Page 7

I ’m going to break his nose.

I decided to do it while I’ve been pacing this damn room. Time isn’t a concept I can apply here. There’s no clock. No windows to show where the sun is in the sky, or if it’s even out.

Every moment runs into the next. I’m just on one big damn loop. Even the room is a continual circle. There are no corners, no straight edges, and the door, an arched wooden slab, is locked.

There’s no doorknob, just a round wrought iron door pull, but pulling does nothing to move the damn thing. Pushing didn’t get me anywhere either. I can’t tell if it’s bolted shut or if the door is even real.

It could just be a way to make me think I have a way out when there is none. Maybe he just tossed me in here and will never come back. How long does it take for a human to die without food and water?

My bare feet make no sound on the hardwood as I pace. There’s a narrow bed with a thin blanket and a flat pillow. And a bucket, which I’m getting dangerously close to having to use.

I’ve beaten the door, stomped on the floor, and all I’ve gotten for my effort is scratches, bruises, and a broken fingernail. When he finally shows his face, I’m going to break his nose with the metal bucket.

There’s a rattling at the door, catching me off guard. It’s been so silent, the sound echoes in the small chamber.

Grabbing the bucket, I hurry to the wall beside the door. I have the bucket poised over my head, ready for when whoever comes inside. One fast swing, and I might get a good hit.

Keys rattle. A lock slides open, then a creak of the wood as the door shifts and finally opens into the room.

Shutting my eyes and using all the energy I can muster, I bring the bucket down.

I hit nothing, and the bucket flies out of my hands, clamoring against the floor.

“Megan.” His deep sigh tangled with my name sends me into a frenzy. I launch myself at him.

But he easily catches me before I can land a single blow. He shoves me against the wall hard enough to knock the air from my lungs, and just in case that’s not enough, he wraps his hand around my throat.

Bringing his forehead against mine, he inhales deeply, then chuckles.

“You have no concept of how much danger you’re in, do you?” He raises his eyes, those cold, dark eyes to mine.

There’s a thick dusting of a beard along his jaw. The darkness of it contrasts with his perfectly straight white teeth when he grins. There’s no pleasure behind it, just more coldness, more sternness.

“I’m already locked in a tower; how much worse can it get?” I tug on his wrist, but like before, I’m no match for his strength.

“Oh, it can get a lot worse.” He reaches down with his free hand, brushing away the hem of my nightshirt, and finds the elastic band of my panties.

“You’ve been screaming about wanting the bathroom.” He pushes on my lower stomach. “Hmmm, full as full can be.”

He chuckles, jamming his knee between my thighs when I try to wiggle my legs closed.

Easily, he glides his hand into my panties, over the small patch of short curls, and farther down until the tip of his finger finds my clit.

I close my eyes. Maybe if I shut out the visual, I can ignore the physical.

Except he’s not going to let me ignore him.

His finger presses down, running circles over my clit until I’m clenching my teeth.

“I can use this pussy of yours, over and over again, and keep you from ever finding any relief.” He slides his hand through my folds, sliding easily through my arousal until he gets to my entrance.

“Stop.” I tug on his arm. “Please don’t.”

Ignoring my plea, he thrusts a finger into me, the heel of his hand putting pressure on my clit now. It’s a miracle I keep the moan of pleasure to myself.

It’s not my fault.

It’s been so long since anyone but me has touched me; my body is just reacting to it. Alexander has nothing to do with it. It’s not him.

It’s not the spicy aftershave he’s wearing. Or the way his eyes seem to see right through me. Or how stern his voice is when he gives a command.

It’s a normal anatomical response, and I can’t help it.

“Are you going to behave, Megan, so we can talk? Or am I going to have to punish you again? Maybe this time, I’ll punish your pussy instead of your ass. Maybe I’ll bring you right to the edge and leave you dangling there while I use you.”

Arousal twists my insides.

“Or does that turn you on, being used?” He bites down on my earlobe, sending a surge of pleasure straight to the very core of my soul.

“No.” I wrench out the word just as he shoves a second finger inside me.

He chuckles.

“It does.” He kisses my cheek. “You’re no good at lying; you should give it up.”

He digs the heel of his palm harder against my clit, and I curl my toes into the wood floor to distract myself. The grip on my throat eases. More air doesn’t help me; it only makes me gasp easier as he increases his thrusts with his fingers.

“Show me how good you’re going to be for me, Megan,” he orders.

It’s too hard to listen to him and ignore him. His voice strokes me as easily as his fingers do.

“Don’t you dare fucking piss on me.” He draws my attention back to another need, but his touch on my clit is overwhelming.

I’m wound tight, a spring that wants to be let loose, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s not going to let me off this wall until I give him what he wants.

