“Why should I care what happens to that poisonous shrew?”
“Because I do,” Miles growled. “Who made you do it?”
“I don’t know, I got a letter saying if I wanted her out of your life to visit her Sunday and show her pictures of you and that Legends girl together and say the two of you were engaged. They sent the images, and last I heard, she was on a plane.”
His mother had retrieved a letter from the bureau drawer that stood against the far wall of the sitting room. She offered it to him with an indignant huff, already opened. His fingers pulled the printed plane ticket from inside, discovering it ended at the main airport. She must have kept any transfer passes herself.
He glanced to his mother, who at least knew him well enough to look away as he read the contents of the letter.
Gripping his hair in frustration he passed the lavender scented paper to his father. In that moment, Miles didn’t know what to do with himself.
He couldn’t believe this was happening. He needed to find Ivy before whoever was orchestrating her crisis did. He’d seen this kind of thing before in his line of work, read about it in reports. It never ended well.
“This isn’t good. Someone was baiting her. Look at the evidence. She gets fired and told to leave her apartment on the same day, her father died and his insurance payments were delayed, making her financially and emotionally vulnerable. Someone used your mother to drive a wedge between you, as if knowing you offered her a roof and security until she got back on her feet.
“The question is, was this job offer part of the plan, or something in the way. Has anyone heard from her since she landed?” His father was typing away on his phone frantically, as if he already knew the answer.
“She said she’d call Bex, but she hasn’t. I’ve called and left messages.” Just then his phone rang. “Talk of the devil.” He turned his attention to the phone, accepting the call with a quick swipe of his finger. “Please tell me you’ve heard from her. Whoa, slow down. What’s happened?” He listened intently, his free hand balling into a fist, his gaze lifting to meet his father’s. “Okay. I’ll be over in a minute. I just need to finish up here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Bex said she’s just had a courier drop off Ivy’s case. Apparently it was lost in transit and she had it routed back home. Why would she do that if she was going to take a job there?” He watched his father’s face grow solemn, and he knew the answer before it even left his lips. “You don’t think there was a job do you?” Miles’ heart dropped to his stomach. “You don’t think there was one, and if it wasn’t for her case coming back to Bex we’d be none the wiser.”
“No, I think given the evidence someone manipulated events for just this result. We know one thing though, she landed safely. She had to in order to arrange for her case to be returned.”
“What have you done,” he hissed at his mother. He should have been on that plane with her, sitting beside her, holding her hand, keeping her safe. Now he had no idea where she was, or why someone would even do this to her. Ivy was everything that was good in the world. Why would someone want to do something so cruel? They got Ivy out there, alone, isolated, vulnerable, but what was their plan, and why?
“Miles, I—”
“Save it. You better pray she’s safe, because until she’s home, you and I are done. Dad, I need access to one of our P.I.s I need her phone tracking and—”
“I’m ahead of you there, son.” His phone pinged as he received a response to whatever message he’d fired off a moment ago. “One second.” His father focused on his phone for a few minutes before lifting his gaze to Miles. He saw the sympathy in his gaze.
Fuck, this was bad. He tried to brace himself, but he knew nothing would prepare him for what he was about to hear. “Her phone and passport were reported stolen. We have credit card activity on Tuesday, and the embassy confirmed they made a call and spoke with her Wednesday morning. Then nothing.” His father’s men were nothing if not quick to act, they understood every second counted.
“How about the card charges, do they tell us anything?” he questioned. It was Friday morning that was forty-eight hours without word or any kind of activity. He’d never known her to use a credit card, perhaps she really was there for a job and needed some things to replace what had been in her case, but he couldn’t convince himself of this lie, no matter how hard he tried. He’d known from the moment he’d opened the door to her empty apartment something was wrong.
“It was to a catalogue, they’re working on getting a shipping address. I’ll go ahead and file a missing person’s report. Maybe, if whoever has her realises she’s already been missed, they’ll think twice about—” His father trailed off as if he already knew there was no reason to placate him. He knew the job as much as his father did, after all, it was his job to stop things like this happening.
Miles ground his teeth. He should have seen it. If a client had come to him in the same situation his first reaction would have been to increase security, so why hadn’t he listened, why hadn’t he realised the most important person in his life was in danger? “There’s one other thing, son.” His father placed a hand on his shoulder. “There was a flight booked under her name to England on Wednesday afternoon. The ticket was purchased in cash.
“Whoever lured her out there is making it look like she went back to the UK. I don’t think they know about the passport, or even the case. Your friend’s bad luck may be the very thing that saves her.”
Knowing Ivy, she’d probably not even consider telling someone about her case, especially since it turned up the next day. He knew she kept her clothes and money in hand luggage so its loss wouldn’t have been that important. But the fact she had it returned to Manhattan means she must have known something was wrong with the job. Otherwise, the decision made little sense.
His heart hammered in his chest. Someone made it look like she’d left. His stomach knotted with worry. The only reason someone would do that was if—
“I’ve got to go to Becca’s. There might be something in her case that can help us find her.” He turned, leaving without acknowledging his mother, ignoring the way she stared after him as he clutched the last letter Ivy had written to him to his chest. He was going to find her. He had to.
