Deadly Captive: The Trilogy

By Bianca Sommerland

Survival is Deadly.

From entertaining a bloodthirsty crowd to a brief taste of freedom, Lydia struggles to escape the only life she remembers. A life of being little more than a plaything to Cyrus. His obsession, his manipulations, never let her stray too far. But in making her strong enough to endure his games, he's created the one thing that will bring them all to an end.

Read the trilogy too dark to be called romance, a love story rife with sacrifice, heartache, and bonds beyond the basic need to survive.

There will be no trigger warnings. The book is the warning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bianca Sommerland
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781988323077

Book preview

Deadly Captive Trilogy

Deadly Captive Trilogy

Bianca Sommerland

Deadly Captive Trilogy

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Deadly Captive © 2018 Bianca Sommerland

Cover Art by Bianca Sommerland

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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

Contents

Also by Bianca Sommerland

Deadly Captive

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Collateral Damage

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

The End

Author’s Note:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the Author

Also by Bianca Sommerland

Also by Bianca Sommerland

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The Dartmouth Cobras

Blind Pass

Butterfly Style

Game Misconduct

Defensive Zone

Breakaway

Offside

Delayed Penalty

Iron Cross

Goal Line

Line Brawl

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Also

Deadly Captive

Collateral Damage

The End

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Celestial Pets: Evil’s Embrace

Solid Education

Street Smarts

Forbidden Steps

Rosemary Entwined

The Trip

Tamed (Feral Bonds 0.5)

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Winter’s Wrath Series

Backlash

Diminished

Inversion

Deadly Captive

Firstly, to my father, thank you for reading this book in its rawest form, for always believing in me, and for giving me strength in the moments when I was ready to give up.

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To Cari Silverwood, my crit partner and dearest friend, you’re priceless—and I mean that in the best possible way. From the start you weren’t shy to tell me I could do better. I’ll never forget that.

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To all the authors of ERA, I’m so grateful to you for welcoming me, for taking the time to guide me, for giving me a virtual home away from home.

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To J.S Wayne, for your unique ability to preserve my sanity. Your friendship is something I will value for the rest of my life.

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Since this book is being rereleased, I would also like to thank my assistant, Stacey Price, who is absolutely PHENOMENAL! She figures out what needs to be done before I even think of it and somehow manages to keep me on track. I do believe she’s a sure bet for sainthood. And she’s also a dear friend.

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And last, but not least, to my readers. For the longest of time, writing felt like an obsession. Sharing it with you makes it feel like a gift.

Chapter One

Iwoke to the sharp tang of metal on my tongue. Something cold jammed between my teeth tore the edges of my mouth. A steel chain. Blood dribbled over my chin as I lifted my head .

Where am I?

All I could see was a bright blur. I tried to roll off my back. My muscles screamed in protest as I strained against the chains wrapped around my torso. My arms were bound to my sides. Maybe my legs were free. . . . I tried bending my knees, but more chains rattled. Stiff fabric, wrapped around my ankles, held my legs open in a wide V.

The cold of the floor seeped into my bare flesh.

Naked! Spit, mixed with blood, gurgled in my throat. I'm naked!

I bucked and twisted, jerking at the restraints. The clang of metal striking metal echoed off the walls. The chains tightened with every move I made, as though a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around me, determined to squeeze until all my bones were crushed and my body was pulped. My shoulder blades grazed one another and my stomach lurched.

I sensed movement at my side and immediately went still.

A soft hush, then a man's deep voice. Don't fight the restraints. You'll only hurt yourself.

My lips formed words around the chains: Who are you? But my voice failed me. At some point, I had screamed myself hoarse.

Coarse fingertips smoothed my hair away from the sweat-slicked skin of my brow. A palm rested against my cheek.

It doesn't matter now, the man said. I felt the brush of his hot breath on my cold flesh. Just let it happen.

I tossed my head and tried to see him. Let what happen?

His hand left my face and settled on my knee, then moved slowly up my thigh.

No! My chest rose and fell, offbeat from my jerky inhales. I choked back a sob. Don't panic. Stop him.

