Page 11 of Capture (Primal #3)

I pressed my ear against the wood as I listened to his footsteps on the floorboards grow distant, followed by the distinct sounds of him treading the stairs. Mikael was guarding my door for over an hour before his phone went off with notifications.

I waited until I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, then waited another few minutes trying to pick up on sound before I tested the doorknob. It was locked, of course, because they’re not idiots, but I aggressively shook the door, hoping something would snap.

Failing that, I slipped my shoes on and tried to kick it down, but unfortunately, I came off worse than the door.

Dropping to my knees, I peered underneath and could see nothing through the keyhole.

It won’t be long before the brothel workers and their clients start flooding the halls and rooms, so I’ll call out for help then.

Dejected and frustrated, I returned to the bed and tried to concentrate on an assignment that is due next week.

My captors removed the Wi-Fi, so I couldn’t even email my assignment to my tutors or ask for an extension.

After playing the role of the nerd for years under the mask of Riley, I’d gotten used to working studiously for good marks, handing my assignments on time, and rarely missing a class.

They covered all their bases, except for one major flaw, which was their decision to imprison me. I expected them to shift me to a more secure and secluded location that didn’t have a constant flow of customer traffic after 3 PM, right outside my door.

Honestly, they didn’t think this through properly, and they would do better if they had me on their staff.

I could bring a lot to the club, a new perspective, and a fresh look at how they run the business.

Firstly, I would change the position of the kitchen.

I mean, whose idea was it to have the kitchen on the other side of the club from the dining room and bar?

Seriously, if they didn’t cover the food with a silver plate cover, the meal would be cold by the time the waitress walked through the casino to the dining room to place it on the member’s table.

Dumb. I’d modernize the décor because, honestly, that red and black boudoir wallpaper was getting old fast. I mean… that’s like so last century.

Perhaps I’d missed my calling. I should’ve studied interior design and management instead of marine biology. Oh well. I guess none of that matters now. I wonder what plans they had for me? They can’t leave me in here forever. Either they kill me and bury my body somewhere, or they let me go.

It was pointless trying to concentrate on the ecology assignment as my head couldn’t get into it. So I lay back onto my bed and stared at the stark white ceiling, and noticed several fly poops that I had the urge to clean it off.

Yeah, they needed to hire me. I’d put a lick of paint on the walls, a warmer, lighter hue, and cover up the fly shit. Damn, that fly shit was getting on my nerves.

I sat up and propelled to my feet on the bed, pulled my sleeve over my hand, and then reached up high to rub the spots, but still couldn’t reach. Frustrated, I sat back down, but the fly shit was going to haunt me into the night and prey on my mind until I wiped it off.

Focus on the assignment. But the fly shit is still there.

Asssssignment. But flyyyyy poop.

The distant sounds of high heels hitting the floorboards cut through my circling thoughts, and I bolted upright to watch the door. It seemed to be only one set of footsteps, and I wonder if it was one of the brothel girls who came to check the rooms.

My heart hammered in my chest as I raced to the door and pressed my ear against it, as nerves curled about in my stomach. I could hear whispers under her breath, her inner dialogue coming to the surface during the assumed solitude.

Except I was there.

I listened to those confident footsteps stop nearby, then shuffle, followed by the squeak of a door, more whispering, and then another door opened.

My assumption must be correct. She was checking the rooms before to ensure that they were clean with fresh linen on the beds, and please, I beg you, check the ceilings for fly poop.

This was an opportunity that I couldn’t miss. Even though it might backfire because the woman might be loyal to Kaisers, she might, just might, sympathize with me—a girl locked in a room.

“Hello,” I whispered-shouted, fearful of the consequences, but it was immediately apparent that I wasn’t loud enough. “Hellooo? Is there anyone out there?” I whispered-shouted louder.

The confident footsteps pounded the floorboards toward my door, and I slammed my hand against the wood so she could find the right door.

“Hello? Is someone out there?” I breathed close to tears because my freedom was only a single slab of wood away.

Unless…it was the wrong person on the other side of the door.

“Who is this?” Her voice stunned me, like a sharp sting to my chest. It was Betty, I think. Maybe I was wrong. My head spun in dizzy circles as I tried to decipher whether I should continue this conversation.

“Um,” I hesitated, but she was the only hope I had. “Help me. I’m being held captive.” It sounded ridiculous as I said it, but it was true.

“Who…” she started as the door handle turned and the door rattled as she tried to open it. “Why are you locked in there?”

The more she spoke in that assertive, husky voice, the more I was sure it was Betty. As far as I was aware, she didn’t know that I snitched on her concerning the rats. Gosh, I could be wrong about that, too, because I didn’t see her; I only heard her talking in the staff locker room.

“Betty? Is that you?” I resorted to asking as my heart caused my breath to hitch.

“Yes. Wait. Is that you, Petra?” her muffled voice asked through the wood.

Hot tears filled my eyes due to the nauseating conflict going on inside of me. “Yes. Please. Betty. Get me out. Please.”

“Why are you in there? I thought…Ronan told me you had quit,” she argued, sounding confused. “I was surprised about that because you seemed to love the job and needed the money.”

