Captive

by Scarlet Blackwell

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  Dreamspinner Press

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Copyright ©2009 by Scarlet Blackwell

  First published in 2009, 2009

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Captive ©Copyright Scarlett Blackwell, 2009

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  Chapter One

  Gabriel Black cursed as the toaster coughed up two slices of blackened bread and the smoke alarm immediately kicked in with an ear-piercing shriek. He moved to the French windows, quickly unlocking and drawing them open, emitting a burst of freezing night air, before grabbing a dish towel and wafting it under the smoke alarm vigorously. As he did so, a flash of black registered at the periphery of his vision.

  He turned around in surprise just as a figure sidled through the windows, leveling a gun at him.

  His mouth dropped open, icy fingers creeping down his back, and not from the cold air. The man was a little shorter than him and not as muscular. He wore a thin shirt and jeans, despite the weather outside being at least ten below, if not more. He was covered with a light dusting of snow. It was on his boots and in the jet-black hair that fell untidily over his face. The face, which was milk-white and startlingly attractive, dominated by huge, jade green eyes and pouting lips, had a few days’ worth of dark stubble lining the jaw. The nose and lips were blue with cold. The man trembled violently, his teeth chattering together.

  "Knock that off,” he snapped at Gabriel, gesturing to the annoying smoke alarm, his accent Southern Californian, like Gabriel's.

  Gabriel, numb with shock, did as he was told, wafting the towel again until the alarm went off abruptly, leaving a sudden silence broken only by the sound of the intruder slamming the windows shut and pocketing the key.

  The two men faced each other across the kitchen. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?” Gabriel demanded, brave words considering that the nut job in his house held a gun.

  The man moved quickly to him, his face stony. “You don't get to ask questions,” he all but sneered. “Upstairs now. I want some dry clothes.” He prodded Gabriel hard in the chest with the gun to make his point.

  Gabriel turned around and moved woodenly through the living room to the spiral staircase. His mind whirled as he climbed. He was miles from civilization, stuck in the middle of the Alaskan woods. Who exactly was this man and was he going to kill him?

  He entered his bedroom and turned around to look at the man, who gestured toward the wardrobe. “Open it,” he demanded. “Get me out pants and the thickest sweater you got."

  Gabriel did so, choosing jeans and a hooded fleece-lined sweater that he wore when he needed to chop logs for the fire.

  "And underwear and socks,” the man directed. “I'm wet through."

  Gabriel moved to the chest of drawers and got out the items. He was damned if he was going to give away his best boxers, so he gave the intruder some old ones. The man didn't comment, just indicated with his eyes for him to place the lot on the bed.

  "Turn around,” he commanded. “Don't even think of trying anything because I swear I will shoot you in the head before you can move."

  On legs of rubber, Gabriel did as he was told. There were the sounds of the man kicking off his boots, a zip sliding down, the rustle of denim. He waited for the man to dress.

  "Back downstairs,” he said behind him. “I need a hot drink."

  Gabriel turned around. The stranger looked different in Gabriel's own clothes, softer and less intimidating, even though the expression on his face was hostile. “Move!” he demanded when Gabriel did not immediately comply, once more leveling the gun at him.

  Gabriel reluctantly led the way back downstairs and moved to the work surface. “Coffee?” he asked coldly.

  "Yeah,” was the reply. Gabriel drew a mug off the stand and reached for the coffee pot. For a moment he looked at the freshly brewed liquid inside. Could he throw hot liquid over another human being? He wondered. Yes, he thought, if that man was going to kill me. But just how big a threat was this man who had invaded his house?

  "Don't even fucking think about it,” snarled the man suddenly, and Gabriel's dark eyes darted to him in surprise. “Get over here now, pretty boy."

  Gabriel glared at him and did as he was told, approaching the man so they stood eye to eye, staring each other down. Gabriel heard the jangle of metal in the man's hand a split second before his wrist was grabbed and a handcuff was locked around it. He opened his mouth in shock as the gun was pointed at his face and he was shoved backward hard into the radiator and down onto the floor. A moment later, the second cuff was locked around the pipe.