My thighs clenched, my hips twisted, but I couldn't move enough to deny him anything. His hand covered my exposed sex, and the tips of his fingers pressed against my slit. His calloused flesh scraped my delicate folds. I tensed, expecting him to ram his fingers inside.

He cursed and withdrew his hand. You're too fucking dry.

I heard him spit. When he touched me again, his fingers were slick. They stretched me slowly, invaded the most vulnerable part of me. I couldn't stop him, so I closed my eyes and prayed he'd be quick.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, growing louder as though a storm approached. Then, voices rose above the noise. This was no storm; this thunder came from a crowd.

The man pressed closer and groaned. Listen to me. Keep fighting, but know I do this to save your life. I can't take another woman dying in this damn hole.

A hole? Air jammed in my throat. I imagined myself, trapped with him in a pit deep in the earth. Were there dead bodies all around us? Had he been forced to kill others for not submitting to him?

What if he's lying?

Grit scored my cheek as I fought to twist away from him. Hissing wetly through the chain, I forced my eyes to stay open. Something was wrong with them. My vision was blurred. I blinked and squinted. No use.

Blind. Helpless and blind.

You can't see, can you?

I turned my head toward the sound of the man's rough exhale.

Don't worry, he said. It will pass. From the look of you, they've had you here for a while. Hard to believe, but they treat their prisoners worse than their pets.

Prisoners? But what had I done to . . . ?

I don't expect you to understand now. You will soon enough. But understanding won't comfort you. His fingers stopped moving. His shadow, all I could see of him, went still. Would you prefer death? It would be selfish not to offer. He moved his fingers again, just a little. This . . . is not the only option.

Death? Or What? Rape?

I shook my head. Wherever I was, whatever happened, I wanted to live.

The rumbling grew louder still.

Fuck her already!

We came to watch her suffer!

You've got her wrapped up so nicely. The man shifted again. One of his palms rested on my mound. The fingers of his other hand traced my collarbone, and then slipped under the chains crisscrossing my chest.

The crowd went silent.

The way these chains frame her . . . assets . . . . He paused and his tone gained a seductive, lulling quality. This wasn't done to simply restrain her. You wanted her on display. His hands curved under my breasts, lifted them as though in offering. But if you want me to hurry . . . .

Right then, I didn't want him to hurry. His thumbs dented the supple flesh under my nipples, hard and throbbing and begging for him to touch them. He drew a half-moon beneath them, and I squirmed, frustrated at the idle motion.

Why wouldn't he touch me?

Very well, toy with her for a bit. A refined, masculine voice sounded from somewhere above us. But, if you don't make her suffer, we will.

The man at my side laughed. Make her suffer? His fingers finally brushed over my nipples. Pleasant little sparks shot down to my clit. I let out a muffled moan. Then he pinched and twisted. How's this?

My hips shot up as pain sizzled along my nerves. The chains rattled as I jerked at them, and the crowd buzzed in approval.

She's so fucking hot . . . . Something clamped down on my pulsing nipple, wet and hard. His teeth. He sucked, and I panted. When his mouth left me, I whimpered. A drink and she'd be dripping wet . . . .

You're pushing it, said the voice from above.

Not yet, but I will.

A cool drip warned me, seconds before the water spilled over my face. Sure I would drown in it, I turned my head. He grabbed my chin and forced it back. The water came again, and I gulped as much as I could.

"Better, kleine?" He seemed closer than before, as though he was lying beside me.

His hand rested on my belly. His breath brushed over the nipple he'd bitten.

Better? Is he insane?

But the water had helped. My tongue was moist, and I could feel the moisture slowly building elsewhere, somewhere . . . lower. His fingers slipped between my folds.

Ah, yes. He thrust one finger in and pulled it out. Much better.

He made a slurping sound, and I pictured him sucking his finger. The crowd hummed. Something wet lapped around one of my nipples, then the other. Probably his tongue.

I'm going to hurt you now, he whispered. You'll like it, but pretend you don't. He cleared his throat, and his next words were loud enough for the crowd to hear. Little whore, you want this, don't you?

