by Trisha Wolfe
The world is dark and begins to tilt. I sway and reach out in search of her.
“I wish I could feel bad about this,” she says, and I hear the twigs snapping under her boots as she nears. “But, as you’ve pointed out many times, I don’t have the capacity.”
The sight of her raising the rock comes into focus, and my instincts take over. I use my forearm to block the attack, and Blakely decides instantly that she’s not ready to fight. She drops her weapon and takes off at a run.
“Dammit.” I touch the tender ache at my temple, my fingers showing the dark stain of blood when I examine them.
I didn’t want to chase her. I don’t want to fight her. But it’s best we get this part out of the way early, so she learns there’s no escape. Then we can both stop this anxious dance.
Faculties restored, I start in the direction she went. Toward the river. She’s fast; I knew she would be. But I have the advantage of familiarity on my side. I’ve stalked this ground for years. I’ve learned every path. Memorized every tree.
Pines claw toward the canvas of stars. The sky is backlit by the glow of the moon, providing a blanket of light along the forest floor. As I reach the mouth of the river, I hear Blakely’s footfalls along the beach, the crush of rocks beneath her feet.
Even though she’s a city girl, she’s resourceful out here. Following the river is the smartest way to find civilization and not get lost in the process. Unfortunately, it’s that cunning wit of hers that makes her easier to track.
As I gain ground, I quickly snatch the syringe from my boot and pick up speed. I hear her trip ahead, a fervent curse rebounds off the rock crags, and then I catch sight of her.
She splashes into the river, looking back once to gauge my distance.
“We can stop now,” I shout. “It doesn’t have to go this far, Blakely.”
She continues to wade into the river up to her knees, committed to her quest. She has nothing to lose. I have everything to lose, however, and that fear—that I feel down deep in my core—propels me forward.
The icy water bites into my body as I enter the river. I hold the syringe aloft as I come up on her, my free hand snagging the soaked hem of her shirt.
Blakely groans, her voice cracking, breath fogging the air around us, as she lodges a strike to my face. Her nails claw my cheek, and I quickly maneuver out of her reach before wrapping an arm around her waist.
I pull her back to my chest and secure her arms, syringe gripped tightly in my fist, as I cradle her body against mine. The frigid water rushes around us—and I should be shivering the way Blakely is shivering in my arms, but I’m on fire.
The freezing water prickles my skin like a million needle punctures, but soon the searing burn of her flesh touches mine. I admit, it gives me a thrill that she chose to fight—an excuse to finally hold her the way I’ve only dared to fantasize.
Suppressing my urges, I tow Blakely to the river’s edge. She’s strong, I know she is, but whatever fight she had has been drained by the river. I lay her along the flat earth to catch my breath, and she rebounds with a second wind, struggling against my hold.
“We’re done,” I say, as I clasp her wrists in one hand and use my forearm to pin her arms to the ground.
Her eyes burn with malice. Her breaths come hard, her chest rising with each strained inhale.
I bring the syringe to her neck in warning, the tip of the needle pressed to the pulse in her vein. Our eyes stay locked as the threat hangs between us.
She takes a ragged breath. “Do it,” she dares. “This is how you want me…”
The challenge in her fiery gaze ignites my soul—and it’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. There’s no passion behind that heated gaze, yet she imitates it so perfectly, testing my resolve.
It’s a flaw in the design.
“A creature so unfeeling shouldn’t be allowed to imitate sentiment,” I say, a light whisper across her lips. “You’re like the viceroy mimicking the monarch, beautiful and dangerous.”
Her arms go lax against my hold, her gaze flicks over my features searchingly. “You’re insane.”
Quite possibly, and it would be all her doing. “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity,” I recite. “One of my favorite Poe quotes, yet I don’t think I fully understood the meaning until now.”
I’m hard and needy where I bear down between her thighs, and I know she can feel my arousal. She can see it in my eyes—how badly I want to taste her, to know what those dangerous lips feel like against mine.
