Caged: The Complete Trilogy

by Francesca Baez

  My hand is covered in blood.

  “You’re doing great,” Vega says, and his hand isn’t on my leg anymore. His voice is thin. He shouldn’t have to be the one doing the pep talking.

  I shouldn’t be doing this for him at all.

  What now?

  I need to disinfect the wound again. The rubbing alcohol is all gone. My eyes skim over the mess on the counter. Hydrogen peroxide. My bloody shoes skid on the floor, but I’m in the zone now. I’m outside of my body, taking care of this shit like I know what I’m doing. My hand wraps around the brown bottle and I’m pouring liquid over the wound again. It bubbles, and Vega hisses, and now it’s time to seal the gash up. Band-aids won’t cut it. My hands dance over all my options, leaving red stains on every one. There’s a suture kit, there, under the Pepto. Kate really did think of everything. Was she just paranoid, or did she know from the start I was destined for trouble? I grab the black silk because I don’t have time to research my options, and in any other situation I’d take black silk over green nylon or blue polyester, too. I meet Vega’s eyes for a quick moment, and he gives me a nod. I wonder if he usually stitches himself back up. I wonder if Miel ever does it for him. I wonder how many messy scars are hiding on his body in places I can’t see.

  The stitches don’t go by quickly. It takes forever and Vega keeps moaning in pain, but I can’t seem to make it better, no matter how hard I try. When we’re finally done, I pour some more hydrogen peroxide, just in case, and tape a thick patch of gauze onto the hopefully repaired wound.

  Then it’s just us, sitting on the edge of the tub, surrounded by blood—blood—and scattered medical supplies and the unending moment we just went through together. Vega’s bad arm is still stretched across my lap, my fingertips still resting gently on his hot flesh. My eyes flutter up to his, which are already on me. We just look at each other for a moment, in a way we never have before, in a way I’ve always been afraid to. I’ve never felt such closeness to someone, not even naked in bed. What happened between us just now was something… intimate. Intimate and inevitable, despite my best efforts. I’m caught halfway outside of my body, halfway outside of the present. I don’t know which half of me it is that leans in, quick and impulsive, and presses my lips against Javier’s.

  When he kissed me in the stable I didn’t have time to process the moment. He took me by surprise, and my mind was so muddled with fear and horror that all I could do was cling to the only solid body near me. When I finally regained the presence of mind to respond to his actions, either to pull him closer or push him away, the moment was already over. But now, now the moment is everywhere, and I am consumed by sensation. His mouth is hot, and his lips are plush, and he’s inhaling sharply, surprised. I pull away quickly, before I have time to let myself realize what I’ve done.

  This is the man who’s been blackmailing me, playing mind games with me, keeping me captive in my own home while he extorts me for money. I hate myself for wanting him, but my body screams for more. I’m tired, tired of running, tired of living in fear, tired of fighting this twisted attraction between us. I need the kind of release that only he can provide, fucked up as it may be, and I think he needs this, too.

  We stare each other down for half a second. His pupils are wide, making his brown eyes look black. In a breath, his good arm is twining around my waist, pulling me closer, and I’m meeting him halfway. Our lips brush again, and this time they part open, eager, inviting. His tongue dips into my mouth, hot and demanding, and I hear him emit the tiniest sound when I let my teeth catch it ever so slightly. My body is pressing against his naked chest, his right hand teasing the bottom hem of my t-shirt, my left hand shy against the valleys of his six pack. My right hand on his wounded arm, still hot and damp with blood.

  Blood.

  Bang, bang.

  Bang, bang.

  Bang, bang.

  I pull back violently, nearly falling off the lip of the tub with my sudden movement. Vega’s eyes are wide for a split second, surprised, maybe hurt, but he’s not the type to let that show for long. He pulls me onto his lap and takes my mouth in his with the all-consuming need that was present that day in the stables. But this time there is no control, not even a little. His hands are everywhere—under my shirt, dancing up my sides, slipping under my bra. I inhale sharply when he pinches my nipples, the moment of pain bringing a new rush of warmth to my core. I don’t want him to know how acutely my body responds to his touch, but I can’t control myself either. My hips buck against his, desperate for more, and my breasts press hungrily against his warm palms.