One finger, two, prodded, then slammed inside. Each thrust into my cleft, curved inwards, and grazed sensitive nerve endings. Pleasure rolled through me in a hot wave and overwhelmed the pain. My hips rose to receive him even as I twisted as though to escape.

He climbed on top of me and lowered until his naked body covered mine. Agony lanced up my spine as his weight settled over me. I wanted to ask him to take me facing the gritty floor and relieve the pressure on my arms, but the chain in my mouth prevented the words. When he settled his hips between my thighs, I forgot I'd wanted to say a thing.

Fisting his hand in my hair, he bent my head back in time with the plunge of his dick. I moaned as his hipbones ground against my pelvis. My body stretched to accommodate his thickness. Then, movement ceased. He curved one arm under my shoulders and took some of the strain from my joints. Then, he nipped my earlobe hard enough for an edge of pain. I yelped, but my core billowed in response to the intense sensation as he laved away the sting with his tongue. A few short, shallow thrusts pushed him past the last of my resistance. He'd done a good job preparing me to be fucked.

More! The voice above sounded strained, as though he was the one pounding into my body. I want to hear her scream!

Scream, my unknown lover whispered. He drove into me, harder, and spoke through his teeth. Please scream.

A twist of his hips swirled him over a spot that burst with pure, raw pleasure. My body didn't understand it shouldn't enjoy this. Arching back, I surrendered, tightening against him, throbbing and wet. And I screamed, screamed in pleasure, in pain, because I couldn't tell the difference.

When the echoes of my screams died, the room fell silent.

With a loud grunt, he gave one last powerful thrust, spilling heat. His hand smacked the floor by my head, and I winced as he bent down. My core felt bruised.

His lips brushed my cheek, spreading tears I hadn't felt spill. We're done.

He withdrew with a feral growl, and I heard him move away. Blinking, I made out his figure, little more than a flesh-colored silhouette against the harsh light. So very large, standing inches from me.

Are you satisfied? His voice echoed around me, a vibrating timbre, gruff with rage. Does this please you, Cyrus?

Coarse laughter reverberated back to him. So many voices speaking among themselves, some high, some deep as his own . . . . One finally deigned to answer.

Quite. I'll let you keep this one. The speaker drew out a pause like a dull blade. So long as you both amuse.

Metal clinked near my head.

Release her. Enjoy a brief respite. It won't last.

Darkness followed the ominous words. I could hear the shuffling of the departing onlookers. When the sounds of the crowd muffled off to nothing, I was turned on my side. Metal scraped as the chains released. Relief flowed through me. Despite a thousand searing questions, I let myself slip into darkness.

Chapter Two

T here's food if you want it .

Consciousness returned when he spoke, but I kept my eyes shut and clung to the darkness like a child hiding under a blanket. The bad things couldn't hurt me if they didn't see me. For a whole, blissful minute, I indulged in the illusion. Then I opened my eyes.

I could see. Small blessing. My surroundings weren't much to look at. At least I wasn't in the room where the crowd had watched me . . . .

Not a pleasant thought. My mind drifted to how I'd gotten here. No better. The idea of someone moving my unconscious, naked body freaked me out. I focused on the room. Four cement walls with white, peeling paint, smeared with what looked like bleached blood. Several chains hung from the wall across from the bed where I lay. The man hunched over a little table in the middle of the room with metal legs and a circular melamine top, eating . . . something gross.

Sitting up, I looked down at the bed. The mattress beneath me was thin and lumpy. Odd scratches marred the metal bed frame. The white sheets were threadbare and stained. The ends were torn. I fingered the frayed edge of the strip of cloth covering my breast. Someone had put a makeshift dress on me while I slept, but who? The man?

Why bother? He'd seen everything already.

Still sore, but bearably so, I perched on the end of the bed tried to reacquaint myself with the groggy body that did not feel like my own. My self-image was like a Polaroid picture taken without a flash. No colors, no lines. Nothing but a blur.

