by J. C. Cliff
Nick doesn’t have what it takes to do my job. He’s too high-strung and temperamental. When he’s upset, he has a hard time staying cool and keeping his emotions in check.
“Who am I training this one for, Nick?” I ask, my expression giving nothing away. I’m wondering how much he will enlighten me, or will he stay elusive? Nick cocks his head to the side, staring off into space in deep thought. I watch him slowly lick his lips, which strikes me as odd. Men don’t do that shit unless we have a huge plate of Buffalo wings in front of us. He’s acting as if he’s a predatory animal. When he turns his head back to me, he winks and slips me a sly grin.
“She’s gonna be mine, Travis, all mine. I’ve waited a long, damn time for this one, but I can wait. I’ve waited this long; I can hold out just a little bit longer for you to do your magic and make her perfect…perfect for me, since you know what I like. Well…you know what to do.”
I nod my head in acknowledgment, too stunned to say anything more. Nick is choosing to tell me jack shit on this. I’ve known him for a couple years now, and once I’d earned his trust, everything about him and this business became an open book.
Nick is a player, and as long as I’ve known him, he’s never acted this way over a female before. I’m concerned his sudden fixation has him thinking unclearly. My expression never waivers, but I’m confused; Nick isn’t a one-woman man. He owns the perfect playground here. He’s never wanted to be bothered with having a submissive of his own before. He’s always told me he’s living out every man’s fantasy by owning the most-expensive sex resort in paradise, and takes advantage of all its amenities.
“I’ve got a lengthy board meeting upstairs in ten minutes. I’ll be back after five o’clock, and then we can go properly introduce ourselves to our sleeping beauty, sound good?”
“Sounds good, Nick. I need to talk with Jared anyway to see about getting her meds adjusted.”
Nick turns around and walks out the laboratory door, leaving Jared and me alone to discuss increasing the girl’s dose of experimental drugs.
If Lance Oakley, Julianna’s father, were to find out, he would blow this place sky-fucking-high. My hackles are up, and I don’t care for the nebulous manner in which Nick is handling this situation. I suddenly feel as if I’m holding a time bomb, and something’s going to blow sooner or later. There’s a big red flag waving its warning signal for me to prepare for fight-or-flight. Even though there is no way possible for him to be able to break through this fortress, I wouldn’t put it past Oakley to come knocking on our front door. I shake my head at the thought. No, he’s more like me; he’s stealth and he’d calculate when, where, and how to strike. I hope Nick knows what the hell he’s doing. If he doesn’t, all Hell will rain down on us in a shit-storm of fury. Those men don’t come out to play; they come out to kill.
CHAPTER FIVE
~Jules~
Thank God, when my consciousness begins to stir, my head isn’t pounding anymore, and even though my throat is bruised and tender, I no longer have to breathe shallow breaths. I must have enough painkillers flowing through my system by now, breaking the cycle of pain. I don’t ever want to feel that level of agony again. I feel like I’m in a cyclone going in reverse, and now I’m sorting through the destructive aftermath it left in its wake, making my way back to the present. Slowly, I open my eyes to rediscover I’m not at home in my bedroom. Memories of the past twenty-four hours come flooding back to the forefront of my mind, drowning me in a tide of storm surges.
It’s quiet in the room, and as I strain my ears listening for sounds, I hear nothing. I don’t know what to think of my situation. Was this a hostage situation, and they want a ransom? Or was I truly abducted, never to taste the freedoms that are now out of my reach? What in the hell do these men want with me, anyway? I don’t think they want to hurt me, even though I was brutally strangled during my capture. The two men I woke up to before were savagely pissed when they found out how vicious my kidnappers were. If they did want to abuse me, why would they have given me a nice bed, pain medicine, or spend the night in my room out of concern for my wellbeing?
I’m confused about what to think of Green Eyes, with the way he tenderly touched and stroked me. The concern in his eyes seemed to speak volumes of remorse, even though he looked every bit the part of a coldblooded killer. Oddly, though, he made me feel surprisingly comfortable.
