Chapter 5
“Owwww,” I groan, wincing at the pain in my skull as I wake up. “What the fuck did I do?”
I attempt to rub my head but realize I can’t move.
Am I dreaming? What is happening right now?
I try again, then it finally registers that my arms are behind my back, and they’re restrained.
Weakly, I move to yank my arm free, but it doesn’t work.
My head is pounding, and the effort creates a stabbing pain.
Moving isn’t worth it right now.
My eyes slowly blink open, adjusting to the room I’m in. It takes a moment for shapes to emerge and my eyes to catch up, but I’m in a basement, no doubt. The air smells damp and earthy like it hasn’t been opened in years.
“Hello,” I call out weakly. “Where am I?”
My voice echoes back to me, and the sound makes my head throb even worse. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember what happened.
“I woke up at home this morning…” I start to say out loud, but the noise hurts my head as I recount my day. I definitely woke up at home with Piet. Then I… Shit, what did I do? How did I find myself tied up in a basement with no memory of how I got here?
Okay, focus. What the hell did I do today?
I was trying to paint, and yeah, still no luck there.
I think I was looking for inspiration and went on a walk in the park.
That obviously didn’t work, and then… I went to that restaurant.
I met Zane! That gorgeous, might-have-ties-to-the-Mafia waiter who made my heart race just by existing.
He was dreamy, basically my fantasy man.
I know I wanted to see him again… so I… oh my god…
I followed him. Holy shit, I tried to stalk him!
That’s right. It’s slowly coming back to me.
My brain feels like it’s moving through molasses trying to piece the day back together, but I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing I remember.
So, how did I get here?
I shift again, realizing I’m tied to a chair.
My wrists are bound behind me, but it doesn’t seem like rope; it’s too soft for that.
I lean my head forward to eye my feet as much as I can, and it looks like a piece of fabric is tying them together.
Clearly, I can’t be in too much danger if I’m not even properly restrained.
There’s nothing I’ve done that could possibly warrant me finding myself in this situation.
I haven’t wronged anyone or stolen anything.
I’m just a twenty-six-year-old who sells his art on the internet.
Unless I’ve been wrongfully kidnapped. Maybe whoever did this thinks I’m someone else and they have the wrong guy.
“Okay,” I say out loud to the empty basement. “This isn’t good.”
Which is the understatement of the fucking century.
My heart starts to pound in my skull and my chest now, the pain competing with the surge of adrenaline flooding my system.
I yank at the restraints, ignoring the way it makes my head feel like it’s splitting open. The material holding my chest to the chair doesn’t budge. I wiggle my fingers, but I don’t feel anything I can grab.
Maybe my feet have a better give to them. Not that untying my feet will do anything to help free my hands, but who knows, maybe I can stand. I’ve never been tied to a chair before in some unknown person’s basement, so might as well try everything.
Wait a second… This is like my books! Except way less fun because there’s no hot masked man looming over me ready to fuck my face.
I wiggle my feet, trying to loosen the material while I focus back on my memories from earlier.
Or yesterday. I don’t know what time it is.
I ate dinner, then followed Zane to his car.
That’s the last thing I remember. Did he do this?
Could he actually be in the Mafia? Or was I right that he could be into dark romance too and this is an elaborate fantasy setup?
Is that why the restraints seem so amateur?
Except, now I remember Zane got into his truck, and I started chasing after him, planning to talk to him… Then he backed up. Oh god, did he hit me with his car? He must’ve hit me with his fucking car, and that’s why my head hurts so much.
But why? Was it on purpose? If it was an accident, why the hell would he tie me up in his basement? Unless he saw my dark romance book and saw the opportunity for us to have some fun and took it…
Is this a sexy game? Or am I going to die in a shitty basement in Kansas City where no one is going to find me?
“Take a deep breath,” I instruct myself even though it hurts. Zane wasn’t outwardly flirting with me at the restaurant, but maybe he did sense the same vibes I felt. He must have. He probably decided to do all this to seduce me. Maybe he’s waiting right now for me to call out to him.
“Positive thoughts,” I murmur to myself. “This has to be a positive experience, right? I’m not going to die. Why would he want to kill me? He’s just helping me live out my fantasies.”