I touched my face. My fingers traced the outline of my lips, ran over my closed lids, and slid down along my sharp cheekbones to my chin. A dull throb started in the base of my skull, pulsing harder and harder as I fought to recall . . . .

The man touched my arm. I slid back and made a pitiful sound. Hand still outstretched, he watched me.

Tears burned my eyes as I looked up at him. Please. I can't remember—I can't see it! I can't see my face!

Hush. He closed the distance between us and pulled me against him.

Stiffening, I debated fighting, but I couldn't. He was all I had. His voice, his body—I knew more of him than I knew of myself.

I sobbed against his chest and let him hold me for a while.

After soaking his grey T-shirt in tears, I looked up at him and touched his face. Prickly, dark stubble on his chin, more on his shaved head. Hard features, grayish-blue eyes. And big. Much bigger than me.

What color are they? My question made no sense, even to me.

Gathering me in his arms, he whispered into my hair. What?

I arched my head back and gazed at him, unblinking. My eyes? Please tell me. I know it sounds silly.

He hissed in a breath, let it out slow, and shook his head. It doesn't sound silly. They are green. A lovely, rich green. His lips curved into a soft smile, and he smoothed my hair away from my face. Your hair is brown, but the highlights of it are red and gold. He touched my bottom lip with his thumb. Your lips are swollen now, but even without the swelling they'd be lush. He drew back a little and continued his perusal. You've got good bones, probably some royalty in your background. High cheekbones, tiny nose, not too pinched, you don't look like a snob. He lifted my hand, kissing my fingertips. Your flesh is soft, but your muscles are more defined than those of any woman I've met. You have strong thighs. He glanced at my bare legs. Maybe you rode horses, or danced . . . .

He was trying to jog my memory, and, though I didn't know him, I thought I might love him. He'd caught my terror. Not only was I stuck in this hell, but there was another hell, the one inside me. I had no image of myself, not even the familiarity of my own voice to comfort me.

I could change the last. What's your name? How did you get here? What did you do . . . I mean before all this? You've got muscles too . . . big muscles. Now, I flushed. I hadn't meant it to sound, well, like I had noticed his impressive . . . size.

His lips curved as the humiliation played out on my face. My name is Joe.

Joe?

Sitting back, he frowned, eyes narrowed. Yes. Joe.

I nodded and tried to hide my doubt. So were you into sports? Weight lifting . . . . I stopped, but I couldn't stop my lip from curling. Let me guess. You're a lumberjack.

Roaring out a laugh, he shifted closer and shook his head. No. I was never a lumberjack. And I had no time for sports. He cocked his head. Let's just say I had a good reason to stay in shape.

He didn't want to tell me. I could respect that. And how did you get here?

Bowing his head, brow furrowed, he shrugged. Same way you did, I suppose. I caught the wrong kind of interest. You're as pretty as the other two, and I'm not too hard on the eyes myself.

His offhand remark sent a frisson of cold up my spine. The other two?

Grimly, he nodded. More deaths attributed to me. They warned me what would happen if I defied them. The first girl paid when I did . . . . He closed his eyes as his voice broke. She was so young—too young. I wouldn't even consider touching her. If I had . . . . Dropping his head, he let out a bitter laugh. If I'd set my own misplaced morals aside, she'd be alive. They wouldn't have brought the second girl. You wouldn't be here.

My hand drifted up to my lips. How young?

He turned his head, facing the wall. Don't ask me that.

Something jammed in my throat. The morbid question left me before I could stop it. What did they do to her?

Meeting my eyes now, expression neutral, he gritted his teeth. You don't want to know. He raked his nails over his head, as though he'd forgotten it was bare. But I learned from her. When they brought the next girl, I did as they asked. I fucked her. She was a virgin, so I was careful. Too careful. They saw she enjoyed it. They didn't even wait until I was off her before they slit her throat. I could see tears in his eyes, but they never spilled over. I never saw them coming. She cried out. Then, suddenly . . . nothing. When I looked up, I saw so much blood . . . .

Wrapping my arms around myself, I shivered and drew my knees to my chest. There was nothing I could do but accept what he said. I'd heard the crowd, their laughter, the things they had said.