I lower the syringe and let it fall to the earth. Then I reach down between us and unfasten my belt buckle. Blakely’s eyes widen in alarm as I pull the leather belt from the loops.
One final second where I saver the feel of her this close, then I push up and bring her hands with me. I lasso the belt around her wrists and cinch it tight. “You’re going to get hyperthermia.” I scoop Blakely into my arms, and she allows me to carry her back onto the trail.
I realize, out here with her, sheltered by darkness and towering monuments of time, I haven’t counted the seconds, the minutes. The constant, maddening need to check my watch hasn’t once demanded my attention.
She is more consuming than any madness.
17
Committed
Blakely
Lukewarm water beads down my back, washing away the frigid river. I turn the tap all the way to hot, hoping it will scald, but the degree barely changes. I feel like I’ll never be warm again, my body and extremities hardened into ice.
A completely inappropriate laugh slips out at the thought. I am ice, that’s why I’m here. Hard, cold, dead ice. Alex chose me out of a club full of narcissistic, shallow and superficial people. There had to be another option that night, but he selected me.
This bathroom is a new addition, added on to the basement but set apart from the area where he holds me. I pick up the shampoo bottle and notice it’s some generic brand. I suppose scientists who spend their days and nights torturing their victims don’t have time to formulate a preference for haircare.
I lather the shampoo into my hair, letting the suds slide down my body until the water starts to run cold, my thoughts turning inward.
Over the course of my life, no matter what situation I found myself in, I’ve considered myself the most intelligent person in the room. It was like a superpower, to know what everyone else was thinking, what they’d say, how they’d act and respond.
I’m good at what I do because emotion doesn’t hinder my process. And yet, out there at the river, with Alex baring his vulnerability, I couldn’t see past him—I couldn’t exploit any weakness…and I don’t understand why.
The frustration slithers under my skin, and I grip my hair at the roots, a scream lodged at the base of my throat.
I know what men look like and how they behave when they’re attracted to me. When they want to fuck me. But I’ve never had a man look at me the way Alex was tonight…and that not only confused me right then, I was paralyzed.
He’s fucking with my head. Literally. Regardless of what I thought I had figured out about Alex, I can’t underestimate him. I have to keep focused, stay smart.
I twist the lever to kill the now-cold water and ring out my hair. I drape the towel Alex left near the tub around my body, tucking the corner under my arm. As I step out, I notice the clothes set on the granite counter. There’s nothing else in this room. No toilet. No mirror. No personal effects. Nothing I can use as a weapon against my captor or to harm myself.
I dry off and toss the towel to the tile floor with my discarded clothes, then hold up the white Oxford button-down. There’s also a pair of nude panties and jogging pants. Despite still being cold, I forgo the pants and dress in the shirt and panties only.
I test the door. It’s not locked. As I enter the narrow hallway, I hear Alex typing on his computer. I hover in the entryway, and I know he’s aware of me. His fingers halt briefly over the keys before he resumes typing.
Des
pite my desperate actions earlier, I knew there was little chance of escape. I wasn’t trying to get free so much as test Alex and get a better sense of my surroundings. Right now, he’s still vulnerable. Worn. Tired. Fragile.
After my stunt, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to be outside. I have to utilize this rare chance to push him even further.
As I enter the room, I eye the cart with the metal box and paddles, a feral need to destroy it taking hold. But for right now, it doesn’t appear Alex plans to use it.
“I need better shampoo and conditioner,” I say.
Alex stops typing, but he doesn’t turn around. “That’s what’s important to you?”
I drag my fingers through my damp strands. “I have highlighted hair. Your off-brand shit makes if feel like straw.”
He clears his throat. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I ease closer, taking note of the closed curtain. “Why do you wear a lab coat?”
This gains his full attention. He closes the laptop and spins the chair around. He’s wary about my questions and demeanor. He should be. His gaze travels over me—my bare legs, wet hair saturating his white shirt, making it nearly transparent over my breasts—and a hard edge frames his features.
