Collateral Damage (5 page)

"I won't be tamed." I crushed my sandwich. Jelly oozed over the back of my hand. Peanut butter gummed up between my fingers. "I won't."

"Yes, you will." He gave my hair a little tug. "Are you done with your meal?"

"Yes."

"Go inside, and clean up."

For a moment or several, I didn't budge. I listened to his slow, even breaths, pacing my own, never changing. Heavy breathing meant arousal, exertion, excitement.

Measured breaths indicated control. And mine slipped. My pulse sped up, thunking hard in my chest, in my head. I convinced myself he could hear it.

"Inside, Nicole."

I forced myself to stand, took ten steps across the patio, five across the kitchen.

Turned the tap three times to blast the cold water. I did everything slowly, methodically. The cold numbed my fingertips, but I kept my hands under the icy stream until they lost all color. Then washed them twice.

Vince came up behind me and turned the faucet off. His chest pressed against my back. His erection rubbed my butt.

I closed my eyes and braced my hands on the edge of the sink.

He's going to do it. And that's good. Better to get it over with.

"Time to go back to your room. I will show you Alrik's lesson plan in the morning." Vince put his hand on my hip, guiding me the twelve steps to the basement door. Down the twenty-five—

"You cannot shut me out, Nicole. Think of numbers, of cleanliness, of becoming completely numb. I will still be . . . ." He gently turned me to face him and tapped my temple with a finger. "Right here."

No.
I'd thought the word, I was sure I had, but he smiled like he'd heard it.

"I did." He kissed my forehead and then whispered in my ear. "And there are thirty steps, in case you wondered."

My lips parted. I shook my head. Cold flushed my veins, and my fingers twitched. I wanted to slap him. I didn't question
how
he could read my mind. What did it matter? He could. And he had.

His hand drifted up to my cheek. "Nicole—"

"
Don't
." I practically panted with the effort not to lash out at him for this final violation. Better that he rape my body than my mind. "Just bring me to my room."

"Fine." His jaw ticked, and he held out his arm towards the hall. "After you."

I hurried down the last five steps and pressed my hands over my ears as a long wail spilled from behind one of the many closed doors. I made it to my room and pressed my forehead against the door.

Vince sighed as he opened the door. He waited until I'd settled on the bed before striding forward and dropping something on my lap. "Here. Alrik won't need it tonight, but you might."

The mp3 player. I whispered thanks and curled up on the bed.

Before I could plug my ears, Vince spoke. "And, Nicole . . . . "

I pressed my eyes shut. "Yes?"

"Stay."

Chapter Five

At precisely 6:30 a.m. Vince woke me. I knew the time because the digital screen of the mp3 player displayed it. He dropped several binders on the table beside a tray with a stainless steel coffee pot and two mugs.

"I can't bring you upstairs for breakfast . . . . Tell me what you want if you're hungry, and I'll get it."

I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"I trust you don't object to me bringing you coffee?"

"That's fine." I padded to the table, shaking my head to clear it, wondering how I'd managed to sleep so well. Still needed a kick-start of caffeine, but I felt well rested.

Ready to start the day. And deal with whatever Vince had planned. "Is Alrik up already?"

"Not yet." He filled a mug with coffee and leaned over it, inhaling and licking his lips. "Come. This coffee is freshly ground—a French roast."

My favorite. Naturally.
I considered unscrewing the top of the pot and pouring the contents over his head. But a smart woman doesn't waste good coffee and invite death in the process.

After filling my cup, I brought it to the bed and stood with my hip braced against the headboard to drink it. "Not bad. Little weak though."

Vince's brow arched. He glanced at the untouched cream and sugar. "Don't you usually take—"

"Mmm." I smirked behind my cup and took a bitter sip. "I take it black when I'm fucked up."

Small creases formed on his forehead and around his dark eyes. "Why are you

'fucked up'?"

Seriously?
This guy was too much. "I don't know—captivity does that to me."

"You've been treated well."

My brow shot up. "Have I? Well, I guess I'm being over sensitive. I kinda take basic liberties for granted. What can you do?"

He stood and set down his cup. "I don't appreciate sarcasm."

