Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Raven
The pounding of my head wakes me.
The ache in my arms is the next thing I feel.
I’m standing. No… I’m suspended. Arms held up, wrists caught in something, my weight on my knees on a hard floor.
Opening my eyes is harder than it should be. They’re gritty, sticky with sleep, and the room that I see is blurry at first.
Then adrenaline kicks in, and everything sharpens.
Bare concrete walls and floor. A thick rubber mat covering the floor around me. Ropes tying my wrists, pulling my arms up, running through a hook in the ceiling.
It’s a basement, and I’m tied up in it.
And all I’m wearing is my strappy top and panties.
Oh, Jesus fuck.
Terror sends my pulse thudding in my ears, so loud I can barely hear my sobs as I pull at the ropes. They don’t give an inch.
I struggle for almost a minute before I calm myself enough to think. I’m on my knees. All I have to do is stand, and the tension eases. Panic stopped me seeing that immediately, but in my defense, I’ve just woken tied half-naked in a fucking basement.
An overriding thirst claws at my throat, and my desperate struggles have only made it worse. I try to distract myself, taking in the room around me, now that I can see more than my immediate predicament.
The first thing I see is a glass-fronted cabinet against the wall, filled with guns and knives.
Fuck.
Some free weights are stacked in one corner, and there’s a dartboard on the back wall, looking incongruous. Beneath it is a vaulting horse, which maybe explains the rubber mats. My clothes are folded on top of it, my boots on the floor beside.
My jacket’s there. Half relief, half dread; whoever has me has the diamonds and hardware wallet.
I know who has me.
Declan.
He jabbed me in the arm with something in the parking lot. He drugged me.
And now I’m tied up by his goddamn knots.
Is this what he meant by taking care of me?
The rope runs through an eyelet in the ceiling to a cable drum of the garage door mechanism. That makes no sense. Can I open the goddamn garage by pulling hard enough?
Twenty seconds of trying tells me I can’t, and I stop when my shoulders are threatening to dislocate.
With my hands bound above me, getting a foot beneath me is awkward but not difficult, the tension in the ropes providing the resistance needed.
I stand slowly, legs shaky, and the rope goes slack.
I have maybe two feet of play. My situation hasn’t dramatically improved.
It eases the ache in my arms, but I can’t go anywhere.
There’s not enough rope to move more than a foot or two in any direction, still a long way from the knives teasing me with their proximity.
Teasing for now; scaring the shit out of me for what it might mean later.
I can bring my hands down to face-height, enough to see that the knots are complex and there’s no way of reaching them.
It’s fucking bondage rope. I recognize it.
That bastard.
I bite at the knots, trying to worry them loose with my teeth, but they’re tied too tight and the rope is too strong.
Panic threatens to return, and only forcing some slow breaths keeps me from hyperventilating. What is Declan planning to do with me? Is this just some fucked-up sex game, or something far darker? What is that man capable of?
I don’t know the answer to that question. I wish I did, but I don’t.
What kind of man lies about who he is, drugs me, kidnaps me, ties me up, then leaves me here?
Footsteps outside tell me I’m about to find out. Even though I know it’s futile, I can’t help but gnaw at the ropes again. It hurts my teeth, but I still try, only stopping as the door opens.
“Enough of that,” Declan says as he walks in. He’s dressed in just a pair of blue jeans, naked from the waist up, feet bare, his back to me. He carries a box to the vaulting horse without even looking at me.
“Enough of—” Talking makes me cough, my throat too dry. It’s a moment until I can finish my question. “—what?”
“Gnawing like a fieldmouse.”
He couldn’t have known. He couldn’t have seen… not unless he has a camera somewhere in here.
Fuck, of course he does. That’s why he’s here now. He knew I was awake.
“What the hell is this, Declan?”
He turns around. Despite myself, my eyes are drawn to his perfect torso, on display. I’ve seen it so many times, just never when I’ve been tied up.
Hell, even that’s not true. Just not tied up… as his prisoner.
More true.
So it takes me a moment to realize he’s holding a sports bottle, a straw poking out. My throat convulses with the need for water, and once I’ve noticed it, I can’t look away.
“Just a precaution,” he says, as he walks over. “You’re a flight risk.” He holds the bottle for me, the straw angled for easy access. “Thirsty?”
He knows I am. It might be drugged, but I’m almost past caring. I’m so damn desperate for it I close my lips around it without question, almost moaning in pleasure as cold water runs over my tongue and down my throat.
“Slowly,” he murmurs.
