by Lake, Keri
Please. I’d already escaped the cuffs once. I’d do it again. I’d been training for that kind of shit for a long time. Photojournalists always ran the risk of capture, and the more situations I could escape, the better my chances of staying alive. I knew how to get into places I shouldn’t go, and how to get out. Thanks to my stepdad, who'd owned a lock and safe company when I was growing up, I could pick a lock in under two minutes and a set of handcuffs in under sixty seconds.
If he tried to stop me or get in my way, I’d just have to take my chances against those big guns. Obviously, I wasn’t stupid enough to think I was invincible, or anything—Peepshow had brought that frightening reality to the fore earlier in the night—but if given the chance, I sure as hell didn’t plan to lie down and die, either.
I lifted my arms up, rolling my shoulders. The tattoo on his forearm practically smiled back at me, as a pinch at my wrist had my attention shooting toward the headboard, and I hissed at the black objects tethering me to the metal spindle.
“Too tight?” The corner of his lips lifted, and I wanted nothing more than to knock my head against his perfect teeth.
Black, heavy-duty zip ties tethered my arms to the headboard, and I tugged against them, defeat spreading through my veins in waves. They were so thick, I’d probably have to work them all night to break the bands. Soon as he fell asleep, though, I would. I’d saw those suckers until my arms were raw if I had to. “Zip ties? Who the hell uses zip ties?”
“Someone who won’t be burned twice.” He shook his head. “Could’ve at least waited to show off your little escape artist skills until after I fell asleep. You might’ve actually gotten away.”
“I hope they make you shit your pants first, before they kill you.”
“Keep talking, sweetheart and you’ll be shitting yours on the bed.” His smug grin had my fingers curling to fists, wishing I could pop his face. “Then I’ll have to remove your clothes.”
“You touch me tonight, and you’re a dead man.”
Hoping there had to be others in the shithole motel he'd brought me to, I opened my mouth and screamed so loud, the sound of my own voice left a ringing in my ear.
He slapped a square of tape over my mouth, muffling my scream, leaving me to suck in a large breath through my nose. “Already thought of that, too.”
In a fit of frustration, I curled my fingers into fists and kicked my feet against the bed, arms bound tight to the bars overhead.
He remained at my side, head tipped like he sat admiring a caged animal. “You’re a fascinating woman, Vixen. Or should I call you Black Sparrow. Which one do you prefer?”
My stomach sank at his words. My eyes probably popped out of my head, from the way his smile slid across his face.
“Yeah, I know who you are. You like following people around, and … well. Curiosity. Cat. You know the ending.”
Warhawk. I knew it. Goddamn, I knew it. At the club, he'd just had an aura about him, and even though I’d never seen his face before, Warhawk had been the first person that came to mind.
A knot twisted in my stomach at the thought that I’d touched myself, fantasizing about the asshole. I’d have never guessed he raped women on camera in his spare time.
Sick and disgusting pig.
As soon as I got free, I’d turn his ass over so quick. Peepshow’s men would undoubtedly be looking for him. Possibly still looking for me, too, though, so I’d have to somehow keep myself anonymous.
“I’ll be in the other room,” he said, turning away. “You need anything, just give me a shout.”
Go to hell.
* * *
An hour must’ve passed before the light in the other room finally flicked to blackness. I’d been rubbing the ties against the metal in a slow, agonizing pace, in hopes he wouldn’t hear me.
I’d gotten out of zip ties once in college, when a guy I’d hooked up with decided to go kinky and tied me up before he passed out drunk. All I'd had to do was push my hands against the plastic and slam my wrists against my pelvic bone to snap it. Impossible from my current angle, but sawing at the plastic would work, too.
Eventually.
Pain throbbed in my fingertips and at my wrists. I waited a good ten minutes, to make sure he was asleep, before really working the plastic against the bars. The back side of the metal had an uneven surface that caught at the band each time, wreaking havoc on my skin, but hopefully it’d pay off by slicing through. I upped the pace of the sawing, keeping my fists tight, pulling the plastic taut.