I took another sip and smiled. Guess he wasn't as infallible as he pretended to be.

"Well, I don't appreciate being kidnapped and raped. But we don't always get what we want."

"No, I suppose we don't." He traced the open collar of his black, silk shirt, revealing just the top of a very hard, very well-defined chest. Muscles curved in smooth slopes jumped, as though my gaze was a physical touch. He chuckled, and I looked up to see him watching me. "You want to hate me."

"I do hate you." I shrugged at his doubtful expression. "You're just easy on the eyes. Which I'm sure you know."

"Really." Without a twitch of warning, he closed the distance between us and took my cup. "Shall I prove you wrong?"

I skirted away from him, ducking and skidding from the bed. I might have been prepared to let him do what he would last night, but this morning I couldn't. I wouldn't.

Not without a fight.

"Relax. I won't hurt you." He placed the mug on the table and then strode across the room. I swung at him, and he caught my wrists. "Don't force me to tie you up."

"Don'tdon'tdon't." I whimpered as he wrapped his arms around me. Tears streaked my cheeks, gathered on my lips, hot and salty. I flattened my hands on his chest and dug my nails into his skin. "Vince . . . ."

"Shh." He pressed his lips to the top of my head and then bent down to whisper against my lips. "I want to show you something."

Before I could voice another "don't," his lips covered mine, and my gasp let him in. He tasted sweet—a little metallic—like icing sugar melting on my tongue. And my heat seemed to dissolve in his mouth, filling him as I absorbed his every cool plunge. I must have a fever, he couldn't be so cold—yet there was something erotic in our contrast. His passion, my resistance—which weakened because he'd taken over. I didn't have to think, have to worry, have to . . . .

Stop it!
I made myself remember where I was, who he was, and bit down. His tongue slipped away before I caught it, and his hand curved under my jaw, his fingers digging into the muscle, forcing me to remain open to him. He swept deep, skimmed the roof of my mouth, and I moaned.
So nice.
I arched against him, and my hands latched on to his neck as strength abandoned me. A kiss, a simple kiss, reached deeper than any amount of loving ever had. As my body surrendered, my mind scurried to excuse my behavior. Vince could help me. Vince could save me. If I could get through to him there was hope.

"That's it." He murmured as he slid his lips down my throat. "I knew it wouldn't take you long to accept me."

Accept you?
I twisted again, this time with much more force. "Let go of me."

"Not yet." His tongue teased the thick, pulsing vein running up my throat. "Not yet."

A scrape of teeth hauled in all my instincts, and I brought my knee up. He blocked just in time, but I'd surprised him enough for him to loosen his hold. And this time, he didn't try to hang on. He let me go.

I moved so the table was between us, eyeing the three pointy pencils beside the binders. As I inched closer, I glanced up, making sure he'd stayed put. "Don't ever touch me again, you sick fuck."

"Or?" He touched his bottom lip, and his gaze drifted down to mine. "Would you like to know why we chose you, Nicole?"

"Yes." I rested my hand on the edge of the table, inches away from the pencils.

"Wait, let me guess. I have 'sex slave' written all over me."

"Close enough." He smirked. "Very few women indulge in promiscuity after a rape. It happens, but it's not common."

My mouth went dry. "That's it? You took me because I acted slutty after being raped? Is that why you still haven't . . . do you honestly think I'll
let
you—?"

"You will never 'let me' do anything, love." He took a seat the table.

"Shakespeare."

"What?"

"Alrik's lesson plans. You will begin by reading him Shakespeare." He flipped a binder open. "Starting with
Hamlet
."

I shook my head. "You're out of your mind."

"It's a classic. Perhaps you think Alrik too young, but I went through the very same lessons and—"

Before I could grab a pencil, he swiped them all from under my hand. I gaped at him and stumbled back. He was fast. Too fast. My fear elevated to outright panic.

"Sit, Nicole. I'd rather not punish you now." He dropped the pencils into the front pocket of his shirt and then rested his forearms on the table. "I understand that you think you should fight me, but it would not be wise."

Dropping into the chair awkwardly, I took the book from him and bent over it, letting the sharp, plastic edges gouge my palms. "If you insist on Shakespeare, I'd rather start him on
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. He'll enjoy it."

