005406
PAIGE
“Paige . . .”
I heard a voice. It was distantly familiar, but tunnely. And I didn’t feel ready to be awake yet.
“Paige, you’ve gotta wake up.” This time, I registered the voice was Linc’s, and his tone was . . . something.
Not normal. He called me Paige.
Fuck. I was cold.
My eyelids felt like rusty old garage doors as they creaked open into slits, my vision blurry until I blinked a few times.
The second my eyes focused, my lungs deflated. Realization hit my drowsy mind in slow, devastating, crashing waves.
First was the sight of Linc. He sat three feet away from me on a couch I didn’t recognize, in a hazy room I couldn’t place. Hands pulled over his head and shackled to a pole behind him. My body squirmed at the sight, quickly realizing I was chained in the same position, but . . .
I had been stripped of all my clothes. Completely bare in nothing but my fucking honeybee underwear.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
A whimper ached in my dry throat and my eyes scrunched when I felt the sound stifled by something over my mouth.
Stripped, bound, and gagged.
My pulse exploded and I writhed against the restraints.
But fuck. I was dizzy. So cold.
We had to have been drugged. This wasn’t a normal bout of grogginess. It felt like my brain had been wrapped in some sort of poison-laced cotton.
“Pip.” Linc’s ragged, hoarse voice hesitantly pulled my gaze up.
His hazel eyes were dark and bloodshot, wide with worry, but he kept them on my face, and I tried to hold that small bit of respect tight—hide it in a place deep inside myself.
My eyes drifted down to my nudity, and I made another pathetic, muffled noise as the panic reignited. My body was still so sluggish but my thoughts were taking off like the goddamn Roadrunner.
Linc started to pull and twist on his chains, and I did too, but after just a few seconds, my body slumped. Immediately depleted.
I could barely feel my hands. They were handcuffed, but whoever put us here fucking MacGyver ’d us to the poles by weaving a figure eight with additional chains around our hands too.
My shoulders jumped as Linc growled through a myriad of curses before his exhaustion finally won out and his shoulders sagged.
Unable to move, unable to speak, I tried to think of the last thing I remembered . . .
I was in the back seat. Linc smiled back at me from up front.
Mr. Harris.
Oh, God.
Had we been abducted at some rest stop? Did they kill Mr. Harris and take us? Where was he?
Everything from serial killers to sex-trade plowed through my brain and I again found myself uselessly struggling against the chains.
But I suddenly took in the room and a hollow gasp filled my chest.
There were cameras—professional lights with modifiers stationed around what appeared to be a living room.
A film set.
Using what little energy I could gather, I pulled against the cuffs on my wrists to help hoist my legs up in front of me—at least attempting to cover myself from the camera lens—noticing then that my ankles were also chained together.
Fuck.
My overwhelmed grunt pushed against the gag as my feet pressed into the cushion, curling my body as much as I could. It was wildly uncomfortable with my arms up and over my head but I didn’t care. The whole naked, gagged, and chained to a pole thing was pretty fucking uncomfortable anyway.
My eyes fell to the couch we were on, noticing the copper tinge to the edges of the beige cushions. It looked old, beat up, as did the armchair next to the couch, and the brown shag area rug sprawled out before us. It looked like the space had been staged to be a basement.
The cold, hard stone sitting in my chest collected more dread as my mind slowly rolled it all together.
Quick bursts of air puffed past my nose, over the material covering my mouth, cheeks, and chin. I could feel my bare chest heaving just as I heard Linc say, “Pip,” again.
His voice cut through my panic and my eyebrows flinched.
Goddammit.
Still, I felt his silent plea for me to look at him, so I did, and the look on his face nearly wrecked me.
This was . . . fucking humiliating.
And I could see it in his eyes. The pity. The knowing.
Knowing that there was a reason I was naked and he was not. An awareness that while we were both being held against our will, our positions were not the same.
Linc would do everything he could to protect me. I knew he would. But for the briefest moment, he let his steady, stoic mask slip and I knew. I knew that knowing, helpless look would haunt me forever.
And just like that, he blinked it away. His face hardened just as the green in his eyes flared. His eyebrows suddenly hitched at the faint sound of four beeps that were coming from the front corner of the room.
He twisted, craning his neck toward the sound, but I kept my face on him.
Whoever this was would make themselves known soon enough, and I couldn’t help but cling to this moment, these seconds.
There had been a few times in my life where I’d felt some sort of great shift in my being. Up until now, I had been lucky enough that most of those things had been good shifts.
But not this. This shift was sharp and itchy, and holy fuck did I feel it.