CHAPTER NINE
Ivy’s head was pounding, her temples pulsed with every beat of her heart. She felt hung over, in fact, she felt as if she was trapped in the worst hangover of her life.
Her mind raced over the events of yesterday, fighting her way through the foggy haze. She’d only had two, maybe three, glasses of wine with lunch, although she hadn’t eaten much.
What had happened? She remembered dancing with Perry, how his touch became too intimate, the feeling of his erection being forced against her hand, then nothing.
A horrific image of a travel chest flashed into her mind. Oh God, she remembered being put inside, his sinister smile, the panic, the darkness, the way her body felt heavy and unresponsive.
Oh God.
A quiet groan escaped her lips as she tried to move onto her side, pulling her arms and legs up in unison. Her breath caught as she felt the resistance, her eyes shot open as she jerked upright, her breathing panicked as the bite of metal around her wrists sang as it dragged her back down onto the bed, preventing her escape. Her heart raced, bile burned in her throat as she turned her head, following the path of the heavy duty chain from the smooth metal shackles to the place it disappeared deep inside the wall behind the metal headboard.
No. This had to be a dream, a nightmare. This could not be happening. It had to be a game, a joke. The memory of Perry’s touch on her skin, the image of his twisted smile as he closed the lid on the case reminded her of everything she needed to know.
She took three long, slow breaths. She couldn’t panic. She wouldn’t panic, she told herself as fear gnawed in her gut. He’d only bound her arms. She still had a chance. If she didn’t panic she’d be okay, she assured herself again, a
lready feeling the violent tremors of fear wracking through her, causing the chains the rattle.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Her breathing shuddered as she pushed herself up towards the head rest to create some slack in the chains, causing the soft mattress to screech beneath her weight. It took a moment for her to realise it wasn’t the soft springs responsible for the ear-piercing commotion, but the bedframe.
It looked sturdy, constructed from thick metal bars that appeared closer to scaffolding that the thin tubing often used for such beds, yet it grated and shrieked with her every movement in a way that caused her senses to shudder, the same way as nails down a chalkboard would.
With enough slack she turned, pushing her legs through the gaps in the headboard until her feet were braced against the steel wall before throwing her weight backwards. She bit down on a scream as the shackles dug into her wrists.
Realising at once her mistake, she grasped the chain within her hands, easing the pressure and pulling again, trying to work the chains free from whatever secured them into the wall. That’s what her game heroes would do. They’d find a way to free themselves, search the room for items that could be useful, and escape. That was what she would do too. Surely with enough force, her hundred and fifteen pounds could best whatever fitting held her in place.
With each painful thrust against the wall, she allowed herself to focus on another feature of the room, combining her struggle with looking for something to help when she broke free. Because she was getting out of here. Her head was pounding, perspiration beaded on her skin, and she felt like she was going to vomit, but she was getting out of here.
She thrust herself back, using her legs against the wall for extra force as she pulled against the chains.
There were no windows. All the light was coming from the small spotlights embedded into the white ceiling above.
Tears streamed down her face as she threw herself back again. Even holding the chains the force of her actions caused her wrists to scream, her shoulders burned as her head pounded in time with her rapid pulse. None of that mattered right now. Right now she needed to concentrate on getting out. That was all that mattered, nothing else.
There was a wet room, she could just see inside, but markings on the door frame suggested the door had been recently removed.
Her wrists burned as purple bruising formed, along with red sores from where her grip slid down the chain.
Again.
There was a wooden door, a wardrobe perhaps, next to the bathroom. Maybe there were coat hangers, tools she could use, something she could defend herself with.
Again.
There was a metal track in the ceiling that seemed to run in straight lines around the room to disappear beyond the closed door.
Again. This time she couldn’t bite back the cry of pain even through her grit teeth.
The ceiling above the bed didn’t have any tracking, and for some reason was much higher than the rest of the room.
She needed a second. Just a moment for her chest to stop heaving from the effort, a moment for movement to return to her unresponsive hands. She cried in frustration, noticing the only damage her struggle had caused was to her own wrists. It was useless, hopeless. No, she couldn’t afford to think that way. She couldn’t start to feel sorry for herself, if she did then she really would be trapped here.
Her head was throbbing, her stomach burning as she dry-heaved before the prickling in the back of her throat eased.
Bracing herself against the wall, she lifted her body off the bed, feeling the burn of her protesting muscles as she thrust her weight forward and back until she collapsed again, panting, sweat making the thin fabric of her lace dress cling to her. She pushed against the shackles, hoping the added lubrication of her damp skin would help force them off, but they were too tight.
She’d always told herself the women in movies never tried hard enough to escape from their kidnapper, that surely with enough effort they could rip the chains from the wall. It was only now she was here she realised how wrong she had been. She choked back a sob; the ceiling blurring through the mist of her tears.
This could not be happening.
