The door opens, pulling me back to reality, and I start to tremble as more than one man comes down the stairs. “Get her ready,” a gruff, lightly accented voice says, and then Sir blocks the light for a moment. He’s wearing a mask, and I swear…I’ve seen it before. It covers the top half of his face, leaving his full lips visible. But before I can wrack my brain for the answer, he stands next to me and wraps his hand around my throat.
It’s not tight, but panic sends my heart hammering against my chest, and I whimper softly. “Behave,” he warns, and I swallow hard against his fingers.
“Recording in three, two, one,” the other man says.
Recording? Oh shit.
Embarrassment and horror at my nakedness bring a flush to my skin, but it fades almost immediately when Sir starts talking. “You should have stayed dead, Ryan. We have your daughter, and if our boss doesn’t get what he wants in thirty-six hours, we’ll kill her.”
Daughter? Ryan?
I try to tell him my father’s dead, but as soon as I make a noise, he squeezes my throat hard enough I start to choke. It feels like an eternity before he relaxes his grip, but it was probably only a few seconds. With his other hand, he slaps a newspaper against my chest. “As you can see by the headlines, this is a live shot. So far, she’s largely unharmed. Whether she stays that way is up to you. Deliver the jewels you stole, along with the names of all of your known associates, bank records, and five million in cash, and you can have her back. Fuck with us…” the paper lands on the floor, and there’s a snapping sound, then a knife presses to my cheek, “and we’ll make sure she dies screaming.”
The tip of the blade nicks my skin, and I try to jerk away, but all I end up doing is making Sir angry, and he squeezes harder. My vision starts to tunnel, then the other man says, “We’re off,” and Sir lets go.
“Good job,” my other captor says. “I’ll send this to the boss. Make sure she’s secure, then come upstairs.”
Once the door at the top of the stairs slams shut, Sir snaps off the spotlight. He groans as he drops to one knee, then carefully pulls at the ropes holding me to the chair, loosening the knots and letting the binding fall away. “I’m sorry about that, Dahlia.” His hand skims my cheek, a handkerchief wiping away a single crimson bead. “It’s not serious.”
As he lifts me, he whispers, “I had to make it look real.”
His words barely penetrate the haze of my terror, and when he lays me back down on the bed, I stare up at him, silently begging him to let me go. He’s still wearing the mask, and again, I’m struck by the familiarity of it all.
With a sigh, he eases down next to me, pulls off the mask, and shoves it into his pocket.
“I’m going to untie you now, mon jouet, and you’re not going to scream or try to run. There are two other guys upstairs with guns who aren’t anywhere as nice as I am, and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. Understand?”
Mon jouet. I know who he is.
“Dahlia. Do. You. Understand?” He slaps my cheek lightly, and I meet his gaze and nod.
As soon as he unbuckles the gag and I run my tongue over my cracked lips, I force out, “Master A?”
He leans closer with a groan. “I like it when you call me that, mon jouet. In fact, I’ve dreamed of you calling me that for three years. But while you’re here, you’ll call me Sir.”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
Sir/Master A straightens a bit and starts to loosen the knots around my ankles. One at a time, they fall away, the ropes leaving distinctive marks on my skin. My legs tremble as he frees them, and when he’s done, he starts massaging my thighs. The firm pressure feels so good, I almost moan, but the idea of this man kidnapping me, threatening my life, and then trying to care for me is so ridiculous, my mind shuts down, and I stare up at the ceiling as he works the soreness from my muscles.
The harsh sound of metal dragging along the floor is followed by a heavy weight around my right ankle, and I struggle to sit up, but with my arms still tightly bound, I can’t make it. If I ever get out of here, I’m adding crunches to my workout routine every single day.
“S-sir? What…?”
“Quiet. We’re not taking any chances with you.” His tone has turned harsh, and as I meet his gaze, he flicks his eyes to the corner of the room once. I follow his gaze and see a red light near the ceiling. “The chain is long enough for you to reach the toilet. That’s it. If you put one foot on the stairs, you’ll regret it.”