  The man smirked mirthlessly, showing perfect white teeth, and moved off toward the coffee machine, filling his cup. The radiator was red-hot. Gabriel tried to sit as far away from it as he could. “You going to tell me what you want?” he demanded.

  The man's eyes swung to his. “What I want,” he said, “is a meal, a shower, and a warm bed. As for the rest, we'll see how it goes.” Their eyes held for a long moment. Gabriel had no idea what he meant by this.

  The man pulled some milk from the fridge and splashed it into his coffee. “What the fuck are you doing all the way out here alone anyway?” he demanded, glaring at the other. “Are you some sort of fucking hermit?"

  Gabriel returned his steely glance. “I come here a few months a year,” he said.

  "What for?"

  "To write."

  "You're a writer?"

  "That's generally what writers do,” Gabriel could not help saying sarcastically.

  "Fuck off,” the man spat. “One more crack like that and you'll be picking your teeth up."

  Gabriel shut up.

  "What's your name?” the other demanded.

  "Gabriel,” the author replied sullenly.

  "Well Gabriel, how much longer are you here for?” the man asked.

  "Maybe two months. I've been here a couple of weeks."

  "You alone?"

  "Yeah."

  "You got a cell?"

  "No,” Gabriel said.

  "Liar! Where is it?” The man advanced on him suddenly.

  Gabriel started to get to his feet as the man loomed over him, gun trained on him, right hand grabbing at his pockets, patting them down. Gabriel was on one knee, the man bent over him, fingers over the tight denim of one hip. He stared up at the intruder's face, unsettled by how attractive the man was with that pale skin and those luminescent eyes.

  "What?” the man demanded when he finished with the front pockets and leaned further over Gabriel, curling an arm around him to pat at his ass, feeling the cell instantly in his back pocket.

  "Nothing,” Gabriel murmured, lowering his eyes, too aware of the heat of the man against him.

  The intruder drew away with his prize in his hand, pocketing it and going back to drink his coffee. “How many people know you're here?” he demanded.

  "A few,” Gabriel said.

  "How many? And who?"

  "David, my agent. My friend Jordan and my ... partner."

  The man's feline eyes narrowed, noting something amiss in Gabriel's hesitation. “Who's your partner?” he demanded.

  "Jack,” was Gabriel's reply.

 
The man stared, disgust curling his lip. “You're a goddamn fag?” he said in disbelief.

  Gabriel colored from the neck upward. “You need to take what you want and get the fuck out of my house!” he hissed.

  He saw sudden fury overtake the man. He stalked toward Gabriel, leaned down over him and grabbed him by his shoulder-length hair, yanking his head back. Gabriel gave a little hiss of pain. “And you need to shut the fuck up before I put a bullet in you,” he spat.

  Once more their faces were close together, the gun right against his neck, digging in hard enough to bruise. He saw how the man's green eyes, pupils dilated, perused the depths of his own as though trying hard to read Gabriel's mind.

  He let go of him abruptly and moved back once more to drink his coffee. Gabriel remained sitting on the floor. “So how often do these three people contact you?” he asked.

  "David will call sporadically,” Gabriel said. “He usually waits for me to call him. He knows I don't like to be disturbed. Jordan will call maybe once a week and Jack calls every day."

  "Has he called you today?” the man asked quick as a flash.

  "Yeah,” Gabriel said.

  The man nodded as though he were pleased with this. “What do you have to eat?” he asked.

  "Look for yourself.” Gabriel gestured coldly to the fridge.

  The man shot him a poisonous look and yanked open the door. He searched for a moment before pulling out a dish of leftovers from the day before. “What's this?” he demanded, pulling the lid off and sniffing.

  "Casserole,” Gabriel said. “With tofu."