Perry had left her legs free deliberately. He had wanted to see what she would do, wanted to watch her fight, and use the small amount of slack he had given her in any way she could envision until she realised the futility of her efforts. Her resistance now, her approaching defeat, would make overpowering her and forcing her to submit all the easier. She’d yet to realise that it didn't matter if she was bound or free, she was his.
His to use, his to hurt, his to play with.
There was nothing quite like the first time he parted his captive’s legs and forced himself inside them. There was something almost sacred about that moment when they realised there was nothing they could do, that he held all the power. But he’d never felt this anticipation before. With Ivy, it was different.
The others had been willing participants, bound by NDAs and paid well for their time. They had been practice runs, but she was his to keep. She was the reason he had done everything he had, and he would let her thank him by bearing his child and serving him for the rest of her days.
He stroked his growing erection, watching as she fought against the chains with every bit of the resistance he had expected. She didn’t realise how futile her efforts were. He had paid for quality. The winch inside the wall was one of the best money could buy. She had more chance of her feet breaking through the reinforced steel walls than breaking free of those chains. Still, it was fun to watch her try. She had teased him for so long.
In high school he had worshipped the ground she walked on. He’d tried everything to turn her head, but no matter how much money he’d poured into things, she never blinked twice. She was always too busy talking about the latest game with Miles Taylor, or modelling clothes for Rebecca Gabrielle.
It should have been he who had sat with her at lunch that day, but he’d been too nervous. Him, nervous. He came from old money. He always had the most beautiful woman on his arm, but the only one he had wanted was her, and she was the only one he couldn’t figure out how to manipulate.
Most women were simple. A flash of wealth and they fell at his feet. But not her. She didn’t even notice and, despite her father being wealthy, she steered away from branded clothes and wore common labels like Aphrodite wore beauty.
She’d always been polite, engaged in conversation at the lockers with him. He’d even started having someone tell him about the games she was playing so he could feign interest and ask her how to get past certain parts. But all he had ever thought about as she opened her mouth, and that sexy English accent poured out, was how pretty she would sound with her lips wrapped around his cock. And he always got what he wanted in the end.
He thought he would have forgotten her when he went to Harvard and she stayed and to attend NYU, but she was like an itch he could never quite scratch, the only thing he’d ever wanted that he’d not had. An obsession that only grew deeper with time.
The first time he’d hacked her laptop camera, he’d almost orgasmed there and then. Hell, if he hadn't been nearly four hours away, he’d probably have surprised her himself. He had watched as she had blindfolded and bound herself so beautifully to wait for her boyfriend. The idiot didn’t realise what he’d got, sure he’d got down to business by thrusting his cock inside her a few times and satisfying himself, but if she’d been waiting for him like that—oh the things he would have done, the things he was going to do.
After that little show, he’d had discrete cameras placed in her apartment when she was in lectures. He had even brought the building she lived in, for goodness’ sake. No matter how many women he had bed, hers was the name on his lips, the face he saw behind their perfect masks, and now she was his.
He watched the beautiful shimmer of tears track her face, sparkling in the lighting from above. If she thought she was suffering now she was in for a rude awakening. She’d pay for
all those years teasing him, denying him what was his. He shuddered as he worked his erection harder, faster, before he caught himself, stopping short. He didn’t need to just watch her anymore. She was here; she was his, and it was time for her to meet her new owner.
He heard her scramble as he unbolted the doors from the outside, his erection pressing painfully into his zipper as he entered. She was on her feet by the edge of the bed; pressed against the wall with the chain gripped between her hands as if she intended to wrap it around his neck. A valiant effort.
He watched her for a moment, folding one arm across his body to support his elbow as he cupped his chin, rubbing his index finger across his lips to suppress a smile. His pet looked so beautiful, so wild. He’d look forward to watching the fight fade. She screamed and shouted, begged and pleaded, but her cries and questions fell on deaf ears. He could see only her, his dishevelled beauty, and now she was his for the taking. He pressed a button on his phone and enjoyed the show.
He watched her fear morph into panic as the chain fed into the wall; she pulled and strained against it, but her efforts were futile, she was dragged back onto the bed, stumbling over herself as she tried to dig her bare feet into the concrete floor as if it could possibly make any difference.
It had taken a lot of work to get the desired effect, let alone have a bed built that was the right height and width to ensure that when the chain fully receded, she would stay exactly where he wanted her.
As the winch stopped, her wrists were pinned flat against the wall at an almost perfect ninety-degree angle, the perfect angle. She twisted her body, trying in vain to turn over, or thrust her legs over the side of the bed as if it would somehow make her less vulnerable. He had to give her credit, most had stopped fighting quite so enthusiastically by now.
He approached her slowly. He could barely believe it was actually her lying there, not a substitute, not a test run, but her, Ivy Sinclair. His cock twitched as she struggled helplessly, her fearful gaze fixed upon him as pleas fell from her lips. Her chest heaved as she gave up on getting off the bed, instead trying to bend her elbows and push herself up into the metal headrest, as if it would protect her. She was clever; it was the only way she could move that would give her a little more manoeuvrability.
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