"Rum," Joe said, answering the question in my glance. "It's pretty good. Try some."
I took the glass, swirled the liquid around, and sniffed it. The smell was rich and made my mouth water. As soon as I took a sip, I decided I much preferred the smell to the burning taste. I set the glass back down.
Joe frowned. "You don't like rum? What do you like? There's some tequila, some schnapps . . . ."
I cocked my head. "What do I like? Hmm, let's see. The champagne at my sister's wedding was nice."
Eyes lighting up, Joe leaned over the table and took my hand. "You have a sister?
You remember?"
I jerked my hand from his grasp. "No. I don't remember. Please note sarcasm, sorry I left it out of the P.S."
Joe's eyes narrowed. So did mine. The silence stretched out like the taut strings of a guitar, pulling tighter and tighter. Something was going to snap.
With a deep inhale, I leaned forward and rubbed my knees. "Another quiz, prof?"
Scowling, Joe pushed away from the table. "No. Misplaced hope." Drawing in a rough exhale, he rolled his shoulders back, retaking his seat. "You should drink something."
Arching my brows, I laughed. "Why? I think it's pretty obvious you don't need to get me drunk to have some fun." I gave him a dirty look and stood, turning my back on him. "Which just might change."
Joe slammed his fist on the table, hard enough to knock the glass over. Turning, I watched the glass as it rolled off the table, hit the floor, and shattered.
"Stop acting like a damn child!" Swiveling away from me, Joe stepped over to the bed and retrieved a bottle of peach schnapps from underneath it that I hadn't known was there. Approaching me, he turned the twist cap, his hard stare never leaving my face. He shoved the bottle against my chest. "Drink."
I knocked the bottle away. "No. If I'm thirsty, I'll have water."
What happened next almost didn't make sense. Gripping my wrist so hard I could feel bruises form, Joe dragged me toward the bed. I tried to scoot away from him, but he grabbed me by the back of the neck. As he forced me down on the bed, I cried out.
Poising the bottle against my lips, he pressed the glass rim hard, trying to work it into my mouth. "I said drink!"
I turned my head, holding back the tears. "Why? Give me a reason you pushy bastard!"
Raking his fingers through my hair, Joe yanked my head back and leaned in close. "Lydia, if you want to live, you will obey me. Without question. I have my reasons. I don't choose to share them now. You'll see for yourself soon enough."
"Fuck you." Rolling to one side, I snapped my elbow into his jaw.
Blood trickled over his bottom lip. He growled and grabbed my arm before I could slip away. "So much for hoping the amnesia would take the fight out of you."
I tossed my head and sneered at him. "Ingrained in my blood, I guess."
Letting me go, he stood, took two steps away then dropped his hands to his sides. The bottle bounced against his thigh. Liquid sloshed out and splashed his jeans.
The scent of peaches wafted through the air, soft, sweet and smothering—so out of place in the tense atmosphere, I felt like gagging.
Joe took one look at my face and curled his lip. "You know what. Forget it. Don't fucking drink."
Lifting the bottle to his mouth, he gulped a hearty amount, grimaced, and set the bottle on the table. Returning to the bed, he fished out another bottle from the apparent limitless supply beneath, all the while avoiding my gaze.
I shifted on the bed, rubbing my abused wrist. "What is this? Reverse psychology?"
Doing his best to drain the mickey of whiskey in his hand, Joe didn't speak until he was forced to come up for air. "No, I just don't give a shit. If self-preservation isn't enough to make you heed me, you're on your own."
Out of sheer stubbornness, I tried not to care, but curiosity prevailed. "Self-preservation?"
He nodded. "Yes. But I'm not going to explain. You wanna believe I'd be this insistent about your drinking just to get my rocks off, suit yourself. I'm taking the time I have left getting myself thoroughly in-toxic-cated."
The way he enunciated the last word meant something, but I didn't know what.
He didn't seem the type to get drunk for fun.
So what does that tell you?