This horror was my reality—my whole reality.

I felt his hands on my arms, then a pull as he tugged me until I submitted. He took me up in his arms to carry me to a chair where he sat with me in his lap. Relaxed in his embrace, I let him stroke my hair.

You handled it well. Even with the fear, even knowing nothing, you survived.

He kissed my forehead. We will survive. I promise you that. Resting his chin on the top of my head, he let out a weary sigh. I don't know how, but I'll get us out of this.

Uh huh. I found his assurance hard to believe, so I changed the subject. Are you from around here?

Here? His eyes widened a little. Why yes, actually. A five-hour drive will get you right to my front door.

Ah. Wrong question. I tongued my lip and tried to think of a better one. Why don't you have an accent?

I work hard to fit in. I can mimic any accent when the need arises. He pressed my head to his shoulder and resumed petting my hair. But you've got a distinctly American accent. Midwestern, I'd say.

We're not in America. I didn't ask. I was tired of asking. Eventually I'd remember on my own.

No. They caught me in Bremen and didn't drive long enough to have left the city.

Bremen. I pursed my lips when my mind drew up another blank. I had a feeling he was hedging on purpose, and, though I might eventually remember, I needed the information now.

Where are we, Joe?

He chuckled and shifted me on his lap so I faced him. Germany. The year is 2011—or was when they caught me. I imagine it's late spring by now. The flowers are in bloom.

Like I cared about stupid flowers. I considered his words for a bit. They let you go outside?

Outside meant a chance to escape. Even if Joe hadn't, I would find a way.

No, they don't let me go anywhere. I am either locked in a room or in the arena putting on a show. He sighed and cupped my chin in his hand. Do not accept defeat, but you must understand there's no easy way out.

My gaze flicked to the door. Between the two of us, we could probably—

I managed to break the lock my first night here. It wasn't hard—I think they wanted me to. He closed his eyes and shook his head. This is a game to them. They will toy with you—break you if they can. Don't give them any more reasons to try.

So we just wait and—

You wait. I'll figure out something.

Not likely. I tried to push off his lap, and he locked his arms around my waist. Wiggling got me nowhere, so I scowled at him.

Relax. You can either stay with me and ask me all the questions you want or you can break out and have them maul you. His lips pressed together when I arched my brow. And I mean that literally.

When I opened my mouth to argue—because I couldn't help myself—he prodded my side with the tips of his fingers. I gasped and stared at the bruised flesh over my ribs, amazed at the agony from that gentle touch. The chains had left long, black and red lines and a whole lot of damage.

Which could take weeks to heal. No. I refused to wait.

I'll be fine. Really, the bruises hadn't hurt until he'd touched them. How many guards are outside the door? If we catch them by surprise and make a run for it—

Try taking a deep breath, he said.

I did and instantly regretted it. Pain knifed through me like a fiery claw trying to rip my lungs out of my body. Damn him, he was right. In my condition, I couldn't walk farther than the bed or the bathroom, never mind run.

My options were limited. I sighed and drummed my fingers on his big, hard chest. So, we have to wait.

He slid his hand down to my hip. At least until you recover.

His thumb stroked the slope of my pelvis, going a little lower with each pass. The muscles in my belly twitched, and I swallowed. Apparently, recovery didn't mean bed rest. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he wanted to do with our spare time.

The way he made me feel tempted me. But I refused to be distracted.

I grabbed his wrist when his fingers slid between my thighs. Tell me more about those people. He shook his head, and I narrowed my eyes. Tell me about Cyrus.

You're not ready. He freed his wrist and put his hand back on my thigh. He caught the edge of my rag dress. Why not forget about them for a bit and—

Gritting my teeth, I snapped my knees together and glared at his hand. Let me up, I've gotta . . . go.

He set me on my feet, and then pointed at the door to the right of the wall covered in chains. The bathroom's right there.

A bathroom. Maybe it had a mirror?

I headed across the small room, hoping I could lock myself in for a while—give myself time to think without him . . . .