A sound from upstairs steals my attention, so I start shouting, “Hello? Hi, it’s me, your ‘victim.’ I’m awake. Can I have some water? And some Tylenol?” My throat is dry, and he should want to take good care of me. The kidnapping daddies always do in the books.
The footsteps stop, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence.
He’s probably just getting me water.
My heart starts hammering in my throat as I hear the footsteps pick up again, and eventually, there’s a long, dragging sound before a creaking that I assume is the basement door opening.
This is it. I’m about to find out who did this and why. I’m about to come face-to-face with my kidnapper. I should be terrified. I am terrified… but also feel a strange flutter in my stomach that almost feels like anticipation. Am I already getting hard?
Fuck, I really hope it’s Zane and not some creepy old man.
It’s got to be him. Nothing else would make sense in my quiet, boring life.
Footsteps creak down the stairs one at a time, slowly revealing boots and jeans, then a torso wearing an unzipped hoodie hanging open to show off his abs and do nothing to hide his broad shoulders.
Hell yes, based on the sexy-as-fuck body type alone, this man looks like Zane.
Could it really be? Is this really happening?
Another step down, and I see that his face is covered… by a mask. A white hockey mask with red streaks down it that look like blood.
My brain short-circuits because this is… this is really happening.
Somehow, Zane knew. He knew exactly what I wanted, and now he’s here to bring my fantasies to life. I knew stalking him was a great idea!
He comes to the bottom of the stairs and stands there, watching me with a tilted head. He’s tall and built, just like I remember from earlier. Even though I can’t see his face or eyes, it’s clear he’s watching me. It’s obvious it’s him.
This is straight out of one of my books. A scene I’ve read so many times. The mysterious, dangerous man in the mask and the helpless victim—me, this time, thank God—who is terrified but also turned the fuck on. And turned the fuck on I am.
He’s still standing there, assessing me. Yep, my dick is definitely getting hard now. Heat creeps up my neck, and my mouth is even more dry as I wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s planning to do to me.
This is so fucked up.
I’m so fucked up.
But I don’t care. This is arguably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
“What do you want to do with me?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper as I try to make it sound sultry.
He doesn’t answer, just steps closer. His movements are controlled, predatory, but he almost looks nervous, too.
His hands are trembling, and I wonder if this is his first time living out this fantasy.
The stakes are definitely high for him to have gone through all this effort.
Is he worried about doing something wrong and letting me down?
I should be begging for my life right now.
Probably. Crying, pleading, trying to appeal to his humanity to really play out the whole kidnapper script.
But I’m still not convinced that everything I’ve wanted is really coming true like this.
Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought and I’m hallucinating.
Maybe I’m in a coma somewhere, and I’m dreaming up the exact scenario that’s played out in my deepest, darkest fantasies.
He tilts his head the opposite direction, and I can easily picture him smiling behind the mask.
“You’re real,” I breathe, and I don’t know if I’m asking again or stating a fact.
But he finally responds, nodding twice.
My brain is trying to process the heightened emotions that are overwhelming me. He still hasn’t spoken, and the lack of words is making the tension grow palpably between us. He has to feel it if he’s gone through all this trouble to get me here.
My dick is getting harder by the second, and I shift in my seat to the best of my ability.
He looks at my lap, and he sucks in a sharp breath.
Does he like that I’m already so hard? Was he not expecting that?
He’s so sexy, teasing me with his mask and abs.
It’s not like I could hide it either; he’s restrained me. Probably with his missing shirt.
“Fuck, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” I admit, not hiding how much I’m enjoying this fucked-up scenario. “Have you read the book? Is that how you knew?”
He takes a slight step back, still not responding.
So mysterious.
I decide to elaborate for him, already very comfortable with one-sided conversations from all the ones I have between myself and Piet.
“How’d you know this was my fantasy?”
I can’t make out his expression behind the mask, but his throat bobs. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he finally asks, and chills overwhelm me as I confirm it’s the same voice from the restaurant. I knew it was Zane.
“You kidnapped me and tied me up in your basement. How’d you know this was one of my fantasies?”