He presses his body against me, my breasts crush against his chest. The warmth of his skin seeps through the black button-down shirt he’s wearing. His aftershave fills the space between us.

He bites down on my earlobe again, scraping his teeth over the sensitive spot.

“Be a good girl,” he orders, so low, so dark it’s almost animalistic.

“Oh. No.” I hit at the wall. If I come, will my bladder release too? I’ll have to concentrate. I have to hold tight.

“Such a good girl, almost here.” He flicks my earlobe with the tip of his tongue, and I imagine it’s my clit he’s licking. How hard he’d flick it, how wet his tongue would be, how warm his breath would be against my skin.

“No. Oh God!” I bite down on my lip, but it only lasts a moment. As the intensity builds and then blows up within me, my resistance vanishes.

An orgasm rips through my body. Muscles shake, nerve ends rattle, and my soul sighs with relief as the waves of pure pleasure wash over me.

I suck in air, clenching my eyes and pushing my head back against them all. I’m dry; other than my own arousal, I’m dry.

“So fucking responsive.” He kisses my cheek again. “Now clean up the mess you made.” Before I can focus my eyes on what he’s talking about, his fingers shove into my mouth.

Roughly, he drags his fingers over my tongue, cleaning himself of my arousal.

A moment later, he steps away from me, and I have to catch myself before I fall to the floor. He steps back to the door and slams it shut.

The bolt slides into place on the other side, and I realize there was someone out there this entire time. My face burns. Coming like that was humiliating enough. Crying out like I enjoyed it? Even worse. But knowing someone else heard – maybe even witnessed – guts me.

I drag my hand across my mouth then straighten my nightshirt, tugging it down as far as it will go. Not that it matters at this point.

Alexander leans against the door, his arms crossed over his chest and one foot lazily draped over the other. Needing to get away from him, I scurry across the room, behind the bed.

“I really need to use the restroom,” I say after the silence starts to hurt my ears again.

“Then I suggest you answer my questions honestly and quickly. Otherwise, the bucket’s still here.” He toes the damn thing, and it rolls toward me, clanging as it does so.

“What do you want?” I can plan for his death later. Right now, I need to get him to let me use a real bathroom and then let me go home.

The weekend can’t be gone yet, so I should still be able to get home and get to work on Monday. But I don’t have the flash drive anymore, so I need to find a new way to make the money I need.

And I only have a few more days for that.

“I want to know the truth. Who sent you to get that flash drive? Was it Dexter Thompson? A member of his staff?” he questions.

“I can’t.” My shoulders drop. Being kidnapped and tossed into a cell wasn’t exactly conducive to getting a good night’s sleep. I’m exhausted.

“You can’t what?” he presses.

“I can’t tell you why or who.” The springs in the mattress squeak as I sink onto it. “Because I don’t know.”

“How can you not know who sent you? You didn’t just wake up and decide to sneak into Obsidian and steal Dexter Thompson’s information.”

“No. I didn’t. You’re right.” I nod, an idea forming in my mind. “I was stepping in for someone while they were on vacation and while I was there, someone slid a piece of paper on the desk I was working at. I just thought it was something for them.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“When I finished what I was doing, I noticed my name was scribbled on the note. It was for me.”

“You didn’t see the guy who dropped it off?”

“No.” I shake my head a little, readjusting my seat to take off some of the pressure from my bladder. “By the time I noticed it was for me, there wasn’t anyone else around. The floor was empty.”

“And what did it say?”

I squeeze my legs together. “Let me use the bathroom, and I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me and you can use the restroom. Otherwise.” He lowers his gaze at the bucket again.

I hate this man.

“I don’t remember exactly. There was a phone number. When I called it, I was given directions for what was needed and the amount I would be paid when I delivered the drive.” I speed up my answers. “I have no idea who it was. He used one of those automated voice concealer things. He said directions on where to drop the drive would be delivered if I chose to take the job.”

“Why you?”

“I have no idea.” I laugh. “It made no sense to me either, but I needed the money.” Need it still, but I’m not going into that with him.

“Do you still have the paper?” he asks.

“At home. Yes. You can have it. I don’t care. Just let me go.” Maybe I can beg Marco to give me more time. Maybe he’ll take pity.

He hasn’t so far, but desperation is messing with my mind. If it was only my life on the line, maybe I could take the risk. But there’s more than me to worry about.

Moments tick by with his dark stare getting more unsettling as it stretches on.

Finally, he shoves off the door and yanks it open.

“There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall. There’s also a shower, towels, and a change of clothes.”

In too great a need for the bathroom to ask any questions, I run from the room, past the guard who undoubtedly heard everything, and head straight for the bathroom.

Once I’m done, when I’m clean and dressed, I’ll find a way out of here.

And then a way to fix the mess I’ve made of my life.