Fifteen
Eve
I pull the scant protection of the sheet over my head and listen for the click of the door shutting. Even after I’m sure he’s gone, I stay still, frozen in place. He must have cameras in here. I don’t want to risk doing anything to bring me more of his attention. Maybe if I stay still long enough, he’ll believe I’m asleep.
I could sleep, if I let myself. My brain is turned inside out, exposed to too much at once, and reduced to a blank slate. My heavy limbs press down into the bed, relaxed and oddly spent. The result of what he did to me. My captor.
My mind skitters along the edge of the thought, then shies away. I don’t want to process that just yet. Emotions are the enemy, likely to drag me into a cycle of misery, shame, and recrimination. If that happens, I won’t have the strength to pull myself out.
Instead, eyes tight shut, I tap into the analytical part of me, the part that always snagged on the inconsistencies in religion even as everyone around me cherished their faith. The part that has the patience to catalog a hundred different experiments looking for a single common thread .
I wrap myself in the comforting armor of logic, pushing the feelings down, locking them into a box. I’ll open it later, when I’m feeling brave. Or never. That works too.
What do I know? My mystery rescuer turned out to be a psychopathic stalker who thinks he owns me. Of course he does. No romantic fairy tale for me. I try to remember everything he told me. I’m somewhere called the Compound—comforting—and he’s part of some cult.
That’s if any of it is true. For all I know, he could have me holed up in an apartment somewhere. Maybe the cult is all in his head.
What else did he say about the cult? One phrase jumps out. “Men of science.” An odd, old-fashioned phrase no one my age would use. Gabriel looks to be in his late twenties, so it wouldn’t come naturally to him, either. Maybe the cult is real.
A cult of science. A bunch of geeks who live together in a creepy Compound and abduct women. It’s so far-fetched I’d laugh if I wasn’t naked in a stranger’s bedroom. If he hadn’t just forced me to expose myself to him. If he hadn’t just…
My breath catches in an almost sob. If he hadn’t just…
Stop it.
Logic. Escape. What do I know?
I dig my nails into my palm, forcing myself back to earth.
He mentioned a lab. Somewhere he wants to show me. Getting out of this room needs to be my top priority. The more I can learn about where I am and who else is around, the more chance I’ll have to get out of here.
He mentioned training. A hot blush crawls up my chest and into my cheeks. Training me.
Like a pet.
Between my legs, where I still feel swollen and sensitive, an ache builds, and I shift on the bed to relieve the pressure. It doesn’t work. Something about the way Gabriel spoke to me, his calm, stern voice and unrelenting touch, sparked something new in that area. A harsh, dangerous need much stronger than the diffuse frustration I’m so used to.
Training. How does he plan to do that?
I try to push the thought away, but it won’t go. Gabriel’s face is etched into my mind, as is the sound of his voice. The way he shifted from tender to stern. And the one moment I saw a crack in his confident attitude where, for just a split second, he looked confused and nervous.
And then he more than made up for it, forcing me to spread my legs for him like a whore. Like a filthy little…
My mother’s voice rants on in the back of my mind, but another voice drowns it out. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he said, then breathed me in. Would that be part of my training? Letting him…
Stop it.
I need a plan. Moving slowly, I shift so I can see the window with its heavy blinds. If I can open it, it’ll give me a clue. Will I see a city street? God, I hope so. Being trapped in an apartment with a madman is scary, but at least I’ll have a hope of getting out. Of escaping before everyone thinks I’m dead.
Like a freezing dash of water, that thought focuses me on the task. I take a deep breath and sit up, pushing the covers off myself. No point in feigning sleep any longer. He could be watching me right now, but I can’t let myself be shy about it.
I creep to the window, find the pull for the blinds, and wind them up.
I stare. Definitely not a city.
There’s…nothing .
In the dark of night, the window is a solid square of black. At the very edge, lights shine from other windows in our block. But ahead, there’s nothing. Just thick, heavy darkness.
The door opens. I freeze, torn between diving for the bed and running to the bathroom. Caught between the two, my brain chooses neither, so I stand, looking guilty as heck, arms automatically thrown around myself as Gabriel enters.
He gives me an appraising look. “Remember the rules. Hands down.”
It takes a moment for my mind to unlock my muscles so my body can comply. I don’t want to go back in the handcuffs. He let me out early this time, but I don’t think he’ll be as generous if I hide myself again. He takes his time studying my body, and my blood warms as he walks over to stand next to me.