I’d never be able to fall asleep, anyway, not without a sheet covering my face. I'd always had a hard time staying in hotels, but particularly dirty, by-the-hour joints, as I never knew what the hell still lived on the sheets.
It had to be almost four in the morning, and my limbs were weak, exhausted from the toil. The darkness of the room settled over me, clouding over my field of vision, until I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed. Was I dreaming?
Don’t fall asleep.
I peer upward, where the blue sky peeks through a small gap in the trees. My limbs are shaking. I’m cold. Fear grips my chest, choking my breath, as branches of terror spread out to my body, paralyzing me.
The world is muffled, like when I used to take baths and keep my ears just below the surface, and it smothers the sound of the train’s horn off in the distance. The steady throb of my heartbeat thumps inside my ear, telling me I’m still alive.
A sharp resonating pain pulses at my eye, and my body jostles. Hands reach for me, nails scraping against my skin. I lower my gaze to nameless faces surrounding me, laughing as they tear into my clothes.
I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. As if I’m dead, and they’re defiling my corpse.
The brush of the forest bed rakes against my back. I will my arms and legs to kick. Fight. But it’s all in my head. My limbs are heavy and won’t move at my command.
Blackness steals away the scene and opens to a gun in my hands.
A set of forest green eyes, the kind that completely captivate in one glance, stare back at me. The most kissable lips I’ve ever seen on a boy. He holds a white lilac, mouthing words I can’t hear.
I lean in, straining against the constant pulse still throbbing in my ear.
“Wake up.”
My eyes flipped open to sunlight streaming into the bedroom. The smoky scent of bacon filled my nose, and I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat, my tongue thick and fuzzy, as if my mouth had been stuffed with cotton. Nose crinkled, I pushed another swallow, squinting my eyes at the sound of it bobbing down my throat.
“Wake up,” he said.
I snapped my head to the side, horrified to see my captor alongside the bed, staring down at me, his green eyes not unlike the boy in my dream. The long black blade flashed in the corner of my eye, and still half asleep, a twinge of panic had me kicking to get away from him. “No! No!” A tug of my hands brought me to the realization that they were still bound. “Please! Let me go!”
Flames licked my skin where the ties had dug into my wrists, and the cold steel blade touched my finger only a second, before the pressure snapped along with the zip ties. I brought my hands down, cringing at the deep ligature marks circling my wrists. I couldn’t even rub them without the threat of a burn. Between the numb sensation and the sting, my hands were useless.
“Must’ve worked those ties all night. Another hour, and you might’ve snapped them.” His mocking voice grated along my spine, and I couldn’t help but glare back at him, as I remembered that I’d fallen asleep in my attempt to escape. “What was all the moaning about?”
I scowled back at him. “I’ll tell you what it wasn’t about.” The dream I’d had was a recurring one I’d suffered years ago. The nightmares had eventually gone away, and I could only assume my current situation, and what’d happened with Peepshow the night before, had brought it back from its dormant hell.
As the smoky scent of before intensified, I turned my head to the source, where a
plate of bacon, eggs and toast steamed beside me. My mouth watered for one bite. I hadn’t eaten anything most of the day before, thanks to my preoccupation of having to work later in the night.
“Hungry?”
From where I sat, I could see he’d cooked the bacon just as I liked it—a little on the crispy side, enough it’d damn near melt with each delicious bite. I didn’t need much, just enough to take away the painful edge of hunger, but I already knew how my pride worked, and my body withered at the indignation swirling inside my head.
Despite the protest in my stomach, I glared back at him. “Go to hell.” The food was probably laced with something, anyway.
“You’re a feisty shit.”
“And you’re used to what? Women who are afraid of your muscles and your tattoos—who lie down and do as you tell them?”
“That’s my preference, yes.”
“You’re a disgusting pig.”
“Coming from the woman who’s tight with Seventh Circle.” He pulled a chair, spun it round, and straddled it beside me. “Now how 'bout you tell me what you know?”
