Chapter Six
Steele
I closed my eyes, sitting in my favorite chair, feeling the fire warm my face, listening to the crackle and hiss as the flame licked the log and charred it. As usual, a drink was in my hand, and I absentmindedly tapped the glass against the table, listening to the ice swish around. Opening my eyes, I brought the scotch to my lips and let it burn my throat on the way down.
A hostage. I had a goddamn hostage in my basement. Not just any hostage, but a young woman. A woman who hadn’t done anything wrong, other than be produced by one of my enemies. The decision to take her was an easy one, but I really hadn’t thought through the ramifications.
I cursed under my breath. I was usually cold and calculating, always weighing each consequence of the decisions I made before responding. But I’d acted impulsively, my pride getting the better of me, and now I had a spoiled brat who contained more fire in her single pinky than all the women I’d met combined. I rubbed my hand against my cheek, the spot where she’d spit on me. I wanted to throttle her right there, strangle her until her face turned red and she sputtered and gasped, but I managed to resist. I wasn’t usually one to show mercy. What the fuck was happening to me?
Her pretty face and toned body circled in my mind, and I envisioned those long legs in all types of compromising positions—shit. No. I needed to get this girl out of my life fast.
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed. The line rang, almost immediately switching to voicemail. I didn’t expect him to answer. I smiled as his disgruntled voice came on the line, inviting callers to leave him a detailed message. No problem, I thought.
“Topher, you’ve crossed the wrong man. And now you’re hiding in some piece of shit safe house, huddled and hoping to wait me out. Praying I’ll get bored and move on. But…you didn’t take everything with you, did you? You didn’t protect the most valuable thing you have.” I paused for dramatic effect, enjoying this game of cat and mouse. “Do you know where your daughter is?”
I chuckled as I disconnected the call and sat back. I took another long swig of my drink before my cell immediately started to vibrate. Just as I suspected.
“Steele,” I answered, setting my drink down, my lips curving into a smile.
“What have you done with her?” His tone was somewhat panicked, but he didn’t have the desperation in his voice that I’d imagined. Almost as if I’d stolen an apple from his lunch or a pen on his desk, not a beloved and treasured daughter.
“She’s…resting,” I said, still enjoying the conversation. Topher Phillips made me look like a fool, but now the tables were turned, and it was time for him to be the clown. “I must say, she doesn’t look anything like you…she’s beautiful, with her dark hair and fiery eyes. Luscious legs that go on for—”
“What do you want?” he snapped.
“It’s simple. You. I want you, here, in Europe, in my building, where I can judge and punish you in front of my entire empire. Show them what happens when you fuck with me.”
A sharp exhale, and then the line went dead.
It wasn’t the reaction I was anticipating. I expected Topher to plead for his daughter, ask how she was, beg for proof that she was unharmed, and then negotiate the terms of her release. Staring at the blank screen on my cell phone, I wondered if I’d miscalculated.
No. There was no way a man of his station would sit back and let his own flesh and blood be taken hostage, no matter what the price, or how strained their relationship might be. He was a proud man, and he was probably just caught off guard.
Satisfied that I’d bested him, and figuring it would only be a matter of time before he came crawling to me, I decided to check in on my hostage. Other than having Quincy bring a small bucket for her to relieve herself in, she’d been completely ignored for the past twenty-four hours. I prayed that she would be gone within the next twenty-four. I was somewhat uncomfortable with the thought of her chained in my basement. I wasn’t a good man, nor did I pretend to be, but after the initial thrill of seeing a woman restrained in bed, I’d felt…evil. Not just a criminal, not just a corrupt businessman, but someone who got off on the pain of others.
I shook my head to clear away the absurd thoughts, finished my drink—slamming it a little too hard on the end table—and then I walked to the staircase leading to the basement. Before I could descend the stairs, Quincy hobbled up the steps, his hand to his head. He was a man in his mid-sixties, alone after his wife died. His children lived in Australia, and I knew he sent most of the money he saved to them.
“What happened? Did she hit you?”
Quincy winced as his hand came away bloody, a gash cut deep into his forehead.
“No, but she managed to trip me when I went to empty the bucket. I fell into the edge of the bed frame.”
His clothes were filthy from the mess, and the mark on his forehead was dripping blood down his face. Anger rose up within me. Quincy had been with me for years, and he was the closest thing to family I had, besides an estranged half-brother who was running wild across Europe. This woman needed to be taught a lesson, and fast.
“Quincy, have the doctor look at you and then take the rest of the evening off. I’ll tend to her myself.”
“She hasn’t eaten anything since she’s been here…I normally wouldn’t care, but I am assuming you need her alive—”
I grunted, before turning back towards the kitchen. “I’ll take care of it.” I could hear Quincy muttering as he went up the large oak staircase. My townhome in London wasn’t nearly as big or as grand as my estate in France, but I didn’t want to be tracked to my permanent residence there.
I moved towards the modern kitchen and flicked on the lights. Since I’d only anticipated spending a few days in the city, I hadn’t bothered to bring my cook up with me, and I didn’t trust anyone else in my space. Moving over to the window above the stainless-steel sink, my eyes roamed over the London skyline—its mixture of old and new, with ancient towers illuminated by modern architecture. Try as I might, I couldn’t help but remember the life I’d had there as a young boy, in and out of orphanages, and then living on the streets of London in between, picking pockets and stealing to survive. All because my asshole father abandoned my mother.