His body language states he’s in no mood to play, not after chasing me down in the freezing river. But all we have is this game. One winner, one loser.
And I refuse to lose.
“Because I’m a scientist,” he says curtly.
I fiddle with the top button of his shirt. “But this isn’t a lab with other scientists. It’s just you and me. Who do you wear it for?”
He adjusts his glasses, a maneuver geared to prevent him from staring. “I wear it because it’s who I am.”
As opposed to a kidnapping megalomaniac… I keep that to myself. Instead, I undo the button and let my fingers skim down to the next one. “You’re something else, too,” I say.
Alex crosses his arms, his gaze drops to the exposed skin between my breasts. “Blakely, whatever this is…stop.”
I undo the second button, then the third, letting the shirt fall open. A tease, a taunt. A peek at the bottom swell of my breasts. Alex has stopped trying to avoid looking as he stares openly now.
“You’re lonely, Alex.” I leisurely run my fingers down the seam of his shirt. I stop to undo the last button. “I noticed it out there, while you held me pinned to the ground. I felt your desire to make a connection, to be inside me.” I push the shirt open, giving him the full, unobstructed view of my body. “How long has it been since you’ve been with a woman?”
His breath comes as a sharp intake of air, his gaze dragging over me unhurriedly. “Physical indulgence hasn’t been a priority,” he admits. “I’ve told you before that you’re a beautiful woman—” he meets my eyes “—but it’s only lust, Blakely. What you witnessed out there was just primal, cardinal lust. Nothing more. A normal, basic bodily reaction to stimuli.”
I walk toward him and stop only inches away. “Basic bodily reaction to stimuli,” I repeat as I drop my hand to my thigh and roam upward, touching the tips of my fingers to my sex. He watches intently as I rub myself. “You make it sound so technical and impersonal, detached.”
“With you, it would be,” he fires back.
I straddle my legs on either side of his thighs, placing my hands on his shoulders. “And is that wrong?” I slowly lower myself onto his lap. “I have needs, too. Locked away out here, no one else around to see, or judge.”
Alex turns his head to the side, refusing to look at me, but the rock-hard erection beneath me says everything he won’t. “Blakely…God, stop. Your need to control the situation is manifesting in a physical need to assert dominance.” He takes hold of my wrists and stares into my eyes with a fierce glare. “I’m in control of my urges.”
My arms shackled by his hands, I use it as leverage as I undulate my hips, grinding seductively against that hard want. His mouth parts, eyes filling with dark lust, and I know it won’t take much for Alex to lose control of those tightly wound urges.
“Just a taste then…” I wriggle one hand free and remove his glasses, setting them on the cart behind him. Better if his sight is a bit impaired. Then I lean in and delicately touch my lips to the scratch marks my nails left on the side of his face, my tongue delving out to taste his skin.
I feel his grip loosen on my wrist, and he involuntarily bucks beneath me, some of that control coming undone. “This won’t work,” he says.
I rub harder against him. “It’s working for me…”
With a harsh groan, Alex wrenches my hands between us. “Only because you want something.” Every muscle corded tight, he refuses to surrender.
“I want a release,” I say, driving my point home as I press my breasts against his hands. “I know you’ve thought about it. Bending me over that cot, tearing my panties down and spreading my legs, touching me until I’m dripping wet… Thrusting into me so hard it decimates every ounce of your control.”
His breathing is uneven as he tries to maintain exactly that. “Christ, you’re the personification of Peitho. A pure, unadulterated seductress.”
Moving higher, I lean forward and breathe into his ear, bite down on his earlobe. “You think I’m a goddess?”
His hands go to my hips, fingers digging possessively in to my skin, as he thrusts up against me. “When I first saw you, I swore you were Aphrodite.” One hand slips from my hip and he cups my face, fingers splaying into my wet hair. “But that’s too obvious, too cliché. Peitho hides in the shadows, persuading and manipulating everyone around her like the marionettes she makes them.”