“I did. I do, but please, Betty, do you have a spare key to unlock me out? I’m terrified that Mr. Kaiser will come back. Please, Betty, please help me,” my voice cracked under the pressure as the hot tears dribbled down my cheeks.

“Oh god, are you okay? Why on earth would they trap you in here? What did you do?” she pressed, annoying me.

“Yes.” Why was she still here? Why didn’t she do something? “Is there a spare key?” I asked again in case she didn’t hear me the first time.

“Is there anything you need?” she enquired, and again I was baffled by her relaxed nature, as one of her staff was locked in a room for days.

“Yes, to get out of here. Please, Betty. He could come back at any time,” I stated firmly, so she’d get the message that she had to hurry.

“Who? Do you mean Mr. Kaiser?” she questioned, and I found myself wanting to bang my head against the wall because I was certain I had already said that.

“Yes. Please, Betty, help me,” I sobbed as I slapped my palm against the wood of the door.

“Okay. I’ll go look for a spare key,” she said. Then I heard her confident footsteps, high heels pounding the floorboards, growing distant, then trotting down the stairs.

Everything felt wrong about her behavior.

She was usually a bold, assertive woman, wielding authority that the Kaisers respected.

But she seemed indecisive, dithering, and unconcerned about my situation, and wasted time asking questions instead of taking action.

Perhaps it was my projection, as I was so desperate for her to take action and get me out before my enemies returned.

Silence fell again.

My heartbeat pounded in my head as my jaw ached from clenching so much due to stress and panic. I felt that I had done the wrong thing by asking Betty for help. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

I retreated to my bed and started packing my bag, giving Betty the benefit of the doubt.

There was no way the Kaisers would have told her that I suspected she was the one who organized the rats.

Or maybe they did. Perhaps I had that wrong.

The worst scenarios kept playing in my mind as time dragged on, and the silence was torture.

What if the Kaisers were working with Betty?

What if this whole thing, including the rats, was a setup to expose me and the Larsson police?

I didn’t see a rat, and the kitchen staff never mentioned them.

The club was closed for a night, and we were asked to stay home, but what if that was part of the plan to distract me?

Time was dragging on. I imagined in my mind, Betty striding down the stairs, through the private lounges, out onto the club floor, across the bar and dining area, weaving through the casino tables, then into the hallway passing the kitchen to her offices.

If she walked quickly, it would take ten minutes each way, so twenty minutes all up.

But what if a staff member stopped her? What if she couldn’t find a spare key?

What if she called the police instead, or worse, called the people she worked for, and I wasn’t meaning the Kaisers.

The other people. The man she referred to as Vladimir, the boss or leader, was the one I heard speaking in the locker room.

I sat on the edge of the bed with my bag over my shoulder, ready to leave. With every slight sound, I leapt up and pressed my ear against the wood, hoping help was on its way, only to be disappointed when it wasn’t.

An hour or so passed, and my mind invented more scenarios on what happened to Betty. Alien abduction? Fell over on her heels, sprained her ankle, and was taken to the ER. Broken faucet in the kitchen, causing a flood, and I was put to the back of her mind?

The distant sounds of high heels ascending the stairs, and I propelled to my feet, but the heels didn’t sound the same as Betty’s, so I wondered if she sent someone to let me out. Then I picked up on another set of footsteps that followed the high heels, heavy and slow, probably a man’s.

Their footsteps quietened, and a door was shut, and I knew they had gone inside one of the rooms. Not Betty, then. I retreated to the bed and sat on the edge, waiting for more footsteps, hoping the couple down the hall would be quiet. Tortured by sex noises was the last thing I needed right now.

Without a clock in here, I had no sense of time, but it felt like thirty minutes, but it might be less, before the couple down the hall left their room.

I wondered how much she charged for thirty minutes.

They were quiet, didn’t hear a peep out of them, so I wonder if he got a refund if he couldn’t get it up. It seemed quick.

I propelled to my feet, tempted to bang on the door to grab their attention, but halted when I heard another set of footsteps. This time they were slow and heavy, and I stepped back from the door as they came closer. Then stopped right outside my door.

Again, I raised my hand to bang on the wood to grab their attention, but lowered my hand when a key slid into the keyhole and the lock clicked.

My feet shuffled backward as my breath hitched in my chest, heart slammed against my ribcage, as the doorknob turned and the door flew open. Sharp, severe eyes glared at me, ruthless and lethal, and I stepped back again, slamming against the bed and falling backward onto the mattress.

He shut the door behind him as those cruel eyes raked over my body, Adam’s apple bobbled in his throat, top lip curled slightly as his cologne draped over me, killing me softly.

His hands fall to his belt as he begins to slowly unbuckle it, pull it from his pants, and let it fall to the floor. Then those fingers unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper.

“Take off your jeans,’ he demanded, flicking his finger at me. There was no asking or suggesting; it was an order.

“What?” Heated desires flooded my body, triggering my nerves and confusion. His smothering intensity burned all over me, and my body fell backward onto the bed without him even touching me.

“Now,” he asserted, nostrils flared, lips moistened as my hands gravitated to the fly of my jeans.