Without looking at him, I stepped off the bed, then knelt. Lifting the trailing gray sheet, I took inventory of the vast array of bottles. One bottle, Goldschlager, caught my eye. The imagined taste of cinnamon teased at my tongue. Lifting the bottle, I turned my back to the bed and sat. Relaxing against the metal base, I got comfortable, and then I opened the bottle. Tipping it against my mouth, I poured it back until my mouth overflowed, and then I swallowed and licked the liquid from my lips. The taste was cinnamon, with a bite. Little candy hearts danced behind my closed lids as I drank more, eyes shut tight. My mouth went numb as I drank, but I didn't stop until my stomach clenched like a fiery fist. Bile rose, and I scrambled to my feet.
Joe intercepted me on the way to the bathroom. "Hold it in, Lydia. Your body will adjust."
Sweat beaded at my temples, beneath my lips, and along my throat. I whimpered as my guts wrenched in what felt like a pool of acid. The pain brought me to my knees.
Joe caught me before I collapsed.
He lifted me up and carried me to the bed. "I'm so sorry, Lydia." He let out a bitter laugh. "God, I've never said that. I've never felt it, and I try to avoid adding lies to my many sins. Even if you'd been a social drinker, whatever tolerance you had would have worn off by now."
Letting me lay back, Joe passed his hand over my hair, continuing to pet me when I didn't protest. His words centered me, giving me something to concentrate on besides the incessant burning. "I wanted to spare you." Focused on breathing, I simply stared at him as he spoke. "I know you won't believe me now, but the means justify.
Please believe that." He paused and shook his head, eyes wet with unspilled tears. "I wish I could keep you safe, but I can't."
I covered his lips with my fingers. "No. I'm sorry, Joe." I fought to keep my words steady, even though I felt anything but. "I don't know why, but I had to fight.
Trusting you just isn't enough."
Drawing back, Joe blinked. "You trust me?"
I let out a drunken laugh and dropped my head back on the pillow. Although the pillow was too thin to soften the impact with the hard surface of the mattress, I felt some relief. "'Course I do. You're the reason I'm still breathing."
"Thank you, Lydia." He pressed his lips to my brow. "To be honest, I've never had anyone trust me before."
The giggle his words drew from me hardly sounded sane. "That can't be true."
Pressing his hand against my face, Joe made me look at him. "It is."
I wanted—no, needed—to comfort him. I fumbled for his hand and settled on his elbow. "You seem like the kind of guy who has hearts thrown at your feet." I closed my eyes so I wouldn't see the room spin. "And gently hands them back."
Joe shifted over, lifting his legs so they lay along mine, holding me close as he rested on the bed.
"No, Lydia. There's been only one." He nuzzled my throat. "And I find I am too selfish to give it back."
Chapter Five
The prolonged squeal of door hinges dragged me from sleep. Red flashed through my closed lids. I pressed my face into the pillow as the bright overhead light hammered into my throbbing skull.
Joe laced his fingers with mine and squeezed. I squinted at him, and he mouthed.
"Don't move."
The door clicked shut. Fabric rustled and heels—or maybe claws— snicked on the cement floor. My nails gouged into my palms, I gathered my nerve and peeked over Joe's shoulder.
Olive green and gliding closer, sleek as snakeskin—skirts. I stifled a sigh of relief against Joe's back as I studied the woman standing a few feet away from us. I'd expected a monster, not a dainty lady in a taffeta gown and matching smocked jacket, wearing black gloves up to her elbows. When I loo
ked at her, I saw a doll with lips painted red like hers, a cute little nose, big brown eyes.
A memory? I latched onto the image in my head, could almost see the golden-haired doll propped up on cushions in the middle of a child's canopied bed.
An empty teacup nestled in crinoline. A tiny, white gloved hand, reached out . . . .
"Do they taste as sweet as they look?" The woman spoke and the pastels of the pretty picture bled out and faded away. With lowered lashes, she trailed her gaze over Joe and licked her lips. "I'm eager to get him in my mouth."
I pressed my brow between Joe's shoulder blades to hide my wince when he squashed my fingers. His heart beat hard and fast.
His reaction scared the hell out of me. I dismissed the woman who looked like she'd once shopped with Marie Antoinette and studied the man.
In a red velvet brocade frock, the man looking like someone summoned from another era. The black, pinstriped trousers and the crimson waistcoat made me think Victorian.