  If I let myself think about how fucked up this is, even for a moment, my head will explode, so I stop thinking and just let myself feel. All I know is that every moment of this twisted night, day, year have led to this forbidden liaison, and that what happens next was always inevitable, so why fight it? I’ve already done things I never thought I would be capable of, things that have ruined me for any other man. But Javier, he’s the one who broke me, but he’s also the one who is making me feel whole again for the first time in months. I know logically that this is wrong, so fucking wrong, but nothing has ever felt as right as his hands do on my body.

  My own hands are already fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, an unbidden action that I can’t make myself stop. He doesn’t stop me either, letting out an animalistic grunt when I take his naked cock in my hand. He’s already rock hard, and so much bigger than I expected that I can’t help but feel a rush of fear mixed in with the pleasure. He’s thicker than most, and I haven’t been with a man in a very long time. This isn’t just going to destroy me mentally and emotionally, it’s going to hurt me physically, and on some level I crave the pain. I deserve to be punished for what I’ve done these past few months, what I’m doing right now.

  Vega has already slid my own pants down my hips, and his warm fingers are trailing up my thighs. With anyone else I would be embarrassed by the thick curls now framing the lips of my pussy, but this man doesn’t seem to care. He finds my opening quickly, and traces my folds with excruciating gentleness.

  “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, and it occurs to me that neither of us has spoken for a very long time. It’s like we’re afraid of perforating the fragile bubble we’ve found ourselves in. But now that he has, his voice is low and raspy with need, and it makes me even hungrier for more.

  He dips one finger into my tight channel, then another, pumping me gently. His fingertips curve inside me, searching for that special spot, but I don’t want to be pleasured right now. I want to be fucked, dirty and punishing, and I need it now, before it’s too late.

  “I need—” I begin, but the friction of his fingers inside me is already making it difficult to breathe. “I need—”

  “What do you need, princesa?” Javier asks, slowing his motions, causing me to whimper with desire. “Tell me, and I’ll give your hot little cunt anything it wants.”

  I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. Instead, I lift my hips and position my opening against the tip of his cock. He doesn’t move to control this moment, so I slowly lower myself onto him, moaning in both pain and pleasure as his thick shaft stretches my inner walls. When he’s fully inside me, I hesitate, breathing heavily, feeling the restraint vibrating through his whole body. I can’t stand to look at him, to see whatever is on his face, to let him see the desire on mine, so I press myself against his chest, burying my face in his neck. Either sensing my hesitation or simply losing patience, Javier takes control back. His fingers dig into my bare hips and he lifts me almost all the way off of himself, then plunges back in, burying himself to the hilt in my hungry pussy. I don’t moan this time, I scream, loving and hating the feeling of his head slamming into my cervix. He doesn’t give me even a moment to recover, pistoning in again, and again, and again. I can barely breathe, fingernails digging into his back, biting down on his shoulder to keep myself from screaming again. This is exactly what I needed, this everlasting moment, with every one of my sense
s so overwhelmed that all I can do is hold on for dear life. I can feel a peak building inside me, but when I finally come what rushes through my body isn’t an orgasm like any I’ve experienced before. It’s pure, animalistic release, something that undoes me down to my very core. Javier is right there with me, holding me tight to his chest as jets of hot seed coat my insides, and I can’t tell which moans are mine and which are his.

  He holds me for a second longer, but the moment is over faster than it began. We’re no longer bodies moving as one, or even tense companions navigating a bloody nightmare together. It’s just me and the man who took me hostage and turned my soul inside out, his softening cock still inside me.

  “I need to take a shower,” I say as I stand, eyes firmly glued to the floor of the tub, with the puddle of blood slowly beginning to dry at the edges. “Please go.”