The hard muscles that rippled on that man’s body were purely fascinating; even his neck was roped with muscles. While I’d only ever seen Jake’s eight-pack, I would take bets Travis sported his own set under his shirt. His hair was cut short and was a beautiful, deep, dark brown. He had an overgrown five o’clock shadow that outlined his strong jaw. The poor guy had spent the last twenty-four hours taking care of me. The scruffy dusting of hair on his face worked for him, but I had a feeling any look would work for this man. There had been moments I felt butterflies fluttering around in my belly, and I’ve never been more confused in my life. I’m not sure what all of that means.
Clearing my thoughts, I open my eyes to the same dim lighting; it’s casting shadows throughout the entire room. At first glance of my prison cell, it appears as if I’m in a luxury hotel room, not one of those roach motels for fifty bucks a night. Scanning the room, to my right I find a full, private bathroom. Straight ahead is a sitting area with a large print sofa, and just behind the sofa to its right is a little kitchenette with a small eating table, microwave, and refrigerator. It’s fully-furnished and decorated with paintings and fake plants spread throughout the room, just like I’m staying in a top-dollar hotel suite.
All of the walls are a creamy taupe, and I spy a colorful, large framed print in the kitchen area that catches me eye. I squint, arching my neck forward as if a few inches will make a difference in being able to make out the print. It couldn’t be, could it? From this distance, it looks like a large-scale replica of the one-of-a-kind ocean scape painting I have back in Massachusetts. The room is too dark to see it clearly from where I lay, but the likelihood of it being a reproduction is nil. I shake my head dismissing the absurd thought. I slowly glance around the rest of the quarters, noticing everything has been well decorated with a perfect balance of symmetry, color, and fashion in every part of the room. Everything appears neat, clean, and smells fresh, including the soft comforter wrapped around my body. I close my eyes and scold myself for having these thoughts. Really, Jules? Like you really need to let yourself be distracted looking at balance, color, and symmetry at a time like this! What I need to do is find a way out of here and not let myself become preoccupied with decor, fabrics, and paintings.
I see an IV bag hanging on the wall to my right, and as I follow the line, I see it’s no longer connected to me. It looks as if they might have disconnected the IV while I was asleep. I sigh in relief; I hate needles, they give me the willies. Looking down to my right arm, I discover a cannula taped over and violating the vein in my right arm. Crap! I clench my fists, wanting it out of my body. There is a small alarm clock illuminated beside me on the nightstand and it’s almost 5:30pm. Due to the drugs the men gave me, I’ve slept an entire day away. I guess I should be grateful; I would hate to have been forced to live through that nightmare without pain medication and rest.
The sudden urge to pee overtakes me, most likely from the IV pumping liters of God-knows-what through my body. I roll to my right side, sitting up and testing my agility, making sure I have no dizziness. Slowly, I pull myself up, stand on shaky legs, and proceed carefully toward the bathroom. Finishing my business, I amble from the bathroom, stopping momentarily to wash my hands at the sink. Staring back at myself in the mirror, I look as if I’ve been through a warzone. I splash some cool water over my face to help revive my weary body and take a sip of water from one of the plastic cups provided.
Roving my eyes over my body, taking stock of my injuries, I see the bruises decorating my neck in a black and blue pattern. Unconsciously, I find my fingertips softly tracing the outlines of handp
rints on my neck. Smirking at myself in the mirror, I recall it was worth every bit of pain to hear those men howl in agony. I put up one hell of a struggle, and I think about the man I bit. I would bet my last dollar he needed a ton of stitches. Bastard. Realizing I’m still in my pajamas from last night, I frown. I would really love a shower right now.
I dismiss the thought of a shower and turn from the mirror, searching for a possible escape route. The source of the dim light is seeping through the outside edges of burgundy designer drapes that line one entire wall. The drapes are encased at the top in a contrasting, patterned cornice board, complimenting the heavy curtains. Suddenly, I find myself rushing to the other side of the room in giddy excitement, hoping to expose the set of windows hidden behind the curtains that will render my freedom.