Sitting me up, he continues to undo the ropes, and my arms fall to my sides, useless after so long trapped in one position. As with my legs, his strong fingers dig into the muscles, and when he flips me over to massage my back, I let myself float, not even caring that I’m still freezing and almost totally naked.
When he’s finished, he helps me sit up, then pulls a man’s shirt out of the duffel bag next to him. His eyes convey his apology as he eases it up my arms and buttons it all the way down. From under the bed, he withdraws a blanket and drapes it around me.
“Stay quiet, mon jouet. I’ll be back with food soon.”
He climbs the stairs, his footsteps a little uneven, and when the door opens, shuts, and then locks with a heavy thunk, I realize…I didn’t ask him about my father. If he’s really alive…and these guys are with the Ricci family as I feared, my situation just got a whole lot worse.
11
Aiden
Leaving Dahlia Rose downstairs, alone, chained to a bed and half-naked makes my skin crawl. But it’s well after noon, and she needs to eat. Hell, so do I. With enough coffee in me to kill a horse, I’m jittery and my head is pounding.
At the small table in the main room, Sylvio and Paulie are talking to Ricci on video over the hardline—the only signal allowed out of this place. “How are you goin’ to find Mickey?” Sylvio asks.
I quiet my movements so I can hear his response. “I have his tirapeidi, Noah Healy, in my private office as we speak. The man…will not have all of his teeth when I am through with him, but he will be able to deliver this message.”
Shit. Noah might be Mickey’s lackey, but he doesn’t deserve to have one of Ricci’s goons pull out his teeth. No one does.
As I slather peanut butter and jelly on four slices of bread, Ricci clears his throat. “Get Ms. Ryan to talk. If her father doesn’t offer himself up in the next thirty-six hours, I still want those jewels, and I don’t care what you have to do to get them.”
A chill runs down my spine, and I glance over at Sylvio and Paulie. Their lecherous gazes are fixed on a still shot of Dahlia from the video. “No problem, capo. We’ll get the information. One way or another.”
Sylvio ends the call, and I slam the cabinet door shut, then pick up the plate. “No one touches her. No one but me.”
“We’ll see,” Sylvio says with a jerk of his head towards the basement door. “I know you have a hard-on for her, Aiden, but don’t let that get in the way of doin’ your fuckin’ job.”
“It won’t.”
Dahlia hasn’t moved, curled against the wall at the top of the mattress. When she locks eyes with me, I stop, still ten feet away. “Hungry?”
Hate and disgust etch her features, tightening her lips and making her eyes widen. She doesn’t say a word, and I take a seat at the far end of the bed, the plate between us. “I am. Haven’t eaten since last night.”
“Fuck you,” she whispers.
I lunge, wrapping my fingers around her throat—not tight enough to cut off her air, but with enough force she has to swallow hard against my hand. “Don’t talk to me like that, Dahlia Rose. You won’t like the consequences.”
“You’re going to kill me anyway,” she wheezes. “Get it over with.”
I run my nose along her jaw, back towards her ear. “The men upstairs don’t care what happens to you. I do. Now be a good little captive and eat.”
“Why? So you can drug me again?” Her voice is so small, so scared, but there’s a hint of steel that makes my dick wake up and pay attention. A sm
all bit of the strong, yet submissive, woman I scened with three years ago.
“Never, mon jouet.” I release her and sit back. Picking up first one sandwich, then the other, I take a bite from each. “You can have whichever one you want.”
She eyes the plate, and her stomach rumbles loudly. “Have you…been following me for three years?”
“No.” After she chooses a sandwich, I scoot a little closer. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you, though. How you looked that night. How you let me bind you. The trust you gave me.”
“Until an hour ago…I thought you deserved it.” Dahlia cringes, as if I’m going to hit her again, and I curse under my breath.
Wiping my mouth to obscure my words, I whisper, “If there was a way to protect you without making you fear me, I’d do it. But this is the only way.”
With her head lowered and her curls hiding her lips, she shakes her head. “There’s always another way.”