  He sits frozen for a moment, and I wonder if he’s going to refuse, stay here with me. Because this means something, doesn’t it? This has to mean something.

  But it doesn’t mean anything, and he doesn’t stay. He just nods at me, pulls his pants back on, and leaves me be.

  Just like that.

  I release a ragged breath I didn’t know I was holding and turn on the water. With all my clothes still mostly on, I let the cold water pour over me, wishing desperately that Javier was still here with me, and loathing myself for that thought. Mascara must be streaking down my face, but I don’t care. I stand there, immobile, heavy, until I begin to feel something real again.

  My brother is dead.

  I just fucked my captor.

  Someone is out to kill him, and they might kill me, too.

  I bend down and fish the crumpled bullet out from the drain grate. Dead, cold metal. That’s what caused all this. That’s what could end my life in an instant.

  Enough waiting around for the right moment. Enough playing house with my kidnappers. Enough blood and pain and messy, twisted emotions.

  I have to make my escape as soon as I can. Before Vega’s enemy comes back and makes me collateral damage. Before I lose myself completely in this crooked game they’re playing with my life, my past, my money. My body.

  Before I fuck Vega again.

  I’m never going to touch Vega again.

  I’m going to get myself out of this house, turn my enemies over to the authorities and never look back.

  Fuck me.

  I can’t believe that after all this, with a goddamn bullet wound in my arm and the enemy on our ass, all I can think of is a girl.

  A girl, a hot fuck, and a mistake.

  I shouldn’t have let it happen. I should have pushed her away when she first leaned in. Definitely shouldn’t have pulled her back in for more.

  Stupid, stupid mistake.

  But my cock still jumps at the memory.

  I shift uncomfortably in the big leather chair, trying to force my dick to behave. Really, it’s my mind that keeps getting me into trouble. I’d give a limb to be able to forget that any of this ever happened, to erase the memory of her lips on mine, the heat of her skin against my naked body, the way her tight cunt hugged my cock. Another twitch from my groin. Damn it.

  What I need to be channeling my full focus into is a way out of this rock-and-a-hard-place we’re trapped in. I knew we’d be found eventually, have to fight for our lives sooner or later, but I’d always hoped we’d have a little more time to establish ourselves before that came along.

  Our clients have no idea what we’re dealing with, so money is still coming in steadily. Other than Olivia Duvernay’s money, anyway. We’ll circle back to her when we can.

  Additionally, he must not know yet that we’re with Selina at the Palacios estate, or his people definitely would’ve shown up here by now. As long as we can keep that detail under wraps, and as such keep Selina safe, things might be salvageable.

  Of course, we can’t stay holed up here forever. We have money to collect, deals to close, shit to do. Olivia Duvernay is owed another visit, not to mention all those other names left on Isla’s list.

  Maybe that’s the solution. Fuck taking our time with it, what if we just jumped straight to the top of that list? Money, power; power, money. We can’t get much more of either than from the mayor of Atlanta. Will it be enough to play a winning hand against our enemy? Or would that mean blowing the ace up our sleeves too soon, saving our skins for now but leaving us open to bigger trouble in the future?

  I lean back in the chair, pressing my fingertips against my temples. I’ve never been much for socializing to begin with, but the throne is lonelier than I would’ve expected. Miel probably still hates me. Selina definitely hates me. And Hernando and Brock don’t get to like or dislike me. They take orders.

  I wonder if all powerful men feel like this, in the end. Being in control means making the decisions that make people despise you for saving their skins. Being on the throne means never being able to let anyone in close enough to call a friend. There’s too much to lose, too much to protect. Too much responsibility.

  This is what I wanted, I remind myself. This is what I need. The way Miel needs to be the one committing the violence to make up for the years she was receiving it. The way Selina had to become the image of peace to drown out her inner turmoil. The way my father needed to put my mother in her place after a long day of being treated like trash because of his accent and skin color. I need the power, and I need the throne, and most of all, I need the control. Not to save Miel, or Selina, or even myself. To prove that I can take it, run it, keep it. To prove that I can still do whatever the fuck I want. To him. To them. To myself.