My mind races, thinking of different ways I could make a distress signal to someone outside the large windows, in hopes I can be discovered and rescued. My hands roam frantically through the thick material, looking for the curtain pull. Finally, I find the pull rod located in the center of the drapes and grab it with shaky hands. Sliding back the massive amount of fabric to the side, I feel a silly grin spread across my lips.
Slowly, my grin fades once the curtains are fully pulled back. My face drops as my eyes widen in mortification. What I find before me utterly stops my heart from beating in my chest as I stand with my feet frozen to the floor. There are no windows, no rays of sunshine trying to sneak into the imprisoned cell to offer me hope.
I hold my breath as my eyes scan before me an entire concrete and brick wall. It taunts me with imitation-sunshine. Fluorescent lights are lined along the edges of the wall that’s not even a foot away from my face, outlining where a window frame should be. I swallow back bile from my clenching stomach as I come to a conclusion: I can almost accept this wall being all brick with the illusion of sunlight seeping past the edges of the curtains, but what I cannot accept is I see the entire brick wall holds so much more. My eyes flick back and forth over a wide array of items spread over the length of the entire wall. There is a huge, X-framed contraption that’s bolted to the wall, and I tilt my head in confusion. I can’t make heads or tails of the thing, seeing it has thick leather restraints at every end. What in the hell is this? I feel my eyes widen in horror as they roam over the rest of the wall.
A couple of large, locked, custom-made, clear Plexiglass cases are hanging on different parts of the wall. Leaning forward, I squint to make sure I’m seeing this right. What is that? A whip? Other funky-shaped items of all shapes and sizes are displayed, hanging neatly on hooks like pool cues on a rack. Everything seems to be exhibited in a planned, orderly fashion. I step closer and raise my hand, using my finger to tentatively touch one of the glass cases. Curiosity gets the best of me, so I open it and trace along the outline of a long whip. I inhale the strong scent of leather and immediately think of Travis. I don’t want to think of Travis this way, so I won’t. One particular crop catches my eye. It has friggin’ jewels embedded in the handle! Some of these items look like deflated pom-poms. There are too many objects to try and figure out what their purposes are. Paddles, ropes, gags…I step away from the sight before me as uneasy feelings begin to wash over my body. I shake my head in disbelief. I’m not prepared for any of this, and I never will be. As if I’m standing under a waterfall, goose bumps rain down over my entire body, cascading from the top of my head and ending at my toes.
My mind spins in pure confusion; I don’t want to know what this stuff is or what it does. I can only imagine it has something to do with kinky sex, but I really don’t want to let my mind ponder over what the X-framed contraption is used for. I let out a long, audible groan in the silent room. I will never be ready to have sex forced on me, but who the hell ever is, virgin or not? I start to wonder what type of mind games these people plan to inflict on me. The psychological destruction could be much worse than any of these instruments of pain on the wall. Will they cut me so deep mentally I will wind up having irreversible scar tissue on my soul? Will I be unable to ever fully heal should I get out of this alive?
I find myself struggling against fear and self-pity. I can’t afford to have either. I’m sick with anticipation of what’s to come. I can’t allow myself to think of those negative thoughts, but they keep slipping in, taking over my mind at every turn. I try to take a deep, calming breath, but it comes out shaky.
I need to start thinking again of an alternate escape plan to get out of this prison cell. I slide the curtains back into place hastily, thinking if I can’t see those freaky things, they won’t exist. I also don’t want to be caught standing in front of these exposed torture devices with the curtains drawn back when someone walks in, either. I’d feel like Vanna White, displaying my body before the nasties, and then the bad guys might get sidetracked and become full of ideas I don’t want entertained.
I don’t want to wonder whose paraphernalia this belongs to, or with whom and when they plan on using it. Spine-chilling shivers race through my body at those horrifying thoughts. Yes, Jules, you dimwit; if they kidnapped you, you can bet they have immoral and corrupt plans they want to implement.