Turning the knob, I swung the door open, but then retreated when the stench hit me. The small, cubical room was disgusting. Red and brown ran up the sides of the toilet and streaked the yellow tiled walls. The small sink was cruddy and grey.

There was no mirror.

I closed the door.

Changed your mind? Joe came up behind me and set his hands on my shoulders.

"I don't need to go that bad."

But I would.

I'll see about getting us some soap. His grip tightened on my arms, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. The far-off look in his eyes made me think getting anything from our captors came with a price.

This isn't the room you were in before. I pried his hands from my shoulders, then turned and touched his cheek. They put you in here because of me.

He gave me a curt nod. My room wasn't exactly the plaza, but it was clean.

I'm sorry.

Don't be. He put his hand on my arm and nudged me towards the table. You should eat.

Taking a step forward, I eyed the grey slop on the plate. I don't know if I can.

His breath stirred the tiny hairs at my nape. That's fine. There're other things we can do to pass the time.

I half-skidded to the chair, plunked down, then picked up the spoon to poke at the lumpy mess on the plate. Is it edible?

I had to look up to see his shrug. It serves its purpose.

True enough. He certainly looked healthy. I watched him strip off his T-shirt as I brought the spoon to my mouth. He stretched his arms over his head and flexed. The spoon bumped my cheek.

Holy mother of . . . . I shook my head and fixed my gaze on a deep scratch on the table. Methodically, I ate the bland food and considered the hopeless situation I'd found myself in.

Not hopeless. Just . . . difficult. Hopelessness implied a kind of surrender, a passive acceptance of being at another's mercy. Granted, I was at another's mercy, but the opportunity to escape would come.

I scraped the last of the tasteless gruel from the plate, then lifted the spoon to my lips, eyes drifting over to Joe. I closed my mouth over the spoon and left it there.

On the floor, with his legs extended, arms braced shoulder-width beneath him, he lowered so slowly it was painful to watch. Rising just as slowly, he never released the motion, merely descending again without giving his muscles the barest reprieve. I couldn't imagine my body managing such torturous exercise without buckling or, at the very least, shaking.

He set one arm on the small of his back, and the other began to quiver. The fact that he was human—well built, strictly disciplined, but human—revealed itself in the hard set of his jaw and the rivulets of sweat that ran down his face. Not unaffected by the brutal training, only steadfast, driven by motivations that would not permit weakness.

With a light touch of one finger, I tested the solidity of the muscle of my forearm, eyes still set on Joe, but not really seeing him anymore. I touched my biceps, clenching so it stretched against my skin. Dropping my hands to my stomach, I smiled.

Maybe I should get down on the floor beside him and see if my arms would be as steady as his.

Lydia.

The abrupt way Joe said the name sent a frisson of fear straight through me. My eyes shot to the door. There was no one there.

Chapter Three

Joe chuckled and deftly shot to his feet. Well, that answers that question .

I bit my lip and shook my head. What question? Why suddenly say a name when no one was . . . ?

Lydia. I mouthed the name, rolling my tongue around it, and waited for a spark of recognition. I felt nothing. But he would know my name, wouldn't he?

My eyes narrowed. You were testing me.

Shrugging his shoulders backward in a lazy stretch, he nodded. Yes, but you passed. Don't worry about it.

Surging forward, I drove the heel of my palm into his sternum. He stumbled into the wall by the bed, staring at me as he righted himself. I smirked.

Didn't see that coming, did you, asshole?

His eyes narrowed. A muscle in his jaw ticked. I scrambled off the bed when he strode towards me, but he caught a fistful of my hair and jerked me against his front. Then, he forced me into the space between the bed frame and the wall. The metal frame felt like a bar of ice on the bare flesh of my side. I tried to wrench out of his grasp and dodge him. He hauled me back and trapped me with the press of his body.

Don't ever do that again, he said, through gritted teeth. This situation hasn't left me with much tolerance.

My eyes teared, but my gaze never wavered. Right back at you. I didn't sign up for your games.

He eased his grip on my hair. Neither of us signed up for any of this, Lydia. I wanted to make sure I could trust my cell mate.