How wonderful. I could recall minute details of history, but nothing of my own past. Might prove useful— not.
"I wouldn't consider Joe sweet." The man straightened his black lapels and cocked his head. Black curls caressed his cheek. "His flavor is rather . . . ." He paused, then smiled. "Heady."
My whole body shook. Cannibals. They wanted to eat us. Fine, Joe had no chunks missing from his body—that I knew of. But maybe I'd overlooked them. I flattened my hand on his bare back and touched what felt like scars. Long lines, but no holes.
Were the implications sexual? I eyed the man and inched closer to Joe. After my first experience in this twisted place, I'd rather be chewed on.
"You aren't wearing your jacket, Joe." The man clucked his tongue. "I'd hoped you be prepared."
"Oh, Cyrus, dress him up. I want to see if he's as tantalizing all bound up as you say." The woman clapped her hands together and gave the man a smile fit to light a room.
Her smile disturbed me. I couldn't say why, no matter how hard I stared, but I no longer dismissed her as a threat.
Joe braced one elbow on the pillow and resting his head on his hand. "Care to get it over with, Cyrus?"
Cyrus. The arena, the chains, the crowd, the pain filled memories flooded my mind. His voice sounded different now, but I could still hear him, telling Joe to hurt me.
My throat locked and a hot tear ran down my cheek.
Not that again. Anything but that. I glanced at the chains on the wall. If I didn't fight, maybe they wouldn't the chains.
Strolling across the room, with one hand rested at the base of his spine, Cyrus toyed with the chains. "That's why I like you, Joe. Always so unfazed. At first." He smirked, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall. "Makes it more fun to break you."
"Which is exactly why you haven't killed me yet." Joe's dry observation made me turn my head. He ignored me. "The chicken was good by the way. Is there a reason for the change from red meat?"
"I thought it a better choice for her first real meal here." Cyrus turned to look at me, his lip curving. "Not your favorite, Lydia, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
Lobster has such an unpleasant aftertaste."
"Lobster?" I clamped my lips shut, cursing my rash need to know whatever I could about myself.
With a slow nod, Cyrus lifted his hand and curved his fingers inwards. "Come here, Lydia."
His eyes were beautiful, the blue of a cloudless summer sky. My fear dwindled.
It was ridiculous to be afraid, really. He wouldn't hurt me; he would give me everything I'd ever wanted. I climbed over Joe, craving Cyrus' touch so bad my skin crawled with desire. I would go mad if he didn't take me. I would die.
Joe wrapped his arms around my waist and jerked me back. "Start with me, Cyrus. Have your fun with me."
"And make her first time easy, Joe?" Cyrus smiled, and my heart melted. He had lovely, luscious lips. "In return for what? Your cooperation?"
"No! Please—" I pitched forward. Joe hauled me up and dropped me on the mattress. I bit my tongue and swore as blood filled my mouth. Pain shattered the urge to rush into the arms of the man who'd used my suffering as entertainment.
I rubbed my forehead. Why had I—was I still drunk?
Standing, Joe drew his shoulders back and inclined his head. "If you want me to cooperate, I will."
"Good." Cyrus stroked his chin, then made a circular motion with his hand. "Start with the jacket. It will be nice not to have to fight to get it on you."
With a curt nod, Joe returned to the bed. Without looking, he reached underneath and pulled out a thick leather jacket. Watching him shrug on the jacket, I wondered absently what else was under the bed. I'd never thought to check.
The sharp sound of a zipper brought my attention back to Joe. Back to figuring out what the hell was happening.
Cyrus latched his fingers together behind his head and leaned on the doorframe.
"Care to do the honors, Chrissie?"
With a high-pitched giggle, the woman nodded. Her heels clicked as she approached Joe. As I watched her take the end of one sleeve, much longer than Joe's arm, I realized suddenly this was no normal jacket. Both sleeves were very long, trailing to Joe's knees, with odd embellishments—straps that looked like part of a belt. The jacket zipped up to Joe's throat, snug around his neck. A metal loop hung from the center of the collar.