"Perhaps, if you prove trustworthy, you may read him that as a bedtime story.

Cyrus will not negotiate on what he wants the boy to learn."

"Do you always do what Cyrus wants?" I brought the book up as though to study the tiny print and peeked at him.

For once, he didn't look at me. He focused on the hands he'd fisted on the table.

"Yes."

"Even if what he wants isn't what's best for Alrik?"

"Never happens." He shrugged and stood. "I will let you go over this alone. I'm sure you can manage."

"I'll be fine."

He made his way to the door, his shoulders curved inward, his fists at his sides.

He didn't look at me when he spoke. "And Nicole . . . ."

Breath held, everything inside coiled up, prepared for just about anything, I stared at his back and whispered. "Yes?"

A gruff sound escaped him. He unclenched his fists and then rubbed his face.

"Stay."

* * * * *

I read the notes in the binder, bored out of my mind, ready to skewer my eyeballs with the felt pen left for me inside the inner pocket of one binder. Not that I didn't enjoy reading Shakespeare, but
Hamlet
wasn't one of my favorites.

And I couldn't stop looking at the door. Not locked. The only thing keeping me away from it was Vince's order to 'stay.' That one-word command made the door seem out of reach. Forbidden.

He'd brought me a tray shortly after he'd walked out and left again without a word. The tray had enough food to last the day—cold slices of meat, bread, little packets of peanut butter and jam. I nibbled on a piece of bread and checked the time on the mp3 player Vince had left me. He hadn't asked for it back, so I assumed either Alrik hadn't come down again, or Vince had another for him. The screams came on and off, drilling into my spine until I drowned them out by plugging my ears full of classical music. The sounds were too random not to be real. I now knew there were others, trapped like me, suffering. But I couldn't consider them in my plans. I thought only of Alrik.

His bedroom was upstairs. I took out one earplug and listened. A chorus of screams told me most of the men in the house must be occupied. I'd been left alone for thirteen hours. My body was stiff from sitting there so long doing what I'd been told.

Enough was enough. I couldn't wait for a better chance. I had to take this one. Now.

Stuffing the laces I'd hidden under my pillow in my pocket, I crept up to the door, pressed my ear against it. Waited. A high-pitched wail cut off abruptly, and I winced. That could be me. Instead, here I was, locked up for two days without one attempt to escape. Wasting time being afraid. Or maybe not. Maybe they'd stopped worrying about me trying to take off after last night. They were all too sure of themselves. Even Vince. He'd revealed too much, too soon. I'd even sensed some regret from him. A weakness.

To be exploited immediately.

Hand on the doorknob, I inhaled, and then threw the door open. I stepped over the threshold, stupid me, never looking to see if anyone was around. I just needed to take that step. That one step to prove to myself that fear hadn't crippled me. Right then, I knew I'd never had a chance. Vince's tone the last time he'd asked me to stay—that he'd
asked
—should have given me a clue. But my own weakness was being too damned predictable. I had to test my boundaries. And I considered the consequences only when it was too late.

My taste of freedom was brief. I felt the invisible bars of my cage closing in on me even as I saw them. Cyrus and Vince. Standing at either side of me.

"Let me see Alrik." I pressed my hands on Vince's chest as he backed me into the room. "Just let me see him first."

"No." He took my wrists, restrained me with one hand, and tucked my hair behind my ear with the other while mouthing, "I told you to stay."

"I couldn't." I mouthed back.

He nodded as though he understood. When Cyrus cleared his throat, Vince's jaw clenched.

"Strip."

"What?" I glanced at Cyrus, and my insides clenched up. "No. No!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Cyrus came up behind me and raked his fingers through my hair, jerking my head back so far pain slit up the sides of my throat. "Do it, Vince.

Now, or I'll do it myself."

I wanted to throw myself to my knees and beg Vince to send Cyrus away and do what he must alone. But I knew he wouldn't.

He drew himself up and took a folding knife from his pocket. I tried to block him, but he batted my hands away and cut the collar of my sweatshirt. Then he dropped the knife and ripped the thick cotton.