I took a deep breath, trying to keep the past where it belonged. Besides, I’d rectified my situation, and I was living the life I was meant to. Money, booze, women, and power. All a man could ever want.
I opened the fridge and pulled out some cheese and an apple. Good enough. The bitch didn’t deserve a gourmet meal. I placed the food on a plate and then went back to my study and grabbed a gun from my desk drawer. Topher’s daughter was unpredictable. The only way to keep her under control might be to threaten her. I pulled out my phone again and checked the security camera in the basement, wanting to make sure I wasn’t walking into some kind of ill-planned trap—I wasn’t scared of her, but I didn’t have the time to be bandaged up.
The video feed loaded, and an image of her lying on the bed popped up on my screen. Her hair was mussed-up, as if she had been thrashing about on the bed. Her thin shirt was still pushed up, a mere inch away from showing the bottom of her breasts. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt myself harden as she squirmed against her bonds. I traced my gaze over her legs, before noticing dark spots on the white sheet she was on top of.
Blood. Guilt trickled through me, before I quickly pushed it away. Why should I care if she”d rubbed her wrists and ankles raw? Not my problem that Topher’s daughter was an idiot. But, even as the thought crossed my mind, I was impressed by her efforts. Clearly, she didn’t give up. By now, most women would have accepted their fate or tried to somehow bribe their way free, but she’d kept fighting, even managing to best Quincy.
She had balls.
I pushed open the thick metal door and made my way down the stairs. I heard rustling, but as soon as the light from the stairwell flooded the room, the movement stopped.
She was in worse shape than I’d thought. Both her ankles and wrists were so raw that they were oozing, clearly in the beginning stages of becoming infected. Her eyes were sunken and red, her lips dry and cracked.
The second she saw me, she tried to curl up into herself, further injuring her extremities. She met my gaze with open hostility; I suddenly felt like our roles were reversed and I was her prisoner.
“Has my father arranged for my release?” She blew a long piece of hair out of her face as she glared at me.
I walked into the room, careful to leave a large perimeter around the bed.
“We’re working through the details,” I replied, pulling up a stool next to her, resting my elbows on my knees. I held up the apple, and her eyes focused on it, widening. It was a look I knew well, one I’d worn for most of my young life. I’d meant to tease her with the food, coerce her into submission before allowing her to eat, but the famished look on her face hit me hard and made me feel something akin to…pity. I handed her the apple. In a flash, she tore it from my grasp and started munching, juice running down her hands. When the sweet liquid hit her wrists, she winced but kept eating. A moan escaped her lips, and the sound went straight to my groin. Hell, what was it about this woman? Did I have some undiscovered fetish for prisoners? I enjoyed fucking women, and enjoyed every possible way to have sex, but bondage was one avenue I’d never explored. Maybe it was the situation that was turning me on, not this woman.
She hastily ate the apple all the way down to the core, and then looked at me expectantly. I handed over the cheese and she hardly chewed it, refusing to take her eyes off of me as she swallowed her meager meal. Her eyes bore into me, glistening despite their redness. Her hair was tousled, and she licked her lips, trying to relieve the dryness.
She was vivacious.
I needed to get out of there, and quickly.
I stood up, moving the stool out of her reach, figuring if she got close enough she’d try to do something stupid, like bash my head in. When I turned to head back upstairs, I heard her whisper.
“Water?” Her voice was small and hoarse, and I wanted to smack myself for not bringing her such a basic necessity. People treated dogs better than I was treating this woman.
I turned around to face her, and something gnawed at me as I took in her disheveled appearance. Sighing, I moved over to her and pulled the gun from my waistband and held it towards her. She flinched, but didn’t cower.
“One wrong step, and I’ll kill you,” I threatened, before replacing the gun and pulling out the key to the cuffs. I unchained her legs, but kept her hands bound.
“Can you walk?” I asked gruffly, already hating myself for this asinine decision.
She continued her unwavering hostility, and stood up as if she had something to prove. I yanked slightly at the chains still on her wrists. “Come.”
She moved silently up the stairs in front of me, her head and eyes darting as she took in my home. I’d gone to great lengths to acquire it, since the property should have been mine by birthright. The building itself was incredibly old, built by Queen Victoria for a beloved cousin. It was three stories tall, and was originally three separate units, but I’d converted the inside so that all three floors, plus the basement, were my domain. I’d also bribed the proper officials and added on a secure garage, housing several of my cars below street level. The arrangement offered me complete privacy to conduct my affairs.
We entered the long hallway on the first floor, and she stared at me before I nudged her up the staircase to the second floor. I pushed her into the first guest room on the left, following behind her. Closing the door, I gestured towards the bed, and she sat.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
Surprise crossed her face as I knelt in front of the bed and unlocked the cuffs at her wrists. She whimpered a bit as the metal slipped off, and I tried to avoid looking at the abraded skin covering her petite wrists.
“There’s bars on the windows, so no use in trying to escape,” I threatened. “I’ll send the doctor in shortly to look at your wrists.”
Refusing to look back, I locked the door behind me, and then sunk against it, not believing how weak I truly was.