The woman forced Joe to turn. As he did so, I saw two large, square buckles on the back of the jacket. The woman drew the end of one strap in, pulling tight, and cinched it. After doing the same with the other, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed Joe on the lips. Joe didn't move.
Fascinated, I didn't say a word. I didn't know what to say. Joe was obviously familiar with the jacket. He didn't look afraid. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
Then Cyrus pulled out a long strap, made of the same leather as the jacket, and attached it to the metal loop at Joe's neck. A leash.
I pushed off the bed. "Leave him alone!"
Moving too fast for me to follow, the woman grabbed me from behind. She was no more than an inch taller than me, and I could tell the body under the dress was soft.
Still, I couldn't fight her off. The way she held me made me feel like a toddler struggling against a parent. No matter how determined I was, whether I twisted or dropped my weight, I couldn't break loose. But, while the toddler might actually throw the parent off balance, nothing I did made her budge. She might as well have been a statue.
I bristled as she held me in one arm and used the hand of the other to stroke my hair soothingly. That she could hold me as effectively with one arm as she had before with two showed me just how strong she was. She didn't want me going anywhere, and I wasn't.
Murmuring something in a clear attempt to calm me, the woman curved her hand under my chin and turned my head so that I could watch Joe and Cyrus. Joe stared at me, his eyes trying desperately to tell me something that I couldn't figure out.
All I could understand was that Cyrus was attaching chains to loops tucked under leather flaps on the sides of the jacket. The other ends of the chains were already attached to a waist-high metal pole that ran horizontally along the far wall.
"Joe!" I started struggling again. I couldn't bear seeing him in chains.
"Be still, Lydia!" Joe's words were sharp. He narrowed his eyes when I shook my head. His efforts to spare me meant I'd have to watch him suffer.
But I just wasn't built that way. "What do you want from us? Why are you doing this?" I squirmed and tried to smash the back of my head into the woman's face. She evaded me with ease.
With a little smile, Cyrus slid the end of the chains along the pole and gave them a little tug. Turning his back on Joe, he stepped up to me. I flinched when he lifted his hand to my face. He grazed the back of his knuckles along my jaw. "Would a reason make this easier, Lydia?"
I bit my lip. I could feel the allure when I met his eyes, so I looked away. "Yes."
Cyrus liked my answer. With a big smile on his lip
s, he patted my cheek. "Shall I be cliché and say 'Because we can?' or shall I come up with something original. How's
'Entertainment was running dry, so we had to make our own?'" He shook his head.
"Doesn't have the same oomph, does it?"
My mouth went dry. I licked my lips. "You're crazy."
He chuckled. "No, my sweet. I am superior. You are a pet, a pet that serves several purposes. So long as you hold our interest, we'll keep you and care for you." He leaned forward and laid a soft kiss on my lips. "If you don't, we'll put you to sleep. It's really very simple." He gestured toward Joe. "He's been doing rather well. Like a faithful dog that licks your hand even after you've beaten him." He slid his hand down my throat. "You'd do well to follow his example."
Jaw clenched, I closed my eyes and willed myself not to pull away. "What do you want from me?"
Cyrus pressed against me, and the woman let me go. I didn't resist as Cyrus wrapped his arms around me, hoping acceptance would spare me some pain. He wound the length of my hair around his hand, and, yanking back hard, drew a shocked cry from my throat. "Nothing right now, my dear. Actually, your survival depends on his reaction."
My feet left the ground, his teeth ripped into my throat, and I screamed. Hot blood spilled down the front of my body, onto me, onto him. I hammered his chest with my fist, he bit deeper. Pain slashed down the length of my body, and my back bowed.
I could hear Joe shouting as Cyrus lowered me onto the bed. Joe kept calling my name, his voice growing hoarse. Cyrus unlatched his teeth and licked the rough wound in my throat. It felt better, for some reason, but it was still sore. I wanted to touch it, to feel whether the jagged hole that I knew had been there was now truly gone. Seeing Cyrus peel down his pants killed that desire. I lay there, limp, as he forced his way into my body. From the smacking sound of flesh and the raspy sound of Joe cursing, I knew Cyrus was rough. But I was too drained to feel it, too drained to care.
Deadly Captive Page 3
