by Linnea May
Because in less than half an hour, this girl will have a lot more to worry about than acing a job interview.
By then, she will be fearing for her life.
Chapter 3
Riley
Okay, that was weird. What is up with that mask? Did he put that on to freak me out?
If so, he succeeded. I could barely concentrate, let alone say any of the things I had prepared for the interview. Seeing that black mask pop up on my screen instead of a friendly face threw me off course so much that I couldn't focus on anything else.
I knew from the beginning that this job would be different. The pay is ridiculously high, and in the job advertisement it stated that discretion was of utmost importance. There was no mention of a company name, so I'm not even entirely sure who I'd be working for. All I know is that they're looking for someone who's capable and willing to use their programming and hacking skills without questioning the intent or even the legality of their tasks.
It sounded intriguing, exciting, new—with just the right amount of risk. It's exactly what I’m looking for.
Or so I believe.
And that voice. It sounded so… familiar. That sinister tone, the intonation. I feel like I’ve heard it before, but I can’t quite place it.
Doubt is tickling at the back of my mind as I leave the coffeehouse. My eyes are glued to my phone, following the dotted line that is leading me toward the address he sent to me after ending our call.
It seems to be a random address with no landmarks close by, no stores, no businesses, nothing. Just like he said, it's taken me a little more than ten minutes by foot, and the closer I get, the more abandoned and desolate the area around me becomes. This whole neighborhood is anything but thriving, featuring nothing but a few mostly deserted one- and two-family houses.
In fact, the area becomes so deserted that my fear continues to grow.
It doesn't help that it's getting dark and there seem to be fewer and fewer working street lamps to provide a sense of security and comfort.
The dotted line guides me to the left, directing me to enter a dark alley between a row of dark houses. I pause for a moment, swallowing hard before daring to continue.
This is all a test. It's just a test. They are obviously trying to freak me out to see how well I can work under pressure—and in the dark.
My steps quicken, the echo of their sound bouncing against the walls in hasty succession as I hurry through the alley. The place where I'm supposed to stop and check for that obscure Wi-Fi spot is right at the end of this alley, and I can see there is some light there, probably stemming from a street lantern.
My breath hastens as the dark embraces me like an unwanted hug.
Don't panic. Don't fucking panic!
“Calm the fuck down.”
My panicked voice hisses through the dark, mixing with the echo of my hurried steps. I smile at the sound of it. Speaking to myself has always been an awkward habit, but it soothes me. I've never been able to explain it to other people, but the sound of my own voice provides me with the illusion of company and protection—and sometimes that's all I need.
I let out an audible sigh when I finally approach the light at the end of the alley, once again lowering my gaze to the phone in my hand.
I'm almost there. Just a few more steps.
The man wearing the mask—Mr. Stanford—was very insistent that I make sure to be in the exact spot he provided. I wanted to remind him that my phone's GPS may not be as accurate as he'd like it to be, but I kept my mouth shut. In the end, there's only one thing that really matters: the Wi-Fi spot. As soon as that pops up on my phone, I'll be good.
I reach the end of the alley, realizing that I've ended up on a street that's just as desolate as the one I left on the other side of the alley. It's darker here, too. Half of the street lamps don't work properly, their lights either flickering ominously or not burning at all.
Fear closes around my heart like a cold clamp, making it hard to breathe, hard to swallow, hard to think.
I really hope they're watching me, because no matter how creepy Mr. Stanford and his entire operation have come across so far, I'm sure they'd still rescue me if I ended up in any real danger.
They are not the ones I need to fear. Right?
“Come on, Riley.”
My own words of encouragement help to return my focus to the task at hand. I cast a quick glance to the left, then to the right. Not a single soul is wandering down the street, and most of the houses are dark and seem uninhabited.
But there are a few cars parked along the street, meaning that there must be people around here somewhere. People who could hear me screaming if anything were to happen.
Reassured by that assumption, I look down at my phone again, narrowing my eyes as I tap on the Wi-Fi icon and refresh the list.
There it is. The XTOWN spot appears right on top. It is only showing two bars, but that's still more than the other four that are displayed. This is a residential area, though with all the deserted houses I use that term lightly, so I'm surprised to only see a list of four very weak spots. Do people here not have internet?
Are there even any people in this neighborhood?
My eyes are glued to the screen as I take a step forward, and then another. I move slowly, waiting for more bars to appear, slowly wavering from left to right, trying to figure out where I might get the best reception. The stronger the signal is, the easier it will be to hack into, as I need some time and stability to—
All of a sudden it’s dark. Something has been thrown over my head, a bag, closed around my neck so tightly that it takes away my breath for a moment. My phone drops to the ground as my hands fly up in a futile attempt to free myself.
I'm kicking, squirming and fighting for breath, my eyes blinded—but a set of strong arms closes around my upper body and drags me away.