“Not this time, sweetheart. Finish up.” I bend down to grab the bottle of water from next to the bed and rub the back of my neck. “It’s time to put on a show.”
Dahlia
Sir—or Master A, I don’t know what to call him anymore—takes the plate and sets it on the stairs before returning to the bed. “They’re watching,” he mouths, and I brace myself for whatever he’s about to do to me.
“Do you remember our night together at the club, my little plaything?” His voice has turned harsh, and his face is anything but kind now. Holding out his hand, he waits for me to drape my trembling fingers over his. The gentleness with which he squeezes brings me a little comfort though as I let him tug me to my feet.
My knees buckle—too long bound and unable to move—and Master A catches me around the waist. “My boss wants to know where you got the ruby. The Crimson Dahlia.”
I peer up at him, bolstered by his warmth and the sandwich. “My father left me the jewel. The father I thought was dead,” I spit out. My eyes burn from all the tears I’ve cried, and I try desperately to get a hold of myself.
Master A threads his fingers into my hair and twists, sending pinpricks of pain all along my scalp. “Not good enough, mon jouet.” He presses his lips to the shell of my ear. “I’m one of the good guys, Dahlia. I swear on my life, I’m going to get you out of this, but they have to believe that I’ve made you mine. Now fight me.”
“Fuck you, Sir!” I shove against him, and he stumbles back, a look of pure evil twisting his features, but his eyes…those deep blue eyes…there’s kindness there. Reverence. Respect. Ever since our scene at Whips and Chains, I’ve held onto the memory of his eyes. And now that they’re right in front of me, it’s like my body’s forgotten that he kidnapped me.
My captor forces me down onto the mattress and straddles me. I can feel his hard length pressing to my mound, and I try to throw him off me, but he’s six-foot-plus of solid muscle, and I can’t do more than claw at his back as he pushes up the shirt he gave me and slides his hand close to my breast.
“I’m hurting you, remember?” he hisses, and I cry out, screwing my eyes shut. “Hands over your head. Now, Dahlia. Or I’ll put you over my knee again.”
I obey, my nipples tightening under the soft cotton, and he bracelets my wrists against the mattress. He’s making a show of kissing my neck, of pinning me down, just so he can talk to me. I have so many questions, but no way to ask them. Not with the little red light watching us all the time.
“My name is Aiden,” he whispers. “Give me something, baby. Anything.”
“Stop! Please stop!” I let my voice tremble and crack, turning my head away from the camera. The chain around my ankle rattles as I scramble for purchase. “You’re hurting me!”
“You’re mine, Dahlia Rose. I own you. Body and soul.” Between us, he jerks his free hand over my mound, and we lock gazes. “You’re so fucking wet for me. Only for me. You know what I want. Give it to me.”
Oh, my God. His fingers press to my stomach—over my panties, not under. He’s pretending to claim me. To use me. He gives me an almost imperceptible nod, and I let my body go slack. “I’ll tell you everything! Just please, stop…Master A!”
He pulls his hand out from under the shirt and sucks two fingers into his mouth. His moan makes my insides clench, even though I’m still scared out of my mind. “Delicious, Dahlia Rose. You’re exquisite when you cry.”
Before I know what’s going on, he has me cradled in his arms, and my head swims from the sudden movement. “Now tell me where you got the ruby. How did Mickey get it to you?” Aiden takes one hand, then another, and kisses my wrists where he held me down. This is the man who cared for me after our scene at Whips and Chains. Who fed me chocolate and icy cold water. Who rubbed my back and my hands and my shoulders and told me how much he wanted to see me again. How he’d never scened with anyone so…perfect. This isn’t Master A or Sir. This is Aiden.
“He…had it delivered to the hotel. Private messenger.” My emotions are pinging all over the map. Terror. Arousal. Fear. Need. All swirling around into this massive weight pressing down on me. I don’t know if I should lie or tell the truth, so I opt for something close to a lie than anything else. “I didn’t know he was alive. I thought...” Swallowing my sob—this one real—I sniffle, “I thought he was dead. That he’d given the ruby to a lawyer or something.” My words are starting to slur. “I’m so tired, Master, A.”
