He says this with the same urgency as he told me to run. You run like the fucking wind. Don’t stop for anything, understand? No matter how much it hurts. Those instructions made sense. These don’t. Who’s coming in? Why shouldn’t I fight? What will be worse?
Then the door bangs open.
Adam comes down the stairs, his step almost cheerful. “Good morning, ma petite. And hello to you, North. I had such a good time playing with you both yesterday. I think we’ll all enjoy the games today, non?”
North lets out a growl. “Go fuck yourself, Bisset.”
There’s a sharp sound, and then a large lantern illuminates the space. Adam grins, which looks almost demonic since he’s right above the light. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you some fun too. It’s not every day I have both a man and woman at my disposal. Like two life-size dolls.”
I scramble to a sitting position, tugging on my shirt, which is ripped across the front. It exposes my stomach, which has a cut from yesterday, and the lace of my bra. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going to have a very good day.” Adam glances at him, and for the first time I can see North alongside the shadows. A black eye mars a handsome face, along with other bruises. He wears only a dirty gray T-shirt and jeans. Muscles glisten with sweat and grime. He’s coiled in the corner, looking lethal. It’s like someone has captured a jaguar and put it in a cage. “North will also have a good day, though he will deny it until his final breath.” He glances at me. “You won’t have a very good day, I’m afraid. Seven minutes in heaven are going to become many more minutes.”
I scoot back, but I’m already against the wall. “No. Please.”
“Such pretty begging.” Adam runs a hand through his brown curls, which look glossy and perfect even in this setting. It’s such a sharp contrast, his suit in a place of ruin and despair. “I wish I could take you someplace nice. At least somewhere with a bed. You deserve that, ma petite.”
“Gee, thanks,” I manage, my voice dry.
“And intelligence. So lovely. You’re a lucky man, North.”
North lunges forward to the bars, throwing his hands through, but Adam steps back in time. “You’re a dead man, Bisset. That’s a goddamn promise.”
“You’re too late,” Adam says, his dark eyes twinkling. “I’ve been dead a very long time. This is my own personal afterlife, where I get to play with you both. And what do you do with two dolls, a boy and a girl? You make them kiss, of course.”
I glance at North, my eyes wide. He doesn’t even look at me. His fists are tight on the iron, knuckles white with force. As I watch, he sways slightly, and I know it’s only force of will that’s keeping him standing. He’s been beaten and starved before I even got here.
“You want information,” North says, his voice low.
“Are you ready to give up the location? That was easier than I thought. No? I see. Then you might as well humor the madman. Kiss her, North.”
“Or what?”
“Or nothing. I’m not your enemy, though you might wish I were.” He holds up a bag. “Water. Food. Some medicine, even, for ma petite.”
“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”
Adam gives a slight smile. “A little kiss.”
“No,” I say, my heart pounding against my battered ribs. “Stop this.”
“I am sure she’s thirsty.”
I know it’s a sick game. I know better than to trust anything this man does or says. Interpol agent? What a bunch of bullshit. It doesn’t matter.
I’m hungry and thirsty and hurting, and I’ll do anything to ease the pain of that.
Even a second of reprieve is enough.
I stand and move unsteadily to North, who turns at my approach. I press myself to him, throw myself at him, and he catches me. He catches me against him, and my lips mash his. There’s nothing sexy about this kiss. Nothing alluring. It’s a hard, angry press. A desperate moment. I shouldn’t like anything about it, but he’s large and strong, and he sucks in a breath like I’ve stunned him. It isn’t soft candlelight or rose petals, but it makes me feel powerful.
Recognition runs through me like lightning.
“Hi,” I whisper as if we’re meeting for the first time.
He dips his head so his lips are brushing my ear, his voice feather-soft. “Hi back.”
“Elijah,” the other man says in a singsong voice.
Elijah! The same person from years ago. How is he here? Why? Shock steals my breath. I’m flooded with relief and with fear. Elijah. His last name is North.
With a growl of frustration, he pushes me back against the stone wall. He kisses me with frustration, and I recognize the hard, angry edge of him. He was my first kiss. He pretended to be a security guard then. He was younger, but there is something very the same—his intensity. He uses his body to hold me against the wall, mine held in suspension, feet an inch off the ground, while his mouth uses me, explores me, rediscovers me with rough possession.
As quickly as he started, he pulls himself away. “There,” he says.
“Very pretty,” Adam says in that silky, dangerous way. The truth is he doesn’t sound pleased. He sounds jealous, which is ridiculous considering the circumstances. “Now don’t you want to touch her? I think you do. I think you want to expose her pretty tits.”
Elijah gives a purely animal roar of frustration, and the hair on the back of my neck rises. “No.”
“I’m thirsty,” I whisper. “Please. It’s okay.”
His eyes flash, green even in the faint light. “It’s not okay.”
But he doesn’t argue the point. He doesn’t refuse to obey. Instead he lifts the sensible blue T-shirt I wore for the plane ride, which is now damp and dirty. My breasts are covered in a bra. He pushes it up without ceremony, without any slow sensuality, without foreplay.
This isn’t about sex. It’s about power, and the man who wields it outside this prison cell. The man who laughs in a low, pleased way when Elijah pauses to stare at my breasts.
“Hell,” he mutters. “This is hell.”
It’s not exactly the way a woman wants to be romanced. “I’ll close my eyes,” I whisper as if that will make it more palatable for whatever comes next.
His head descends. I feel the heat of his breath seconds before his lips glance across the upper curve of my breast. He kisses down the side and underneath. Then he presses a kiss to the tip. All of this without Adam saying a word, without him giving an order. It’s as if he knew—as if he knew that seeing them would be enough to make Elijah taste them.
“Make her come,” Adam says. “Make her come and you can have this.”
With a groan Elijah drops his forehead to my shoulder. He pushes open my thigh, rough and almost angry. Then his hips are between my legs. The length of his cock presses up against the tender space. We’re separated by my clothes, by his clothes, but it still feels like sex. He thrusts, and the head of his cock bears down on my clit. We’re perfectly matched for this, and my eyes roll back. In a world of cold and hunger, this forced rutting feels impossibly good.
He thrusts again and again, but I can’t come, it’s too much—at least, it feels like too much until he leans down to lick my nipple, to suck it into his mouth, to gently bite down. Then I’m bucking against him, keening, choking out a wordless cry that echoes back from the dark walls.