Captive

by Trevion Burns

  The colorful drawing of two stick figure women had been produced in scribbled crayon, with the lack of finesse and clumsy skill that could only come from a child. He ran the bed of his thumb over the two figures in the picture, a tall black woman and a young white girl with big blonde curls. They held hands in the grass, smiling under the rays of a sun that smiled too.

  Linc couldn’t help smiling back. Not because everyone else in the photo was smiling, but because he knew Emma had drawn this picture. He knew she’d drawn it because of the rose garden she’d added in the far corner of the picture. The garden he knew she could see from her barred window at the top floor of the Ali estate. He smiled even as emotion burned his eyes. Even as a wave of relief rushed over him. Relief that his daughter was still capable of drawing herself with a smile on her face. That, regardless of her terrible circumstances, she still believed happiness existed. That it wasn’t beyond her reach.

  Sucking in a breath, Linc looked up at the bed, at Mia, who, he could only assume was the woman standing opposite Emma in that picture. A picture that showcased nothing but hope and partnership.

  Nothing but love.

  Did his daughter love Mia?

  The question— the faintest possibility that the answer could be yes—moved Linc across the room. As he sat in the chair next to the bed, laying the picture on the bedside table, he couldn’t deny the fact that Mia had found a way to battle ram that drawing into the tightest dress on Earth. That it had meant enough to her to carry it all night long.

  Did Mia love his daughter?

  Had he been wrong about her all along?

  He didn’t even feel his eyes softening as they ran her sleeping face—didn’t even realize he was staring—until her eyes suddenly fluttered open and she was looking right at him.

  He sucked in a breath and sat tall, pressing his lips together while breaking his eyes away, looking toward the bedside table. As she moaned and rustled, struggling to wake up, he grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table.

  The moment Mia caught sight of that water, the struggle to awaken died a rapid death and her eyes bulged wide. Chest heaving, her mouth popped open, eyes locked to the glass, the tip of her tongue laying itself on her bottom lip like a cartoon character.

  He smirked at the sight, leaning forward in his chair, nearly laughing when she almost broke her neck to crane her head toward the straw he was guiding toward her lips.

  “Could’ve had something to drink last night,” he chided, unable to stop his gaze from falling to her lips as she locked them desperately around the straw. Her throat bobbed as she chugged mercilessly, the music of her gulps rising into the quiet room and filling it to the hilt. “But, nah. You wanted to be thirsty. Wanted to spit it back in my face.”

  Her eyes slammed closed, unwilling or unable to relinquish that straw to respond to his ‘I told you so’, even though she was surely annoyed.

  “Slow down,” he laughed breathily. “Relax. It’s not going anywhere, a’ight? You can have as much as you want.”

  She exhaled and heeded his words, her eyes fluttering open and meeting his, even as she continued drinking, very close to emptying the glass.

  His fingers itched to reach out and push her hair away from her face—to smooth the strands that had become wild and disheveled from sleep. He fought away the urge as she emptied the glass of water, sending furious slurps rising into the air as she attempted to suck up every drop.

  He pulled at the straw.

  Her cheeks sank into suction cups, tightening her lips around the straw, still slurping, forcing him to yank the straw with more muscle just to free it from the tight seal of her lips.

  Strong jaw. He fought his thoughts away, along with the lewd place they were bound to take him to.

  Mia whined as he took the straw from her, her lips still wide open as she craned her neck for more of the water she’d already demolished.

  “It’s empty,” he said, hissing out another laugh before picking up the plate. “I’ll get you some more, but you need to eat. You must be starving.”

  Her chest still heaved under the gray sweatshirt as her eyes fell upon the plate he lifted from the bedside table. The way her eyes lit up illustrated that the water she’d just been begging for was now but a distant memory.

  “You like hummus?” he asked softly, dipping a piece of pita bread that he’d cut into bite sized quarters into the hummus, smirking when she nodded furiously at his question, opening her mouth wide as he guided the hummus-laded bread to her lips.

  Her rapid breathing wafted into his ears as he placed the bread onto the tip of her tongue, ready for her to prove that she’d learned nothing from the night before when she’d spit that water back in his face. Waiting for her to snap her teeth and attempt to bite his finger off, ensuring that she didn’t have anything to eat or drink for the rest of the day. Until he finally returned her to her husband.

  His stomach turned. Not just at the thought of handing her back over to Malik, but at the sight of her, not biting him, but leaning in, her eyes locked to his, and wetting the tips of his fingers with her soft tongue.

  His breath got trapped in his throat as she locked her lips around his fingers, seizing the bread before pulling back, her lips leaving his fingers with a smack.

  Her eyes fell closed the moment the flavor of the bread and hummus hit her tongue, a deep belly-moan fluttering from her flared nostrils, crossing the small space between them, and entering Linc’s body. He swallowed back his own moan as he watched her, the softness of her tongue still fresh in his mind and still tingling on his fingers. As if they were still in her mouth. Still trapped under the tightness of her lips. Encased in them like a vise.

  The roughness of his denim jeans scratched at his dick as it grew rock hard.