Shit. I’d hoped to be long gone. I didn’t expect to have to explain myself. “I need to use the bathroom.”
The way he nudged his head toward the door, so casual, almost felt like he didn’t have me held captive. Like I could suddenly come and go as I pleased.
He nabbed his blade off the nightstand, sheathing it in his holster, and I stole the opportunity to measure the distance between the front door and the bathroom. If I started out toward the bathroom, could I quickly change trajectory and bolt toward the door? It’d be tricky, but worth the try.
Still cradling my wrists, I slid from the bed and took cautious steps, aware of his gaze on me as I rounded the bed.
He sat up straight in his chair, like a watchdog whose attention flipped to high alert, and it occurred to me, there was nothing casual about his gesture. He remained on guard, ready to strike.
I just had to be fast, was all.
Halfway to the bathroom, I twisted on my heel and made a run for the door. Pressure slammed against the back of my neck, and as if I were nothing but a rag doll, my body flew backward, crashing against his chest. I lifted my heel and smashed it down onto his foot, then elbowed him, an attack that gave me just enough freedom to pull from his grip.
The world pulled a tilt-a-whirl, and before I could right myself, the door collided with my back.
A scream ripped from my chest, tamped by fingers digging into my neck. My feet dangled, with my body caught in his grasp, my heart ready to pound right through my ribs. Circles floated in front of my eyes as panic took over my system.
Fight. Fight him.
His big body crushed me, pressing me into the wall. Like being trapped between concrete and steel, and I let him. The first lesson my instructor taught me——surprise the fuck out of my attacker. Don’t struggle.
After a minute of silent staring, that I hoped would lower his guard some, I pounded my knee toward his groin, and as he jumped back, I twisted my wrists and broke out of his grasp.
He dodged my reach for his ears, as if he anticipated all my moves.
I drew back for the strike, but felt the clamp of his hands locking my wrists. Fuck. Fuck.
He gathered both wrists into one of his hands and held my mid-section, knocking the wind out of me as he threw me back against the wall. Once again, I found myself immobile and staring into vacant angry eyes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He was bigger. Stronger. Could’ve probably snapped my arms right off my body. As hard as I pressed my muscles to break from his grip, as many times as I struck upward with my knee, he blocked and kept me imprisoned against the wall.
“I promise … I promise I won’t say anything. Let me go! Let me go, and I promise no one will know you tied me up here.” My breaths came out on the string of pleas, but his stoic expression told me they didn’t make a damn bit of difference. “We’ll go our separate ways,” I tried
A jerk of his arm silenced my words, as I choked on a breath. For a moment, we stood still, while I panted, hoping to God that I wouldn’t hyperventilate and pass out. My throat went bone dry and tears welled in my eyes, the blur irritating me.
“Don’t fuck with me.” He released his grip, and I slumped forward, coughing as I held my throat. “You’re going to tell me about Seventh Circle.” His fingers curled around my arm, and I allowed him to guide me back to the bed. “Eat first.”
I glanced back toward the door, momentarily defeated, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try to get away again.
As he fell into his chair once more, I slid back on the bed against the pillow, drawing my knees up tight to my chest. He handed me the plate of food, and as much as I wanted to resist, I didn’t. From the floor, he lifted a bottle of water and cracked the seal before handing it to me. Damn it. I eyed the bottle. I hated someone else cracking the seal. Still, I gave the cap the usual left-right-left.
Sensing his frown, I turned to see him staring at me.
“What’s that all about?” he asked.
“What?”
“The twisting of the cap.”
Like I'd explain myself to him. Ignoring the question, I tipped it back, drinking it so fast the water dribbled out of the corners of my mouth. The cool fluid hissed as it coated the dryness in my throat, and my eyes rolled back at the sensation of replenishing my body. I’d damn near polished off the bottle before I set it back down beside me and lifted the fork.