“What about the rest of the jewels, mon jouet? Were there more?” He cups my cheek, and his thumb brushes over my lips. “I’ll take care of you if you tell me the truth, my little captive. I promise.”
Yet when I meet his gaze, he warns me without words not to give up everything I know. “No, Master A. Just the ruby. But…the letter said my father had made arrangements for me to be taken care of. I swear…I didn’t know he was alive. I…I hate him for lying to me. He could have contacted me anytime…but he chose to let me grieve…”
“Shhh.” Aiden kisses my tears away, a move I always read about in books, but never knew could be so comforting. “You know the truth now, mon jouet, and if you continue to be honest with me, I will make sure your stay here is as comfortable as possible. Do you need another blanket?
“That…would be nice, M-Master A.”
“Good girl.” Leaning down, he kisses me tentatively—almost chastely, and keeps his lips a hair’s breadth from mine. “I’m going to try to get Ricci’s guys to leave. If I can, we can run. Rest. They won’t touch you while I’m here. Not without killing me first.”
Aiden starts to pull away, but I cup the back of his neck and kiss him back, the way I wish I could have three years ago.
“What was that for?”
His quiet question makes my lips twitch. “For luck.”
12
Aiden
At the top of the stairs, I realize how exhausted I am. None of us have slept. The four hour drive deep into the Sierra Nevada mountains took until daybreak, and we were under the gun—literally—to get Ricci his video and intel.
Despite my sluggish thoughts, I calculate when we might have some hope of rescue or reinforcements. Mickey should have the video by now, and if he’s smart, he’ll pick up on my signal. I pour myself another mug of coffee and scan the first page of the newspaper we used to give Mickey proof of life.
Bureau of Land Management rezones part of the Embarcadero
The headline is innocuous. I don’t give a fuck what the BLM does to the Embarcadero. But I kept my finger pointed at the word Bureau the entire time. With only minutes to think on my feet, it was the best I could do. I just hope he notices and calls the FBI.
My billfold sits comfortably in my back pocket, but I know this place. It’s where Sylvio brought me after Ricci’s guys sprung me from the hospital. The electricity runs off of a generator, and a signal jammer blankets the entire cabin. The video call with Ricci? Took place over a hardline connection. I have to get at least a hundred feet from the cabin for the GPS device in my wallet to escape the net, and
since it only pings every four hours, its last signal could have been anywhere along our drive.
“Good job with the intel,” Sylvio says from the cabin’s front window. He’s staring out over the snow-covered landscape, his own mug of coffee cupped protectively in his massive hands. “Ricci’s sendin’ Jack to the hotel now to talk to the desk clerk and find out about that delivery.”
The sip of coffee I take suddenly doesn’t sit well with me. Dahlia lied about where the ruby came from. I’m almost positive. And while it’s what I wanted her to do, that particular lie is too easy to disprove.
“She’s a natural submissive, that one,” I say, forcing myself to sound more confident than I feel. Sylvio doesn’t know shit about BDSM. “Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembers our time together at Whips and Chains. All I have to do is make her feel like she’s back there again, and she’s putty in my hands.”
He arches a brow as I join him. “That didn’t look like putty to me. She fought you pretty hard.”
“Part of the deal.”
I hate perpetuating the stupidest stereotypes of my preferred lifestyle, but in this case, it’s the only way I can keep Dahlia safe. I’d never force her—not even here—and I’d give anything for her to be able to use her safe word, but this is life and death, and the lines of right and wrong…they’re blurred all over the fucking place.
“Where’s Paulie?” I ask, needing to change the subject before I have to manufacture more lies about being a Dom.
“He took the SUV into town to get more gasoline and supplies. There’s a storm comin’. Supposed to drop three feet of fresh snow before midnight. It should stop before mornin’, but there’s a small chance we’ll be stuck here for a couple of days.
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 75