Of all the . . . . I shook my head. Please, I need to know. Some kind of morbid curiosity, I guess. Why in the world would I fake memory loss? What purpose would it serve?

With a shrug, he rested his arm on my shoulder, still loosely holding my hair. It would be a clever sympathy card.

Damn it, he's right. I felt the tension ease from my body, no longer feeling very combative. How do you know I'm not faking it? If I was, it would be pretty stupid to acknowledge my name.

No. Actually, it wouldn't have proven much. It might have made me suspicious, more than I already was. It would be strange that you'd remember your name, but not your own face. I was hoping your reaction would be revealing. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. It was, but not in the way I'd hoped. The loss is worse than I thought. There wasn't even a glimmer of recognition.

Grazing my teeth back and forth along my bottom lip, I glared at his chest. It could be an act.

Fingers under my chin, he tilted my head up. No, Lydia. You couldn't have faked the fear I saw. You thought it was one of them.

I jerked away from him and clenched my fists at my sides. I'm not afraid of them.

Yes, you are. You're not a stupid woman, Lydia.

The way he said my name sent a chill down my spine. I dug my nails into my palms.

Stop.

He frowned. Stop what?

Saying my name like that.

With a wicked smile, he hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and rocked on his heels. Lydia.

I swung my fist at his face. He knocked it aside and caught my wrist when I tried again.

Lydia. He backed me into the table. My hip knocked the empty plate and it clattered on the floor. Sitting me on the edge of the table, he trapped my face between his hands. My breath caught, and I pressed my eyes shut, expecting him to slam his mouth on mine. It could hurt; my lips were still sore.

His tongue gently traced the crease of my lips. He combed his fingers into my hair and tugged until I tipped my head back. Then, he kissed me so tenderly I opened my eyes and stared at him.

He kissed the tip of my nose. Why do you look so surprised?

Why? I licked my bottom lip and tasted the saltiness of his sweat. Delicious. My eyes dropped to the moisture beaded on his chest. I leaned forward. He tightened his grip.

Well?

I groaned. I thought you'd be rough.

You keep looking at me like that, and I will be.

He took hold of the cloth hung over my shoulder and eased it down. Freeing my arms, I lifted them over my head and sat up against him. He slid the material down to my waist, baring my breast. The cold bit at them, hardening my nipples before he covered them with his hands.

My breasts were tiny, maybe too tiny. As though reading my mind, he kissed me and backed away a little. A crooked smile on his lips, he squeezed my breasts. I wonder if they would be bigger if you weren't such a fitness junkie.

Wrinkling my nose, I frowned at him. Too small?

His laughter vibrated through me as he pressed closer. He shook his head. No. I always find more than a handful is a waste. Curving his hands under my breasts, he rolled my nipples against his fingers with his thumb. Besides, like this they're less likely to sag.

Making a sound of affront, I smacked his large forearm. Before the smack finished sounding, he bent to suck a hard nipple into his mouth. Electric sparks sizzled along my nerves, and a groan escaped me. His teeth grazed my nipple. My back bowed, and I braced my hands on the table.

His hand moved up my inner thigh, and I flattened my hands on his slick chest as he dipped a finger inside me. My core throbbed as he worked his finger in deep.

You're so wet. He added another finger and leaned over to kiss my neck. Tell me you want this.

I wiggled my hips so my butt was on the very edge of the table. Obviously.

Please. He lifted his head, and his heavy lidded eyes looked dark, haunted. Just say it.

Pleasure filled me as he pumped his fingers in and out, but I felt cold as I considered why he needed to hear the words. He'd been forced to rape me and at least two others.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed against him. I want this. I want you.

He reached between us and unzipped his jeans. Good.

With one arm wrapped around my waist, he positioned himself between my thighs. Gripping his dick, he slipped it up and down my slit. His thick head pushed between my folds, penetrating, stretching. Liquid fire spilled into my core as he filled me with one smooth thrust.

His steel eyes met mine and heavy breaths underscored his every word. I can be gentle. If you want me to, I will, but . . . .