It all happens so fast, so abruptly and violently that is doesn't even matter if there's anyone around who could hear me scream. I can’t scream–I can’t make a sound.
I'm quiet as a mouse, stiffened in shock as I am dragged away.
Chapter 4
Cain
It's so much easier when they are led to believe that this is what's supposed to happen. When they think they're about to become a part of something special, something secretive and exciting. A job interview for some secret government work maybe, or becoming a spy for the greater cause—something like that.
It's easy to make them believe that stuff, and once they've fallen for that lie, it's child’s play to lure them right into the trap.
Miss Riley Prey is no different. She's a smart girl, but she's also young, naive, and a little too curious for her own good.
She thinks this interview is for a job that sounds almost too good to be true, too exciting, too well-paid, too unique.
I wonder if no one ever told her: if things seem too good be true, then they probably are.
Riley may be a genius and skilled at what she does, but lucky for me, she's also a little gullible.
Despite what just happened to her, she's not screaming or showing even the slightest signs of resistance when she's brought to me. Her face is covered with a linen bag and her hands are tied behind her back as she is escorted into the room, wedged between the two guys I hired to do the dirty work for me. I'm the trainer, not the abductor. That kind of work is left for the henchmen, those who don't mind serving as nothing but pure muscle.
However, these two—known to me only as Jack and Kyle—are a little more than that. They are professionals, as trained and skilled in the art of observation as they are in assault and abduction. They've been watching her ever since she stepped into the coffeehouse, and despite scrutinizing her surroundings, Riley never noticed them. Or maybe she didn't want to see them.
She's breathing heavily, but not saying a word when they stop and let go of her. Kyle grants her a little push, causing her to stumble forward, almost losing her balance.
I gesture for them
to leave, approaching the trembling girl with slow, steady steps while they quietly leave the room and close the door behind them.
She looks lost as she stands there, right in the middle of the large, scarcely decorated room that serves as my office. There's nothing here but a large cherry wood desk with a heavy upholstered chair behind it and two leather-coated chairs opposite the desk, an almost empty book shelf next to the door, and a Monstera plant to my left, right in front of floor-length windows framed with white curtains. I don't like distractions when I sit down here to get some work done. And I use this room for negotiations with people who may or may not be willing to work for me.
I'm guessing Riley will be part of the latter, once she realizes that this is neither a regular job interview nor a game.
This is dead fucking serious.
She can't see me, but she senses my presence when I come closer. Her shoulders are tense and pulled up to her ears, a subtle tremor traveling through her body as she visibly fights to remain calm.
She's scared, but not quite as terrified as she should be.
As I come to a halt right in front of her, she stiffens and I hold my breath, listening to the muffled hissing that leaves her lips beneath the linen bag.
“This is fine. You're fine. Chill. Calm down, Riley.”
How cute. Still talking to herself, still her own bodyguard, her only confidante in a world that is out to get her.
No, you're not fine, little Riley. But you just go on and keep telling yourself that you are.
She flinches when I lift my hand, hardly touching her as the tip of my index finger journeys along her left upper arm. She's wearing a black suit jacket with a white blouse underneath, looking all professional with her matching dark suit pants and pointy ballerina shoes. The only mismatch in her outfit is the oversized scarf on which the linen bag rests. It’s practical more than chic, and a typical choice for a girl like Riley.
Other than the scarf, I know this outfit is not even close to her regular everyday look. She's a sneaker girl, favoring jeans and shirts with silly prints over a suited business outfit like this.
I can still see the way her hardened nipples were poking through the fabric of her t-shirt when I took away her bra and forced her back to her workplace like that, with her arousal on clear display for everyone who happened to walk into her office.
I can still hear her vicious voice as she spat curses at me when I made her walk away with her pussy drooling and throbbing with need, a need that I refused to sate.
Oh, how beautifully she suffered.
Months have passed since then, but the memories are burnt into my mind, tormenting me and forcing me to track her down after she vanished into thin air.
Riley will pay for this. She will receive a punishment unlike any she's had before.
It's necessary—and well deserved.
“H-h-hello?” she stammers now, her head moving aimlessly as she tries to figure out where exactly that subtle touch on her arm is coming from.
My lips curve into a sinister smirk, but I don't deign to provide her with a verbal response. Not yet.
A soft mewl escapes her, speaking of her desperation when I retreat. I stop my caress and take a step backward to observe her.
She stands still, frozen, her shoulders still tense and her small chest heaving under deep, erratic breaths. I start to circle her, moving with slow, deliberate steps, so close that I can feel the warmth of her body, just like I'm sure she can feel mine.
She sways subtly as I move, her body moving away from me as I draw a close circle around her like a predator examining its prey.
Her hands are moving, fists closing and opening as they grab onto nothing but thin air. I pause for a moment, watching the motions while I notice a thin but visible layer of sweat covering her palms.
Poor little girl. Looks like she actually is afraid.