He wraps his arms around my waist and turns me back to face the window. “That’s the Feinhart Forest. It’s over ten acres, and we’re right in the center of it.”
Feinhart? I’ve never heard of it, but that’s hardly surprising. It’s not like I grew up here.
“It’s very pretty in the day. The whole place is protected land—no hunters allowed. There’s deer and a river with beavers. I’ll be able to show you, as it all falls within the Compound.”
His words reverberate in the quiet room. The lone madman theory feels less and less likely as time goes on.
I need to ask more questions, to get a theory together and test it. But my thoughts scatter, lost to Gabriel’s presence and the warm scent of his cologne, which still feels like safety, even though I know the truth.
I manage, “Can I see it tomorrow? The forest, and the rest of the Compound?”
He looks down at me, lips turned up. “Already plotting your escape? I didn’t think you’d start that until at least day two. ”
He must have read my guilt on my face, as his smile widens. “Don't worry. All Wards want to escape at first, but it won't last. You'll be happy here. But to answer your question, if you behave tomorrow and our lessons go well, I'll allow you to dress for a couple of hours in the evening. I'll take you out for dinner.”
Does he realize how crazy he sounds? I should question him about something useful, but I can't help snapping, “Take me out for dinner? You kidnapped me!”
He laughs as though my anger is cute, which only twists my guts more. “Technically, you came willingly. You knew the champagne would be drugged—you're far too smart to miss the Alice in Wonderland reference. But that's an argument we can save for another day.”
His hand moves, wrapping further around my stomach and tucking me tighter to his body. The rough material of his jeans contrasts with the soft, worn cotton of his T-shirt. All of it highlights my exposed skin. The differences between us. His fingers roam my body idly, and I get the sense he's holding himself back. He wants to touch me all over.
That hot, dangerous pulse of need sparks between my legs at the thought, even as my mind scrabbles for a way to distract him. “What is this group? This…”
“The Brotherhood?”
Could it sound any more sinister? “Yes.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrow. “You should sleep.”
“I can't.” All at once, I need to know. I can't stand another second of ignorance. “I need to understand it all. Please, Gabriel.”
His lips part, and he draws in a sharp breath when I say his name. He pauses for a long moment before answering.
“Since you asked so politely, how can I say no?”
The lightness in his tone sounds forced. He slips his hand from my waist and steps back, studying me. Calm authority wraps him once more. He sits on the edge of the bed, legs wide in the classic, masculine pose of dominance, and points to the floor at his feet.
“On your knees if you want information.”
That position can mean only one thing. I gasp and take a step back. “I can't…”
“Relax. I'm not going to make you wrap those beautiful lips around my cock. That's one of tomorrow’s lessons.”
I choke on a breath and splutter, making a noise with a hysterical edge to it. He said it so casually, with the tone a professor might take telling a new class what he has planned for the week.
He's a madman. He has to be.
“Of course, we can just go to bed if you prefer. I'll save the information for later. In a couple of days, maybe. Or a week.”
Those dark eyes of his glitter, practically radiating challenge. He might as well be calling me a chicken. A stubborn part of me rises up, wanting to meet that challenge. The same stupid part that wanted to play his games. The part that got me into all this trouble.
But, just maybe, the part that will get me out of it, too. I can't afford to be shy and cautious. The longer I'm here, the more damage he can do in the outside world. He's made his position clear. Compliance equals information and possibly freedom. The more resistant I am, the longer he'll keep me trapped in this darn room.
Without looking away, I take a step forward. Then another. Approaching him this way, with him seated, sets me off-balance yet again. There’s something demeaning about it. A slave girl approaching her master.
I come to a halt between his knees, and his look is all pride. It sets a shiver loose in my bones, and gooseflesh prickles my skin.
His voice isn't as steady as usual when he says, “That's my good girl. Now, kneel for me.”
Why did he have to phrase it like that? My blood rushes to my cheeks, my insides scorched.
Kneel for me. Like I'm his to command. I draw in a shuddering breath as I sink down. My knees press into the wooden floor as I shift my position. What should I do with my hands? Uncertain, I clasp them in front of me like I used to do in church.
I didn't believe in a higher power then. Now I'm kneeling for a man who holds all the cards of my life in his hands. I swallow and meet his gaze.
It's burning hot.
I have to force myself not to shrink back from the predatory expression. I now know how a mouse would feel faced with a starving cat.
His lips part, and his hands clench into fists before relaxing. He reaches a hand out as his throat works, twisting a strand of my hair around his finger.
“What would you like to know?”