Logical reasoning skills have me beginning to deduct the following hypothesis: One, abducting me from my own home automatically makes them criminal, sick fucks. Two, the proverbial writing is literally on the wall; they’re into disgusting fetishes. Finally, number three, I’m so screwed, pun fully-intended. I giggle at my own little joke and then shake myself, wondering why in the world I’d be making funnies at a time like this. Am I hitting hysteria?
Biting my nails, I turn around and look at the door, half-scared to even try it. I can only imagine there’s some hulk of a man standing guard with a gun just waiting for me on the other side. It would be stupid to think they’d leave the door unlocked, not after everything they went through to capture me.
I move toward the sofa to sit down. My thoughts drift toward my father, and I wonder what he’s doing right now. Obviously, these are the very same men who threatened him. I can’t imagine why anyone would need to threaten his life, let alone steal me in the dead of night. My stomach churns thinking of my dad and Jake having to deal with the horror of my kidnapping, the drama of it all unfolding before their very eyes. Funny how he always kept me so confined to protect me, and I was snatched right out from under him.
It’s been almost a full day since I was taken, and I bet my dad has had a crazy day today, contacting anybody and everybody he could enlist in securing my rescue. My father has all types of connections and contacts in all walks of life; I’d seen some pretty scary people come in and out of our house over the years doing business with him. Being a self-proclaimed master spy from the age of four, I’d heard many confidential conversations growing up that would raise the hairs on the back of a chigger bug, but I never heard anything that would’ve given me pause for concern over our own safety, until yesterday.
One thing is for certain, especially since my father knows who kidnapped me, his wrath will have no mercy. I feel very confident that when my father reaches out to his bounty of resources from both sides of the law, whoever they are, they will find me. I don’t know where I am, but something tells me I can’t be too far away. I can only pray if I am close to home, I’ll be rescued that much more quickly. I smile to myself and relish the thought of my father’s ire being unleashed on these men, storming in with a battalion and taking no prisoners.
CHAPTER SIX
I turn my head at the sound of men talking in the hallway near my door. Their voices grow louder, and my heartbeat starts to thump at a fast pace in my chest as I quickly leap from the sofa. I stand there for a brief second, and I thank my feet for having a mind of their own as they start running for the safety of the bed. By the time I leap into the covers, I hear the door click open, and I quickly take refuge under the fluffy blanket. Yes, I know, as if this will protect me from the impending evils, right? But it’s my only source of comfort at the moment. I lean against the head
board, pulling my safety blanket high up under my chin.
Immediately, I smell the same expensive cologne as it wafts in the air before I even see the men emerging from the corner of the kitchen area. When they round the corner, I see it’s the same two men from earlier this morning, and I feel my heart beat in my throat.
I watch as Green Eyes flips on a light switch located on the wall, and he hangs back with what I hope is a tray of food. I haven’t eaten all day, I was beginning to feel hungry, but felt I couldn’t swallow anything earlier because of my wounded throat. The other man sauntered near, stopping next to me alongside the bed. He’s wearing an expensive ensemble of black dress pants; a dark purple, long-sleeved dress shirt; and a matching silk tie, all ironed to perfection. I scan over him curiously and notice his black shoes are even flawlessly shined. He screams of wealth and power. I swallow hard, causing me to grimace. He looks awfully young to exude such a persona. I’d venture to say he’s in his early thirties.
I watch his every move with baited breath, ready to bury myself deeper under the covers. He places both hands in his front pockets and rocks back on his heels, giving me a devilish grin. I don’t like the expression, not at all. Cocking his head to the side, he begins to study me. Well, all he can study, really, is my head poking out from under the covers. The movement causes his dark-brown hair to shift from its style, and I watch it fall across his forehead in a sultry way. Arrogant prick.
This man in front of me is definitely a strong and an attractive man; I’ll give him that. He’s well-built, like he hits the gym daily, not showing one ounce of fat on his hard body. I can tell he has a solid chest and bulging biceps under his expensive, dark shirt. His skin is a clear and healthy olive complexion. His very presence seems to reek of authority and arrogance. He knows he’s good-looking, and I have always hated that type of mannerism in a man.