, sleepiness banished.

“Quinn.” There’s a heavy note of warning in his voice. “Don’t be difficult. I’m not letting you wander around at night.”

“I won’t go anywhere. I promise. I can’t sleep in that thing.”

“You’ll get used to it. Come on. Last warning.”

I stare at the thing. Nope. Absolutely not. I launch off the bed, but Jacob is quicker. I swear he’s fucking psychic. His arm wraps around me and forces me back down to the pillow. I thrash, but he leans his weight on me, pinning me flat to the bed. I try to move, but I might as well be trapped under a car. Not an inch of movement.

I can’t stop him lifting my hair and wrapping the thing around my neck. I can’t stop it clicking shut. When it does, he sits up and watches as I claw at it, blood pounding in my ears.

If I’d felt trapped before, it’s a million times worse now. I fumble for a catch, but there isn’t one, as if he’s welded the fucking thing shut.

“How does it come off?” It's a panicked shriek.

“It’s keyed to my thumbprint. Only I can open it. Don’t worry, though. I added a fail-safe. If something goes wrong and I die in my sleep, it opens itself after twelve hours.”

Was that supposed to be comforting? Though, if he did die in his sleep, maybe I could just use his thumb and get the hell out of here.

He lies down next to me in silence. I count the seconds, and little by little, my panic eases. I’m okay. It’s just another thing to deal with. “What if I need to pee?”

“Wake me up. I’m a very light sleeper.”

There’s a good idea. Wake him up every hour until he decides the stupid collar is too much hassle and takes it off. We lie in silence for another few minutes, and incredibly, my eyes grow heavy again.

Jacob tucks the covers over me and uses a remote to dim the lights. “Sleep well, love.”

Fat chance of that.

***

What feels like seconds later, I wake up slowly. I throw my hand over my face and grumble. Sunlight? What the hell?

“Thank God. I thought you might sleep till midday.”

I yelp, eyes flying open as everything floods back. The kidnapping. Jacob. The fucking collar. I claw at my neck and find it still in place. “Get this thing off me!”

Jacob comes into view, already dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt that shows off his ridiculous arms. He sits on the bed and places his hand on my head, a gesture that is equal parts comforting and patronizing. “Shhh, love. Calm down. You slept for fourteen hours. Take a minute to wake up properly.”

Fourteen hours? How? I must be the best-rested kidnapping victim in the world. I take a few deep breaths, soaking in my miserable fucking reality. I’m here. Jacob is here. And this is the day I get out of this screwed-up place.

Jacob plays with my hair as he waits for me with his infinite patience, which is already pissing me the hell off. I take stock of myself. I need about a gallon of water, a toothbrush, and the restroom, but other than that, I’m okay.

For some reason, I’m not surprised. Jacob doesn’t seem the sort to sneak around being creepy while I’m sleeping. “I’m okay. I just need the bathroom.”

“No problem. One quick lesson first. Each morning, you ask me to release you.” He bends down, emerald eyes serious. “‘Please release me.’ That’s all.”

“That’s stupid. I’m not saying that.”

“Then you’ll be here a while.”

I grit my teeth and survey my options. I can’t make an escape plan from here. He’s probably hoping I’ll give him an excuse to torture me with something. Make me piss the bed or something weird like that. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.

“Please release me, my great and powerful lord,” I say in the most sugary, fake voice I can muster. Malicious compliance is my favorite method of pissing people off. Like the time the boss complained we were dressing too scruffily at work, so I bought a thrift store ballgown and wore it for three days straight.

A tight breath escapes him, and I find myself chewing my lip as his eyes darken. He liked hearing that, even though it was phony. Something dangerous shifts beneath the calm front he does such a good job of presenting.

But then it’s gone, and he shoots out a hand to release the catch on the collar. It clicks open, and I moan in relief. I rub at my neck as I sit up. Jacob waves a hand at the bathroom door. “Go. I’ll sort breakfast.”

He’ll do what? My image of him keeps shifting. He still feels every bit the gangster, competent and dangerous. I can’t picture him as a scientist at all. And there are random domestic moments like this, where he seems way too normal for comfort. Just a guy making breakfast for his sex slave.

He strides off toward the kitchen, not worried about leaving me by myself. What if I find a weapon and use it to incapacitate him and escape? Unlikely. But the fact he's so unconcerned is kind of insulting.

I rush to the bathroom and take care of all the vital stuff, then wrap myself in a towel and spend ten minutes searching the bedroom for weapons. All the spanking implements are locked away, so unless I'm going to beat him to death with a dildo—some of which are really fucking large—I'm out of luck.