  When she opened her eyes, still chewing, and let her hooded gaze drop to his zipper, seeing for herself what he felt taking over his entire body, he only grew more erect. Every inch of blood in his body charged to his dick as he watched her watching him. Growing larger by the moment until the bulge under his jeans had spread nearly halfway down the inside of his thigh.

  She lifted her eyes back up to his.

  He held her gaze as he seized a cherry tomato from the plate and guided it to her lips. He set it on the tip of her tongue, but she craned her neck forward, much farther forward that necessary, holding his eyes as she encircled his fingers in her lips once more. Another sharp breath lifted her chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the flavor of the tomato… or of him. She moaned, making the wet walls of her mouth vibrate against his skin.

  A frown darkened his face as that vibration moved through his hand and shot all the way down his body, causing his muscles to lose all tension.

  He licked his lips.

  Mia trapped his fingers with her tongue, pressing them to the roof of her mouth and then dragging her lips away, letting him feel every inch of suction between her strong tongue and the velvety warmth on the roof of her mouth before releasing his fingers completely. The tips of his trembling digits lingered on her bottom lip, however, caressing it for a moment longer before finally falling away.

  She bit down on the cherry tomato, and the flavor caused her eyes to fall closed once more. Another deep moan collapsed her chest.

  Linc watched her chew, picturing that tomato exploding in her mouth.

  “It’s good?” His voice came scratchier, more gravelly than it had been a moment earlier—eyes still locked her lips.

  She opened her eyes with a satiated frown, nodding softly with a hearty exhale.

  “More?” he whispered.

  She nodded again, her mouth popping back open.

  His heart felt as big as his body. As if it were pounding under every inch of his skin and not just his aching ribcage. As if it were working overtime to shatter his every bone. To burst free from his tingling skin. A warm wave rolled over him as he imagined her tongue touching his skin again, making every nerve ending in his body prickle like
Pop Rocks, begging for a touch of her sweet mouth. Her sweet tongue.

  He cleared his throat, even as his body begged, and seized the longest carrot stick on the plate. He guided it to her mouth, just close enough for her to wrap her lips around vegetable but not around his fingers. A crunch filled the room as her teeth bared down on the carrot, taking half of it into her mouth.

  Linc popped the other half of the carrot between his own lips, the crunch of his teeth around the veggie joining in with hers and making music in the room. They took a deep breath together when the carrot’s sweetness hit both their tongues, eyes remaining locked as they chewed.

  Mia smiled at him.

  His eyes fell to her lips, but instead of smiling back, he cleared his throat and broke his eyes away, looking down at the plate, at the picture Emma had drawn on the nightstand—at anything but her.

  Anything but that smile.

  The first smile she’d ever given him.

  “Get a little food in her, and she transforms into an angel. For a twenty-eight-year-old, you’re hard-headed as fuck. You know that?” He cut his eyes at her. “No reason you had to go hungry for this long.”

  She cleared her own throat, and for the first time that morning, her voice came, still a little hoarse from sleep. “You sound guilty.”

  A stunned look crossed his face.

  She squinted at him, the smile on her face growing amused. “You won’t kill me. You won’t fuck me. You barely speak to me.” Her squint deepened. “What… are you?”

  He almost told her.

  He almost told her that he was the father of the girl who’d drawn the picture sitting on the bedside table. That he’d barely spoken to her because there was no reason to speak to someone he was only using to get his daughter back. That, no, he wouldn’t be killing her or fucking her.

  Because tonight they’d be saying goodbye.

  16

  Regardless of what the brooding thug across from her had put her through in their short time together, as he continued feeding her, Mia couldn’t deny that he was easily one of the most breathtaking men she’d ever seen. Those angry green eyes. That strong shadowed jaw. That bare chest. Chiseled to perfection like it had been blessed by an Italian sculptor. Those six-pack abs, those solid pecs, and those broad shoulders—shoulders she’d spent the bulk of the evening before, propped on top of. That luscious brown hair, still damp from his shower, which he had pulled back into a sleek bun low on his neck. He was simply stunning. Striking.

  So why was it so apparent, as he continued feeding her, that he hadn’t felt the slippery slickness of a woman’s tongue against his skin in, what she guessed, was quite a long time? Why did a sharp gasp flare his nostrils every time she locked her lips around the tips of his fingers? Every time she let him feel the warm cavern inside her mouth? Why did a flash of desire darken his eyes, confirming that his mind had replaced the tip of his finger with the tip of his dick?

  This man could have any woman he wanted.

  He wouldn’t even have to try.

  As Mia shifted against the sheets, making her own pussy—now slick between her legs—throb, she realized, in another life, she would’ve easily been one of them. One of the women with whom he wouldn’t even have to try. Who would throw herself at him with little to no shame. Too hungry to realize what the dick pressed against his jeans, nearly halfway down his thigh, was capable of. She’d have simply been all over him. If he wasn’t such a thug, of course.

  Her eyes ran his face. What had left this prickly man so tightly wound? What had stopped him from releasing some of that debilitating tension with the first woman who gave him a second look? And she had no doubt this man got plenty of second looks.

  After depositing the last piece of food left on the plate into her mouth, he let his finger drop from the tight seal of her lips, still glistening with her saliva. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed the lump in his throat—green orbs locked to her lips long after he’d reclaimed his finger.