Some foreign response stirs deep within me, and I shift uncomfortably. Alex holds my face, unwilling to let me go. I lick my lips, knowing what that action does to him.
His gaze drops to my mouth, ravenous hunger burning in his liquid blue eyes. His face nears mine, and that strange feeling deep down reacts instinctively. I turn my head and drop a kiss to his neck.
“Don’t give me a necklace, then,” I say, picking up his goddess thread.
This elicits a breathless laugh. “Why am I not surprised you know the myth.”
Curling my fingers at the back of his head, I smile against his neck. “Technically, she’s a force, not a goddess.”
“That’s debatable,” he counters, his will weakening.
While he’s preoccupied, I ease my hand down his chest and tear the snap of his pants open. The guttural sound that Alex makes excites me, and anticipation has my fingers seeking beneath his boxers.
I take his hard length in my palm as he becomes bold, lost in his arousal, and cups my breast. When I believe he’s completely under the spell, I snake my other hand away from his neck.
“Blakely…we have to stop,” he says, voice thick with restrained desire. “This isn’t right. You’re my patient.”
Alex’s delusion—that he believes I’m his patient—urges me on, and I hurriedly sink my hand into his pocket. With the other, I grip his cock like a vise, making sure he won’t budge as I yank the keyring free.
“Sorry, Alex, but I just can’t fuck this level of crazy.” I grab his balls and twist hard.
He utters a ardent curse as pain radiates through him, giving me enough time to bound free. He clutches his crotch and doubles over on the chair.
I don’t have much time, so I have to get as far as I can. I don’t bother fixing my shirt, letting it fly open as I rush to the curtain and throw it back. I saw a door here when I was sedated and groggy. Whatever is behind that door, I need to know.
Another curtain lines the wall and I shove it aside to reveal an old barnwood door. I fumble through the keys on the ring, trying one, two, and then the third key until the lock turns. I pull the door open and stare up at a dark flight of stairs. The sound of Alex getting his bearings spurs me up those steps.
A second door at the top, but this one isn’t locked. I enter the cabin damn near breathless…shock halting me to a full st
op.
A pitch-black void engulfs me.
The darkness is so consuming, as if I stepped right into space, or walked right off the edge of a cliff. The eeriness of it seeps past my skin, and I pull my shirt closed. I feel dizzy, like there’s no ground beneath me. As my eyes begin to adjust, circular lights appear…and I hear the ticking.
“Oh, my God.”
Clocks.
Backlit by faint-white lights, dozens of clocks seem to float midair. I know it’s not possible, an optical illusion, a trick of the mind—but it’s still terrifying. A nightmare made real.
To ground myself, I reach out and touch a wall. The cool and smooth surface is solid beneath my fingertips, and immediate relief rushes my veins.
This room is completely closed off and isolated from the cabin.
From ceiling to floor, clocks of different shapes and sizes scatter the walls. I move toward one and stare past the glass. Then I look at the one beside it. They’re all displaying different times. The pendulums swing back and forth, the rhythmic sound reverberating through the room, growing louder as the walls seem to close in.
“What is this room, Alex?”
I know he hears me, because he’s standing right behind me. I can feel heat rolling off his body, the vibration of his skin humming so near mine. His breaths come hard and ragged, and I wonder how painful that climb up the stairs was for him. Though right now, looking around at the very horrifying inside of his mind, I don’t give a damn.
“Get out,” he orders. A veiled desperation edges his low voice.
Other than the many clock faces scattering the room, I notice a splinter of light coming from the opposite wall. The entryway door has been boarded up.
I grip the keys in my palm.
Whatever the inside of this cabin means to him, it’s dark and twisted, and he has it sealed tight. He doesn’t want anyone to see, to enter. And no one can leave.
I’m yanked by my arm and towed back into the stairwell. Alex slams the door shut, his back to me, hands planted against the door. I should do exactly as he said. I should run down those stairs and get as far away from him as I can. He’s more unstable in this moment than I’ve ever seen him. I should leave—but his volatile state is a gravitational pull anchoring me here.