  The man nodded and shoved it into the microwave, twisting the dial around to three minutes. He turned to look at Gabriel, arms folded across his chest.

  "Who are you?” Gabriel asked. His ass was beginning to ache from sitting on the kitchen floor. The heat from the radiator was making his skin prickle with sweat.

  The man regarded him stonily for a moment, as though debating what to say to him. “Ethan,” he said finally.

  "What are you, some sort of escaped prisoner?” Gabriel asked.

  Ethan's eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he replied, “something like that. You ask way too many questions."

  "Are you leaving tomorrow?"

  "What did I just say?” Ethan growled. “Enough with the questions. I'm the one with the gun. I'll stay as long as I goddamn want."

  Gabriel regarded him with disgust. The man's face had lost that blue tinge, but he noticed the intruder still shivering as though unable to get warm. He felt a strange pang of pity and berated himself furiously. This man has come armed into your home, stealing your clothes and food and no doubt your bed tonight and what? You want to give him a cuddle to warm him up? Sometimes Gabriel was way too soft for his own good.

  Ethan turned away to the microwave, stopping it, plunging a fork into the food, stirring it and lifting it to his mouth. Gabriel watched his pink tongue dart out and lick at the fork delicately. An odd sensation went through him. There was no denying he and Jack had been on the rocks when he had left and it had been weeks since he had had sex, but he was starting to be way too attracted to this bully who had forced himself into his house. He cursed himself and his dick. This man could shoot you dead at any minute, he thought, and you're looking at his tongue and thinking of what it would be like around your cock?

  Ethan took his plate to the table in the center of the room and pulled out a chair. He ate a couple of mouthfuls slowly, and then looked up at Gabriel. “You make this yourself?” he asked.

  "Yeah,” was Gabriel's reply.

  "It's good,” Ethan said. “I thought you would be a shit cook when I saw your attempt at the toast.” He gestured to the charred bread still lodged in the toaster. “So are you a famous writer, Gabriel?"

  Gabriel shrugged. “Not really. I sell enough to get by."

  "What sort of stuff do you write?"

  "It varies. Thrillers, horror, romance...."

  "Gay romance?” Ethan asked slyly with a smirk.

  "Not usually. I'm not gay. I like women too,” Gabriel said defensively.

  "I see,” Ethan said scornfully. “Not bothered which hole you stick it in?"

  Gabriel flushed angrily and lowered his eyes to the ground.

  Ethan laughed. “How long have you been with your ... partner?” Again the word was derisive and Gabriel bristled with rage.

  "Two years,” he said.

  "Two years,” Ethan said in contemplation. “That must be one sore ass you have. You do take, right, Gabriel? I imagine that you do."

  Gabriel stared at him in disgust. “You need to shut the fuck up right now,” he snapped. “My private life is none of your business."

  Ethan shrugged. “Just making conversation,” he said with his mouth full. “I take that to mean that you do receive. I can so see you on all fours."

  Their eyes met confrontationally. Gabriel was furious at himself for thinking for one moment that this man was attractive when his personality was so odious. He longed to overpower him and beat the crap out of him before throwing him out into the snow to die. Nothing would give him greater pleasure. He sat by the radiator with his eyes averted, mouth firmly shut, quietly seething until Ethan finished eating and stood up.

  "I'm going to shower,” he remarked, moving past Gabriel, gesturing at him with the gun. “Behave yourself."

  As soon as he heard Ethan's footsteps ascending the stairs he tried impossibly to squeeze his wrist out of the cuff until the skin was chafed and raw. Then he yanked hard at the pipe, trying to wrench it from the floor to no avail. He sat back in impotent fury thinking of all the things he'd love to do to the pretty little bastard who'd come unannounced into his house.

  * * * *

  Ethan was upstairs for twenty minutes. When he returned, he wore some of Gabriel's pajama pants and a T-shirt with the fleece over it. His hair was wet, hanging over his face and into his eyes. He was clean-shaven, the removal of the stubble having taken years off him, so beneath it he was fresh-faced and young. He glared at Gabriel as the other's eyes lingered on him. “What?” he demanded.