No luck in the bathroom, either. The smell of bacon wafts in, driving me crazy, so I move before he can order me to breakfast. I pass through the living room, following the scent to the kitchen. The door stands open, and I pause, thrown by what I see.

The kitchen has off-white walls and black granite surfaces. It's big by apartment standards and insanely clean. Not what I'd expect for a man living by himself. A six-seater wooden table takes up most of the dining area.

It's set for two, but the spread could be a hotel breakfast. Piled plates of bacon and sausages, a heap of eggs, and a giant bowl of chopped fruit. Chocolate croissants. A pot of coffee.

Jacob stands at the sink, washing his hands. He smiles at me when he turns, and the expression is strange on his stern face. I wave a hand at the table and make a show of looking around. “Are we expecting guests? The Dallas Cowboys, maybe?”

Jacob scoffs. “This? I'll be hungry again in an hour. Don't be polite. Get stuck in.”

He seats himself and does just that, piling food on his plate and eating it with the dedication of a man that takes food seriously. I've never been much of a chef, surviving on whatever I can swipe from the shitty catering jobs I work. After serving people sandwiches all day, the last thing I feel like doing is cooking.

I sit, tucking the towel in so it doesn’t fall. This doesn’t make sense. At least the kinky furniture and collar fit with my idea of what a depraved captor should do. If I'd guessed at what meals would entail, I'd have said getting fed from a dog bowl or something ridiculous. This is too normal, as if he’s about to tell me it's all been a mistake and send me home.

The smell of the bacon is getting to me, and I can't resist anymore. I stack some onto my plate along with a croissant. I nibble on it—just the right amount of crispness—watching Jacob demolish his food and go back for seconds. He frowns at my plate. “That's not all you're having. Don't you like the food?”

For some reason, I don't want to offend him. “It's lovely. I'm a really slow eater.”

“Take all the time you need.”

He dives back into his meal, oblivious to just how fucking awkward this is. I should be peppering him with questions. Where am I? What in the hell does he plan to do with me? How many other captives are here? Eve is one. Maybe I should try and get some time with her to see if she’s made any plans to escape.

I finish the food on my plate and reach for some fruit. Jacob gives an approving nod. It’s patronizing enough that it needles me into speaking. “Where am I? And don’t just say ‘The Compound.’ I know that. Like where, specifically.”

“I’ll show you on a map later.”

His answer unsettles me. No evasion. No “That’s classified.” Happy to show me on a map. It’s a very clear message that he doesn’t think I’m getting out of here.

And who the hell has real paper maps anymore?

Jacob stands and starts to clear the plates. There’s an ingrained polite part of me that wants to jump up and help, to thank him for breakfast and tell him it was delicious. But fuck that. I’m his sex slave, not his maid. He can wash his own plates.

He does, tidying everything away with precision that has to mean either a military background or an OCD diagnosis. The more I watch him, the more likely the military angle seems. My foster dad served, and he was just as finicky about cleanliness. He could never relax after dinner until every dish was washed, dried, and put away.

Just as Jacob finishes his whirlwind cleaning mission, his cell phone rings. He frowns and holds it to his ear. “Hello?”

I can’t hear the other end of the call, but his eyes widen, and he strides out of the room. I ghost after him as he heads into the bedroom and shuts the door behind him. I can’t make anything out, even with my ear pressed to the smooth wood.

A few minutes later, I almost fall over as he wrenches the door open. He snorts as I regain my feet. Smoothly done.

“Change of plan, love. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you alone today, but something’s come up. I’ll be sending a babysitter your way soon, so don’t get any ideas.”

“What? Who?” Surely it won’t be Brackis. “And I don’t have any clothes.”

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath and strides off, reappearing with my grimy outfit from last night. “Not ideal, but I don’t have time to sort out anything else. Get dressed. I have to go.”

“Wait. What babysitter?”

“Someone safe. Don’t worry.”

“Safe? What the fuck does that—”

Before I can finish, he grabs my shoulders, spins me around so my back is locked against his chest, and wraps his hand around my mouth, gagging me. He loosens my towel, and it falls to the ground as he holds me tight.

“You’re going to be a good girl whilst I’m gone. I’ll get a full report on your behavior, and you’ll pay for any disobedience. Nod if you understand.”

I’m frozen for a second, then my brain kicks into gear. Whoever he sends to watch me can’t be as scary as him. If I want to get out of here, this is my best chance. Slowly, I nod against his hand as my eyes scan the living room. There has to be something I can use as a weapon.