  “What’s your name?” she whispered.

  His eyes flew up to hers. As if he were just as shocked by the question as she was. “Harold.”

  She smirked. “What’s your real name?”

  He lifted his scarred eyebrow. His top lip curled up. “What’s yours?”

  Her eyes widened. A cold chill racing down her spine as he hit her with an unexpected question of his own. Her heart picked up speed, beating twice as fast. How the hell did he know Mia wasn’t her real name? Not her real name, but rather, an identity? One that had been forced upon her against her will so many years ago? Her tongue begged to ask, but the memories his question caused to wash over her like a black tidal wave had activated a deeply rooted pride. A pride that wouldn’t let her venture any further questioning. So she bit her tongue and squinted at him, returning the glare that was quickly taking up residence on his previously enraptured face.

  Her defiant wall of silence didn’t last long, however. “I know you. I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  “No.”

  “Why do I know you?” Her squint deepened as she tilted her head, making her cheek smash against her shoulder from where her arms were still bound over her head.

  “You don’t.”

  “How old are you?”

  He sighed. “Thirty-three.”

  “You look younger.”

  “What a relief. I’ll sleep easier tonight.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those annoying people who’s incapable of speaking without using sarcasm.”

  “We don’t need to speak at all.”

  She paused, pressing her lips together. “How many people have you killed?”

  “Ten.”

  Her eyebrows jumped, taken aback at how easily he’d volunteered that information. She sputtered.

  “And, unless you wanna make it eleven,” he said. “I’d suggest you stop asking me all these questions.”

  “Do you feel guilty? About the people you killed?”

  Something flashed across his eyes.

  Something that screamed ‘yes’.

  Mia saw that ‘yes’ and felt like a layer of him had just peeled itself away. Revealing completely different person lingering underneath. A different person that rendered his previous threat—to make her his number eleven—null and void. She saw him try to hide that new person away, but it was too late. She’d seen him.

  “You lied last night. You’re not going to kill me. You’re not even going to hurt me.” A knowing look crossed her face. “You need me.”

  He cut a look at her.

  “For what, I don’t know. But you need me.” She studied him. “And even if you didn’t, you still wouldn’t kill me, would you?”

  He curled his lip again.

  “Is it money?” she asked.

  He grabbed the empty plate, stacked the empty glass on top of it, and stood, making his way toward the door. The handle of the pistol cradled in the back pocket of his jeans shifted along with his slim hips as he moved, the muscles in his back ebbing and rolling under his tanned skin. Like a rocky mountain during an avalanche, betraying the secret storm raging inside.

  She was getting to him.

  “I’d rather die than go back to him,” she called.

  He froze in the doorway, just one step away from leaving the room completely.

  She tugged at her binds. “I’d rather be your number eleven.”

  His wide upper body rose in a deep breath before he looked over his shoulder, glaring at her, eyes blazing to their corners so fast it was a wonder they didn’t spark a fire under the lids. The line between his eyebrows deepened, causing his already heavily hooded brow bone to looming even lower over his green orbs. Making them look almost black. Nearly swallowing them whole.

  Mia saw the new him. The real him. The one that had been hidden under the layer he’d just peeled away. It was a transformation that couldn’t be reversed.

  “I’m just a piece of artwork he uses for decoration before he gets bo
red and finds another.” She heard her own voice wobbling. “He’d nail me up to his gallery wall, next to the Monet’s and the Van Gough’s, and forget I even existed if he could. Abandon me completely until it’s time to trot me out to impress his friends and houseguests. If he didn’t need me to further his political pursuits, I’d probably be…” She couldn’t finish, shaking her head softly and breaking her eyes away.

  She’d known her hunch earlier that morning was right, and now that she had a little food and drink in her, that hunch was becoming clearer by the second. This man had freed her from one prison just to chain her up in another. And now he was going to send her right back to the one he’d originally liberated her from. It was heartless. It was cruel. Like taking someone out of a low-security prison where they received conjugal visits every week just to throw them into solitary at Rikers.

  He was going to give her back to Malik. Probably soon. Maybe even that day, if his desperation to get away from her was any indication.

  Her eyes fell to the gold sequin still hidden next to her pillow, next to her body, out of his sight. Now that she’d seen the ‘real’ him, it would be a lot harder for to shove the sharp rivets of that sequin into his neck than it would’ve been the night before. But not impossible.

  He was leaving her no other choice.

  She couldn’t go back to Malik.

  She wouldn’t go back.

  When she snapped out of her haze, looked back to the door, and saw that he was still standing there, watching her. She took advantage of the new softness in his eyes.

  “Can I take a shower?” she whispered.

  He rolled his eyes. A whisper of a smile lifted his lips.

  She went on. “Obviously, you’ll stay in the bathroom with me this time. And I saw that the shower curtain is see through. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Still cradling the plate with the empty water glass in one hand, he leaned on the doorframe with the other, the muscles in his massive arm shifting, almost as if stacking themselves on top of each other, as he gave the frame all his weight. His head fell, causing his still-damp bun to point at the ceiling, and he chucked again.