  Gabriel looked away. “Uncuff me,” he said. “I have to pee."

  Ethan's catlike eyes narrowed. He produced a key from his pocket, bending over Gabriel. Gabriel could smell his own aftershave on him. It smelled much more intoxicating than it ever had on himself. Ethan unlocked the cuff from the radiator leaving the other half dangling around Gabriel's wrist. He moved back, leveling the gun at him again.

  Gabriel climbed up slowly, his backside numb, relieved to be away from the heat of the radiator. He walked through the lounge and started to climb the stairs, aware of Ethan's eyes on him as he did. He turned around as he reached the bathroom door. “Come on then,” Ethan said impatiently, gesturing with the gun for him to go in.

  "I can take it from here, thanks,” Gabriel said sarcastically.

  "I don't think so,” Ethan replied. “There's razor blades in there. You might kill yourself or something."

  "I'd hardly do that over you, babe,” Gabriel retorted scornfully before he could stop himself.

  Ethan stared at him a moment. Then he grabbed a handful of Gabriel's shirt and shoved him into the bathroom, against the mirror, pinning him there. “Me and you are going to fall out real soon if you keep this up,” he growled.

  "You and I,” Gabriel corrected smartly, unable to stop his runaway mouth. It always got him in trouble. Ethan belted him across the face with the butt of the gun, so Gabriel's head smacked against the mirror and he saw stars.

  For a moment he stood there unsteadily, hand groping for the radiator to hold him up, and merely burning his hand. His swimming head cleared slowly and his eyes focused with hatred on his attacker. He tasted blood in his mouth where his teeth had cut his lip.

  "Now,” Ethan said, “either you pee or I cuff you here and leave you all night."

  Gabriel moved toward the toilet, pausing to spit blood into the sink. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Ethan watching
, the gun leveled. With a sigh, he turned his back and took himself free, willing up the stream of urine that wouldn't come. His cheek was throbbing.

  "I can't do it when you're watching,” he muttered angrily.

  "I'm not watching,” Ethan replied. “Your back is turned; I can't see you. Stop being such a pussy and piss."

  Gabriel gritted his teeth and emptied his mind of all thoughts of what he was going to do to this prick when he wrestled the gun away from him. He managed to pee finally. Washing his hands, he turned back to Ethan, glaring.

  "Back downstairs,” the intruder directed.

  Once they were back in the kitchen, Ethan cuffed him back to the radiator, much to his chagrin. He ran himself a glass of water and drank it thirstily. “I want to get a bag of frozen peas out,” Gabriel said quietly, indicating the freezer with his eyes.

  For a moment, Ethan looked like he might ask him why, before realization dawned over his face. Silently he moved across and opened the door, searching for the item and drawing it out. He then wrapped it in a towel and handed it to Gabriel.

  "Thank you,” he said, pressing it to his face.

  Ethan sat down, averting his eyes.

  There was a long silence. “I want to shower,” Gabriel asked.

  Ethan shook his head. “Tough,” he said. “I'm tired.” He moved over to Gabriel and uncuffed him, gripping his arm and pulling him up. “You don't smell too bad; you'll do until morning,” he said sarcastically. “Bring your peas. We're going to bed."

  For a moment, Gabriel's heart surged in his chest. Ethan must have caught the horrified luck on his face because he laughed with scorn and pushed Gabriel into the lounge. “You should be so lucky,” he remarked caustically.

  Never knowing when to shut up, Gabriel spat back, “Oh, you would be the lucky one, I promise you that."

  Ethan snorted in derision. “I'm so glad I have my gun to stop me getting ass-raped,” he sneered.

  Gabriel shook his head and muttered “Prick” under his breath.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, Ethan shoved him into his bedroom. “You're not sleeping in here with me!” Gabriel exclaimed as Ethan followed him in and switched on the bedside lamp.