I watched Linc’s eyebrows pinch as the sound of the door opening and closing came and went, and his eyes lifted, lightening just a bit as I heard . . .
Footsteps.
One, two, three . . .
And I was wrong.
This was the look I would never forget.
That small light in Linc’s eyes had twisted with each step that got closer, the color slowly draining from his face. The harsh light of reality settled into his features, step by fucking step, and I ached to reach out and hold him—to be held by him.
The second I felt the shadow looming over me. The moment I saw the boat shoes I’d seen this fucking morning when we got picked up, a burning, rageful fire smoldered in the pit of my stomach.
Motherfucker.
I wouldn’t look at him. My chest was splitting open, branching between stark awareness and complete disbelief. Although, how I hadn’t realized it before now was a testament to how fucking zonked I was.
We weren’t abducted at some rest stop.
Some strangers didn’t chain us up and strip me down.
We were tricked —taken— by our own fucking teacher.
LINC
My eyebrows slammed down on my eyes and my glare sharpened with every step he took toward us. Each one seemed to mark the deepening blow of reality.
“What the fuck?” hissed past my lips involuntarily as his eyes met mine.
I thought about it. I had the thought that he was behind this when we woke up and he wasn’t here, but then I quickly refuted it.
I trusted him.
He was our teacher.
My friend.
Even now, that betrayal was tearing through me, leaving a destruction in its wake that I was certain I’d never recover from. As soon as he stepped into the room, as soon as I saw the expectant, casual look on his face, I knew he wasn’t here to help us.
This was his goddamn doing.
Stupidly, there was some thread—some worn, frayed, barely-hanging-on piece of me that hoped.
For what, I didn’t know. I just knew I couldn’t let things play out in any of the crazy, vile ways I’d imagined since I woke up.
“Jeremy, what the fuck is this?” I asked again, pulling uselessly at my chains before making myself stop. My strength and energy were depleting by the second.
My eyes flicked to Paige, but only for a moment before I took a breath, attempting to even my tone through my clenched jaw. “Where are her clothes?”
Jeremy’s eyes dipped down to Paige but I rattled my chains against the pole and his gaze shot back to me. A snarl tugged at my mouth as my glare deepened.
Eyes up, motherfucker.
His smirk, the damn near twinkle in his dark brown eyes—it all ticked up my already racing pulse. After a second, he tilted his chin down, wandering over to a seat by one of the cameras—still saying nothing.
I hadn’t really paid much attention to the cameras—other than the fact that they were here—but looking now, I could see there were two.
The job . . . it was . . . it was all a set up?
To do this ?!
I had no idea what the fuck this was, but it was clearly fucking demented. Blinking heavily, I tried to keep my mind from spiraling, and studied the cameras again.
Both were on tripods. It looked like he’d also stationed a third one—a handheld—off to the side of the couch, closer to me. My eyes squinted as I saw a ghost icon at the corner of the camera face.
“This is . . . professional equipment,” I rasped. I’m not sure what about that realization sent a new wave of unease through me, but it did.
Why did some creepy-ass dungeon have seven-figure recording equipment?
Jeremy cleared his throat and my eyes reluctantly pulled back to him. He sighed. “Look, guys. I know this all seems . . .” He trailed off, giving a quick peek around the room. “Well, I know this all seems a little dramatic but . . . the end product will be worth it.”
“What the fuck?” My head shook. It felt like the words were scrambled. None of it made sense, but a very visceral panic bubbled deep in my gut.
“The level of discomfort you experience over the course of making the film will depend on you guys,” he said, almost clinically. “But I have high hopes. Given your history. The rehearsal will probably take care of it.”
My eyebrows scrunched. His words were barely able to find their way from my ears to my brain. History? “Rehearsal,” was the word I said out loud, but it wasn’t a question. I was processing.
He nodded, his eyes meeting mine. “The client has requested an intense scene. I’ll be directing, so it’s important we take some time to get comfortable with each other. Push some limits. Build some trust. Then we’ll shoot.”
“The client ? Shoot what?! ” I barked, shaking my head. I didn’t understand. And something told me there was no possible way I could understand what was happening.
Jeremy didn’t respond. His eyes started to pull back in Paige’s direction, and another deep growl shook my throat. “Motherfucker! Keep your fucking eyes off her!”
The sound of Jeremy’s small laugh twisted in my chest before he said, “How are we supposed to build trust if I can’t look at her?”
I couldn’t help the humorless snort through my nose. “ Build trust?! Are you fucking serious?!” He continued to simply stare , his brown eyes and indifferent expression gave absolutely nothing away, and I shook my head, my frustration beginning to climb again. “You brought us here under false pretenses, drugged us, and then stripped my girlfriend down and gagged her.” I grit out. “Chained us up.”