I closed my eyes and arched up to the twisting of his hips. Just do it, Joe. Do it as though we were in another time, another place. Don't think about anything but what we both want.

Dropping his head and giving a slight nod, he began to move, slowly at first, then building in momentum, quick and rough. His fingers dug into my thighs as he beat into me. He claimed my mouth, and the sweat rimming his upper lip made the kiss sting. I gasped into his mouth as the pain coiled with pleasure and lifted my hips to receive each thrust, taking him deeper and deeper. The swollen head of his dick hit a bundle of nerves in my core. An orgasm ripped through me, and I bit his bottom lip.

Everything inside me quivered, hypersensitive. Pleasantly sore, but I couldn't bear . . . .

He rocked his hips. I shuddered and wrapped my legs around his waist to keep him still. His thigh muscles tensed, and he shoved me onto my back, thrusting harder and harder. I whimpered as another wave of ecstasy billowed up, sweet, too sweet. A spurt of heat filled me, and I felt his dick twitch as he came inside my body.

Breathing hard, he kissed my throat, letting out a gruff laugh when I tried to wiggle out from under him. Just give me a minute, sweetie.

Give him a minute?

I shoved his away from me and hopped off the table. Cum coated his throbbing dick, making him nice and slippery. I wrapped my hand around him and dropped to my knees. He cursed when I took him in my mouth.

Sucking hard, I grazed tight flesh with my teeth. With a growl, he took hold of my hair and rimmed me down his cock until he hit the back of my throat. I dug my nails into his ass and slicked my wet lips up, tasting his salty, thick fluid mixed with my own lighter coat. When he tried to hold me down, I gave warning with my teeth.

God. A breath hissed through his teeth. Stop.

His dick left my mouth with a loud pop. I swirled my tongue along the base of his crest and gazed up, smiling. Are you sure?

Eyes hooded, he stared at me, and then laughed. No, damn it. It feels so good it hurts. But, seeing you like that . . . gods be damned, it's worth the pain.

Pleased with his response, I bent back down, a little gentler, wetting my lips with my tongue before I took him back in my mouth. Pushing down the flesh of his cock in a languorous motion, I sucked and circled my tongue. I could feel his pulse speed up, so I moved faster. The head of his dick swelled, and I swallowed fast, smiling when the muscles in his thighs quivered. Seconds later, he went soft under my tongue.

When I let him go, he collapsed on the bed and flopped his arm over his eyes. Standing just long enough to pull the top of the makeshift dress over my shoulders and the bottom past my hips, I lay at his side and let him pull me into his tight embrace.

The taste of sex on my tongue became pasty and foul. I scrubbed my lips with the edge of the sheet.

Nasty. He must think I'm disgusting. What the hell's wrong with me?

I hid my head in the curve under his arm. That didn't feel natural. I mean, it didn't feel like something I did . . . .

Absently stroking my hair, his shoulders shifted under my head in a shrug. Desperate times… He slid over and turned on his side. Don't be ashamed. We both know why we did this. Even if only once, it's nice to have a choice.

I'd hate to think I would have done that with whoever they stuck me with. I tilted my head, so I could see his reaction to what I'd said.

He stared at the ceiling. Me, too.

Chapter Four

H ow come we never see them when they bring our food? I spoke around a mouthful of chicken, the first real food we'd shared in this place. I marked my days by when I slept. Seven days, ten days? I wasn't sure .

Using his teeth to rip a large chuck of meat from the bone he held in his hand, Joe shrugged. I assume they don't want us to. Sometimes, I feel their presence but— He paused, noting my shiver. They're not here now. Don't worry.

Seeing no need to argue, I simply nodded. So, what warranted the upgrade from slop?

Refusing to meet my steady gaze, he shrugged, taking another bite, making it obvious he had no intention of answering.

Wanting to press him further, but knowing there was no point, I filled my mouth with a forkful of potatoes dripping with butter. Real butter, not margarine, though I couldn't say how I knew the difference. The splash of liquid into the one glass set in the middle of the table, next to our one food-laden plate, brought my head up.

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 looked 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 use 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?