“Please?” she whispers now. “Please talk to me.”
I close in on her, leaning forward until my lips are right next to her. She holds her breath, instinctively swaying away from me as I loom over her from behind.
“Hello, Riley.”
My words are not much more than a hoarse whisper, and for a moment it’s unclear whether she even heard me underneath that linen bag because she doesn’t move or show any kind of reaction.
“Are you scared?” I want to know, raising my voice a little.
Her head moves under the linen bag.
“No,” she responds. “Well, maybe a little... Is that you, Mr. Stanford?”
“I’ll be the one asking the questions,” I reprimand her. “Don’t forget, this is still part of the interview process.”
“Is it, really?” she pokes, adding a helpless chuckle. “I mean... was this really necessary? I think those men bruised me pretty badly—”
“Bruised you?” I interject, a fire lighting in my chest. “They hurt you? Did they touch you?”
I try not to let the anger show in my voice, but fuck, if those guys laid a single finger on her...
“They didn’t beat me, or anything like that,” Riley clarifies. “But they were really rough with me. I mean, was it really nece—”
She stops mid-sentence when my hand flies up to her throat, grabbing the drawstring that’s closed around her neck to keep the bag in place. I pull on it, tightening the rope around her throat just enough to threaten her without actually choking her.
“I ask the questions,” I remind her. “I am in charge. You understand that, little Miss Riley?”
A gasp escapes her, but I don’t think it’s purely out of fear or shock.
It’s recognition.
Chapter 5
Riley
Oh my God. He sounds so much like him!
I wasn’t sure before when I only heard him speak on the video call, but now that he’s this close to me, hissing those familiar words—I can no longer deny the resemblance.
Do you understand that, little Miss Riley?
No one ever speaks like that to me. No one ever calls me little Miss Riley. No one ever demands this kind of obedience and humility.
No one but him.
The man who got me fired from my old job.
But this was months ago, in a city thousands of miles away from here. The man back then was not called Mr. Stanford. He was not working in the digital security sector. He was an investor, interested in supporting one of the apps my company was working on—and we met because I was the lead developer of said app.
It was a different time, a different city, a different life—and definitely a different man.
Right?
It must be.
But why is this man speaking to me like this? Why is he touching me like that man did before? It’s highly inappropriate, even for a special job interview.
My heart speeds at that thought. I’ll admit, this was exciting at first, even after I was blindfolded, tied up, and pushed into the back seat of a car, forced to stay low by a strong arm as the car sped here.
I was terrified at first, and so deep in shock that I didn’t dare make a single noise, ask a single question, make a single movement.
It’s true that those guys were rough with me—I can still feel the imprint of a vicious fist encircling my upper arm—but they didn’t hurt me. I was told to stay quiet, so that’s what I did.
I convinced myself not to freak out, because it may cost me the job. They probably wanted to intimidate me just to see how strong I am, how resilient—and how proficient I would be when I had to work under pressure.
And they put that horrible bag over my head because they didn’t want me to see where we were going, just in case I didn’t prove myself worthy and did not get offered the job.
That must be it, right?
But does it explain Mr. Stanford’s odd behavior now?
He starts moving around me again, after pausing way too long behind my back, literally breathing down my neck as he hissed those words. It was the first time I was grateful for the linen bag
covering my head because it provided a barrier between us.
I can hear his heavy footsteps to the left of me now, moving with a painfully slow gait. His presence is palpable, the warmth of his body so close to mine—and it is so weirdly comforting.
“Who are you?” I blurt out.
I must know. Even though he forbid me from asking questions.
I expect him to lecture me about that again, but this time he deigns to give me a response.
“Riley, Riley,” he says, and by the direction his voice is coming from, I can tell that he is standing right in front of me.
“I’m disappointed.”
Disappointed? What did I do wrong now?
Before I manage to say a word, I’m silenced by his hands at my throat. I jerk back automatically, but he holds me back by the string around my neck.
“Watch it!” he warns me. “You’re going to strangle yourself.”
I want to object that he’s the one strangling me, but I make an effort to bite my tongue. Pressing my lips together and standing motionless and stiff, I wait while he seems to untie the knot around my neck.
My breath speeds up in an instant, racing at the prospect of finally regaining my vision, fresh air, the ability to breathe freely, and see what’s going on around me.
But it almost stops when he finally removes the linen bag from my head.
I’m blinded by the bright light in this room at first, blinking rapidly as I attempt to become accustomed to my surroundings. An anguished spike of fear roars through me as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing.
It can’t be.
But it is.
The tall man standing in front of me is not a stranger. I have seen those dark blue eyes before, I know that brown, military-short hair cut, the angular jawline that is speckled with barely-there stubble—and I know the story behind that scar right below his left eye.
It’s him. It’s really him.
“Cain!” I exclaim in disbelief, and a shower of relief races down my spine.