I didn’t think I needed any more reasons to be fucking livid, but the creep’s eyes glittered. I couldn’t be sure, but I think he liked that he was getting a reaction out of me, and it only made me more furious.
After a moment he shrugged. “Well, I happen to think Paige looks stunning like this.” His eyes cut over to her and my eyes followed.
And goddamn, it hurt to see her like this. I had been trying to keep my eyes off of her. There was no way to look at her without seeing . . . something.
And while that something was a fucking masterpiece, she wasn’t willingly showing me her body right now. My eyes fell to the monstrosity strapped to the bottom half of her pretty face—a thick gray cloth—and the stabby feeling in my chest twisted.
Her blue eyes were frozen glaciers. Cutting and sharp, but glistening with moisture. She was terrified. Exposed. But she was fighting like hell to keep the fight in her eyes. And I couldn’t do a fucking thing. Not chained to this pole.
I took a breath. “What do we have to do to get her some clothes? Get that . . . thing off her face?”
I couldn’t even begin to stomach the vague “rehearsal” plans he’d given us. This “shoot.” But if Jeremy ended up leaving the room again, it’d be a lot easier to come up with a plan if she had the use of her voice.
Jeremy sighed. “Naked Paige is a requirement, I’m afraid.” His voice was soft with apology, but had the remorse of telling me he was out of band-aids or something.
Not exposing my girlfriend.
I blinked rapidly, half-expecting another creature entirely to shed the skin of the man in front of me.
How is this possible?
When Jeremy remained —not a body snatcher— my anger relit, staring back at him as he finally said, “We might be able to negotiate the gag, though.”
I tried to think past the burning rage running through me . I couldn’t even bring myself to imagine what this negotiation would cost.
The room felt . . . crooked.
My head swayed and I shook it, trying to keep myself conscious.
Paige needs me.
I cleared my throat with a small shake of my head, trying to focus. Thoughts of anything other than survival and keeping the son of a bitch’s hands off of Paige had to wait.
As he walked over to her, my spine lengthened. But when his hand reached out and cupped her jaw, I immediately lunged toward them. I couldn’t even feel my arms, my hands—but the stampede of fury from seeing his thumb brush over her covered lips was sending me into a blinding rage.
Her muffled whimpers cut through me as I growled, “You son of a bitch! Don’t fucking touch her!” thrashing wildly.
Jeremy peeked up at me. I was breathing like a rabid bull and my vision was narrowing but I could see this . . . almost impressed glint in his expression and a tightness gripped my throat. It was a similar look to ones he’d given me while working on my film project this year.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, and the thought —that wasn’t real.
Paige used the distracted moment to jerk her face away from his fingers, and Jeremy chuckled. “I’m kind of surprised, Linc. You really don’t like seeing your girl trussed up like the perfect little sex doll?”
My gaze shot to him with a glare. I wasn’t about to dignify the perverted musing with a response. But he didn’t wait for one. He took the couple of steps between us, putting himself in front of me, and then crouched down.
Without hesitation, I lifted my legs, shot them out, kicking him square in the chest, as hard as I could. I was so tired and weak that the effort only managed to knock him over, probably piss him off, but whatever.
It felt good.
He stood back up, straightening himself out with another pleased tilt to his lips.“Keep that fight. You’re gonna need it.”
In an instant, he climbed on top of me, straddling my lap and I bucked against him trying to knock him off.
What in the ever loving fuck?
I think his hands were holding over my wrists, but the lack of circulation was making it hard to tell. He pushed his body weight into me and Paige screamed from behind the gag, but his dark gaze held my eyes hostage. His weight, his hands, the chains.
I pressed myself far into the couch—putting as much distance between us as I could before his hands moved . . . cradling my jaw.
Seriously, what the fuck is this?
“It only seems fair that a mouth should pay for the freedom of another mouth, don’t you think?”
I blinked rapidly, still trying to jerk and push away from his hold. But a prickling sensation tightened up my spine when what he said finally sunk in, and I saw his eyes on my lips. A hardness pressed into my groin.
I could nearly feel the thud in my chest from my heart bottoming-out.
Digging my heels into the floor, I pushed so hard I thought I might blow through the back of the couch.
The sounds of Paige’s desperate, muffled screams filtered back through, while somewhere in that time, one of Jeremy’s hands had moved to my hair. Running his fingers through it . . .
My glare shifted from one of his dark brown eyes to the other, but they looked nearly black, glittering.
I don’t know this person.
It was . . . unsettling. I was so confused. Fucking disturbed. But the thing that came out of my mouth was, “Y-You’re gay?”