  I open my laptop back up, resisting the urge to check the camera feeds for Selina’s lithe body. Instead I open my internet browser and begin my research on Mayor Allan Conrad.

  Vega keeps his distance from me after that night. If it weren’t for the thick gauze wrapped on his arm, the butterfly bandages on Miel’s face, and the twinge of soreness between my legs, it’s as if that horrible night never happened.

  But it did, and I’m still committed to keeping the promise I made to myself. I’m getting out of here, before it’s too late. I just have to figure out exactly how to go about doing that without further endangering myself and Kate.

  I never had to learn how to sneak out of this house. By the time I hit my prolonged teen rebel phase, there was no one to set rules and boundaries and curfews. No one but Max, and I would just laugh in his face if he ever tried to boss me around. Of course, sneaking out from under a parent’s nose would be a thousand times easier than trying to escape a hardened criminal, with surveillance in every room and armed guards at every turn. No, this won’t be easy by a long shot, but I can still do it.

  I have to.

  As subtly as I can, I begin to take closer note of everything around me. The exact locations of all the cameras. The patterns in everyone’s comings and goings. I stay up late into the night, perched in my window to watch the distant lights of Hernando and Brock switching off at the guardhouse and making their rounds of the estate. I don’t think night will be my time, though. Vega is here at night, and I don’t imagine he gets much sleep, either. Sometimes I swear I can feel him, his proximity, his magnetic draw. I wonder if he’s lying awake, thinking about me too. Thinking about anything other than how useful I am to him, as a pawn and a blank check.

  This is why I have to get out of here. When my tormentor is locked up behind bars, maybe I’ll finally be free of the way he haunts my mind.

  Maybe.

  I try to find relief in the fact that escape does not present itself easily. If it had, I’d feel shitty for not having taken such a clear opportunity much earlier. Some days the thought exercise nearly works, but most days the hopeless situation just feels shitty anyway.

  At least Miel is speaking to me again, kind of. Maybe she feels bad for blaming me for whatever the hell went down that night, or is impressed with how I managed to patch Vega up. Maybe Vega told her what happened after that, and she feels so e
mbarrassed for me that she can’t help but be nice. Small favors.

  Either way, today she’s perched up on my bathroom counter as I carefully pluck the remaining bandages off her face. I hope I haven’t somehow ended up as the default medical assistance around here. I’m certainly far from equipped. Under the bandages, her cut has healed together pretty well, I think. The wound is still red and a little puffy, but it doesn’t look heated or inflamed. The smaller scratches on her chin and brow are scabbed up, nearly gone. I find a tube of ointment and dab some along the biggest wound just in case. I hope this doesn’t end up scarring too badly, though if anyone could work a facial scar, Miel can.

  While I’ve got her as cornered as I ever will, I decide to just go for it.

  “What happened?” I ask, patting my fingertip along the healing gash. “No one really told me, exactly.”

  Miel raises an eyebrow, then winces when the movement tugs at the wounded cheek. “If no one told you, maybe you’re not supposed to know.”

  “What does it matter?” I ask, washing my hands and reaching for some clean bandages. “I can’t do shit about anything anyway. Don’t I at least get to know what kind of danger y’all are in? Especially if it’s something that could end up getting me hurt, too?”

  Miel considers this, and after a minute of silence, I give up. She’s not going to tell me anything.

  “Javi and I used to work for a real bad guy,” she says finally, and I try not to react and spook her from finishing the story. “Like, straight-out-of-your-nightmares bad. The kind of bad that you don’t get to stop working for unless you’re leaving in a body bag.”

  “But you guys aren’t working for him anymore,” I fill in when she pauses. “And you aren’t in a body bag.”

  “Yet,” Miel says, the grim solemnity in her quiet voice sending a chill up my spine.

  “What did you guys do for him?” I ask, steadying my hands to apply the last butterfly bandage into place. “And what is my money for? To pay him off? Or—”