The salty bacon filled my mouth, stamping out the pangs of hunger as I ate quickly, humming low between swallows. Something else that bothered me was the swishing of wet saliva while chewing. Back in middle school, I'd had to sit and watch a documentary about bug mastication that'd landed me in the principal’s office when I refused to remove my hands from my ears while a magnified praying mantis polished off a cricket.
My captor’s brows furrowed, but thankfully he didn’t ask any questions about the humming. Or maybe he was disgusted by the way I wolfed down the food like it might walk off my plate. So much for never eating bacon again in my life. I’d never been a dainty eater, but half-starved, I didn’t even qualify as a lady, with the way I dug into the eggs and toast, licking yolk off my fingers.
“Goddamn. When, exactly, did you last eat?” he asked, with a trace of amusement in his voice.
Not bothering to answer, I sopped the last bit of yolk off the plate with the bread and popped it into my mouth.
“Why did you follow me around?” His question brought me back to the night before, when he’d blurted my user name.
“How did you know it was me?” I volleyed back.
“You don’t think I’d let you follow me without making you my business?” He nabbed my plate off my lap and set it on the nightstand. “Now that we got the food out of the way, who do you work for?”
Head back in the game, I glanced down at his tattoo on his forearm and back again. “Viktor.” It was true, though not in the same capacity I was painting inside his head.
“Who’s Viktor?”
“Are you new to the club? I’m surprised you’ve never heard of him.”
He shifted on his seat and sniffed. “Answer the question.”
“He’s someone you don’t fuck with. Someone well connected. Who wouldn’t think twice about eliminating a man who asks a lot of questions.” Good one, Lucy. I hated putting Viktor on some kind of pedestal, but I’d do whatever it took to put some fear into the asshole.
“And what, exactly, do you do for the club?”
Good question. One I hadn’t thought about. Shit. “I’m his … he’s my … boyfriend.” Gag.
His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Seventh Circle isn’t a gentlemen’s club. It’s a fucking trafficking ring. And I’m not buying that Miss ‘You’re a disgusting pig’, when I threaten to touch her, is some head honcho’s girlfriend. I think you’re lying. Liars piss me off.”
“Does i
t hurt your feelings that it’s your hands I don’t want on me?”
“But you let every other swinging cock in the strip club play grab ass with you all night?”
If my eyes could’ve shot bullets, he’d have been a dead man. “It was a one-time gig. I needed the money.”
“What? Big powerful Viktor isn’t letting you in on the millions of dollars that Seventh Circle generates?”
I didn’t answer, for fear I’d slip and confess something.
“Why did you follow me all those months ago? It was you who ratted me out to Tesarik. You get something out of it?”
What the fuck? Where the hell did this come from? “I have no idea who that is.”
“You’re full of shit. You took those pictures of us swiping the guns. You handed them over to Tesarik. Didn’t you?”
“Look, I don’t know what Exorcist crap is flying out of your mouth right now, but before you start spewing green stuff and climbing ceilings, maybe you should get a grip and remember what we were talking about a second ago?”
He jumped out of the chair, caging me against the headboard, and the way he hovered over me, like a dark storm waiting to rain hell, for the first time since he’d taken me, my body froze with fear. “Do you work for Tesarik? Answer the question!”
Pressing myself into the headboard, I kicked back from him and those intense eyes that ripped me apart where he stood. “I don’t know Tesarik. I don’t even know what the hell the Seventh Circle is. I was messing with you to stay alive, is all. I’ve nothing to do with the club.”
“Why did you follow me around?”
“You’re an internet mystery.” One I’d been completely obsessed with. “You do crazy shit, and no one knows your real identity. That’s all.” I refused to tell him about the Muckraker and have him go knocking down Craig’s door.
“What did you do with the photos?”
“What photos?”
“That night. We stole the guns.”
“I didn’t know you were stealing guns. I thought you were …. I thought you were just roughing up a criminal. I thought you were a good guy.” Again, my gaze fell to his tattoo, and back when I caught a flicker in his eye.