Grinding his teeth, his jaw wiggled a bit and his eyes hardened. It looked like he was working to keep his expression even, and I inhaled deep.
Hm. Did I strike a nerve there, asshole?
The fingers digging through my hair said, yes, and I tucked the observation in my back pocket. After another second passed, he sighed. “My preferences are unimportant.” His voice was tight, wrought with something distantly wounded, but he just as quickly blinked it away.
I again tried to pull my face away from his touch, but his fingers scraped into my scalp and twisted my hair at the roots. Not enough to really hurt, but with my arms numb and chained, his full weight on top of me, his fucking boner digging into my hip—I was defenseless.
My eyes shifted away from his. The fucker may have had me twisted and stuck in his web of perversion, but that didn’t mean I had to look at him. “What do you want?” I finally mumbled.
Using the fingers still raked through my hair, he pulled my chin up. Like he’d somehow heard my silent defiance and decided to prove me wrong.
Watchful, slimy eyes stared down at me before I felt his grip on my hair loosen and then disappear. But not even a full second later, he was running his thumb along my lips.
My mouth immediately tried to sink its teeth into his hand, but he caught my chin with an easy swoop. Paige’s stifled protests reignited as his eyes darkened further, lit like a black flame, as he used one of his hands to pry my jaw open.
I pushed as much as I pulled. It didn’t even feel like I had fucking arms anymore and my struggle was useless. All it took was him pressing his knees into the couch cushion, dampening his weight on top of me, as his thumb pressed down on my tongue.
The invasion took me by surprise and my instinct to bite down was denied by his other hand, still tightly gripped around my jaw.
“Listen. It’s nothing crazy,” he said with a casualness that licked flames down my spine. “You’re just going to kiss me. Convincingly.”
Paige’s ragged, muffled voice started screaming again just as his thumb started to slide further back—closer to my throat, and then slowly forward again, like he was petting my tongue, and bile rose up my throat.
Yes, puke. That’ll get him off me.
But my body didn’t cooperate. I had nothing in my stomach, so when he pushed his thumb a little too far back—hitting my gag reflex—it sent me into a dry-heaving, coughing fit.
And while he did ease his thumb back, he didn’t take it away. Drool fell from the corners of my open mouth as he leaned into me and said, “Follow the directions, Linc,” he said low, his voice strung with warning. “The boss already has eyes on us, and you don’t want him involved.” With the threat-laced words, he finally freed my mouth and I gasped in a hard breath, only to cough it back out a second later.
The boss?
My body convulsed between trying to breathe, while simultaneously choking on toxic coughs from the vomit that still wouldn’t actually surface.
There was someone else? Someone already watching this shit?!
Who?
The thoughts flew through seconds of me hacking, all the while I could see Paige thrashing and kicking beside me.
Jeremy’s eyes flicked over to her, and after another choking breath, I worked to swallow. “W-Water,” I croaked.
His mouth flattened, clearly irritated, not that I gave a shit. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then decided differently and closed it. After another beat, with a huff, he pushed off of me.
My eyes shot to Paige but her eyes were staring daggers at Jeremy—two sharply cut sapphires firing in his direction as he crossed the room.
After rounding the armchair, he bent down to a small mini fridge I hadn’t noticed before, and he grabbed two bottles of water.
Placing one down on a stool by one of the cameras, he brought the other one over to me, unscrewing the top. The crack of the seal on the bottle cap lifted my chest with some relief.
He held it up, offering it to me and fucking hell it was going to sting to drink from his disgusting hand.
But I needed to move this along. Paige was still silenced. I swallowed my pride and dropped my jaw, accepting the water.
Through measured sips, I tried to let each gulp fuel my fight.
He wanted me to . . . kiss him. I had no clue why, but that’s the thing about madness—to understand it was to be it. So, I guess the silver-lining was that some of my sanity was still intact.
Another few sips . . .
One thing was for sure, I was less than useless as long as I was chained to this pole—completely at his mercy.
The gag is negotiable . . .
Maybe I could negotiate the chains too. And if I kept myself hydrated, maybe I could work my strength back up to . . .
What? Kill him?
It wouldn’t be hard. Not mentally, anyway, seeing as I’d already envisioned myself doing it a hundred different ways since he walked in here.
As he pulled the bottle from my mouth, my chin hung forward, hauling in some deep breaths. Just as the slight coolness raced through my veins, Paige’s bare thigh came into my line of sight.
My eyes pulled up to her. Her terrified gaze was darting back and forth between me and Jeremy, and my eyebrows scrunched with a desolate blink.
She needed water too.
Which would require getting the gag off.