Yeah. Like he cares about my welfare when he’s drugged me and tied me up in his fucking dungeon.
He lets me have half the bottle before he steps back, regarding me.
Then he pulls something from his pocket.
A little black device. For a moment, I think it’s the hardware wallet, but it’s too small.
It’s a remote. He clicks a button, and there’s a whir from behind me. The garage door. Is he opening it?
No… instead, the ropes pull on my wrists, arms lifting inch by inch, and I can’t stop them.
He hits another button when I’m up on my toes, and the motor stops.
The ache in my shoulders comes back viciously, and I glare at him. “Just a precaution?” I ask, tone scathing.
He smiles slowly. “You really are a little hellcat.”
“Do you not know how to treat a woman?”
“I know how I’m going to treat you.”
I swallow, nervous. It’s not just his words, it’s his tone. Full of promise, and not in a good way. Cold, almost sadistic, yet with a hint of anticipation that raises goosebumps on my skin.
And he hasn’t let me down. I don’t know why I thought he would, as if he could still just be playing after he’s drugged me, brought me here, tied me up… stripped me.
“Declan, this isn’t funny.”
“Oh, your serious voice.” His head tilts as he watches me, a smile flirting with his lips. “I agree,” he says at last. “Funny is not what this is.”
“You need to let me go.”
“I probably will,” he says, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “How quickly depends on you.”
Probably?
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Well, that’s simple, sweetheart. I only have one question.” He reaches out, running a fingertip up my arm, then checks that the knots are holding.
I know they are, and I’m trying to ignore the tingle in my skin from that single light touch. “Ask it then, damn it.”
But Declan won’t be rushed. The way he examines the rope seems to suggest they’re not coming off soon, like either he doesn’t expect me to answer him, or it won’t make any difference if I do.
He shifts the ropes on my wrist, checks that they can move without coming loose, then steps back at last, satisfied.
“What’s the package?” he asks, tone light, like he doesn’t really care.
“What package?” I don’t even think, it just slips out. No one’s mentioned any ‘package’ to me.
Declan slaps my face. It’s not hard, it’s not even particularly painful. It’s more of a shock than anything. A warm-up. Like the time he slapped me before, when I was tied up in his bed. “Don’t play dumb, Raven.”
I rub my cheek against my arm, glaring at him. “What. Fucking. Package.”
“The one Kurt gave you from the vault. The one that’s more important to him than all the diamonds. The one that was entrusted to you. The one no one else knows about.”
Oh. That package.
The little black box, sitting in my jacket just behind him.
Except I can’t believe he hasn’t already found it. He must’ve found the diamonds. Surely he went through my pockets?
And I don’t like this game. Fuck him. I don’t feel like playing ball.
“That’s between me and Kurt.” He doesn’t get anything off me. Not like this, not forced. Hell, I might’ve told him if he’d just asked nicely.
Yet I wouldn’t. Kurt told me not to trust him; now I know why.
“No, it’s between me and you. Kurt’s not here.” Declan grips my chin, lifting my face to his. I try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig in harder. “It’s only one question, Raven,” he says, almost gentle. “What’s the package?”
He has my jacket. I know he’s found the box and has discovered what it is: a hardware wallet locked with a PIN.
That’s not what he’s asking.
He thinks I can open it, and I’ve already looked inside. He wants an answer in numbers.
He wants Kurt’s millions.
Or maybe he’s asking what it’s for, what purpose Kurt has for it… beyond a private yacht somewhere.
A reasonable question. Kurt doesn’t strike me as a man motivated purely by wealth.
Either way, I’m nothing more than a tool for Declan to get what he wants. The ‘package’ is his goal, not me.
It probably always was.
I see myself clearly now: Declan’s in to the crew. Declan’s tool. A path to Declan’s goal.
Is that all this is to him? All I am to him?
I’ve been here before: used, disposable. I swore I’d never let it happen again. For some reason, I thought Declan was different. He’s not. For all his irresistible charisma, he’s worse.
Yet I’m still responding to him.
Do I hate myself more than him right now? I can’t tell; it’s that close.
“I don’t know.” And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.
“Convenient, but I’m afraid I don’t believe you.” He slaps my face again, the other side, no harder than last time. It’s almost affectionate. My cheeks feel warm, but I’m more concerned how hard those blows are going to get. “What’s the package?”
“Not telling you,” I grind out. “Let me go.”
He gives my chin a shake. “You will tell me.”
“Fucking make me,” I spit at him.
He smiles slowly, eyes dancing with amusement. “You know I can. You know I will. Do you really want to challenge me?”