Page 44 of The Captive
Hurting.
Finally, his face contorted and he reached climax, a strangled groan escaping his lips as he came inside her. Through it all, his eyes never left mine—creating an intimacy that somehow transcended the perverse reality of our situation.
Moisture brimmed in his eyes at the same time that a tear streaked down my cheek.
Motherfucking bitch.
"He needs someone who understands his darkness—who craves it the way I do," Beatrice panted, her chest heaving with exertion and triumph. She leaned forward, whispering something in his ear that made his expression harden.
When she was done, she climbed off him with feline grace, letting his seed drip down her inner thigh as she lowered her dress and retrieved her knife. She approached me one last time, tracing the tip of the blade along my collarbone.
"You helped him," she observed, her voice suddenly cold. "How touching. But it changes nothing."
She turned back to Alexander, her posture softening. "I'll be back, and then, Alexander will be mine forever. After I get you out of the way." Her voice took on a dreamy quality. "He and I will get rid of Ronan and Cressida and run this place together... after Patrick," she sniffled dramatically, "sadly dies in a car accident."
And then, she left us—naked, chained, staring at each other across the dimly lit barn. Alexander's softening cock was still wet with her fluids, cum glistening on the floor beneath his chair. The moment the door closed behind her, his eyes met mine, intense and filled with determination.
"We need to get out of here," he said quietly, already testing his bonds with methodical determination. "Before she comes back."
I nodded, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain through my shoulders. "Any brilliant ideas, or should I just hang around a while longer?" I chuckled mirthlessly.
His unexpected smile—although fleeting—sent a strange warmth through my chest. “Actually,” he said, twisting his wrist in a peculiar way, “I think I might have something.”
Thirteen
ALEXANDER MOORE
The barn fellinto silence after Beatrice's departure, the air still thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and sex. My skin crawled with disgust, my body feeling like a weapon that had been turned against me. But now wasn't the time for self-pity.
"Can you move at all?" I asked Aoife, watching her hanging form with concern. Her skin had taken on an alarming pallor, the chains cutting cruelly into her wrists where dried blood formed dark rivers down her arms.
"Not much," she admitted, her voice strained. Yet, despite what she'd been through, she still somehow radiated defiance. "What's your plan?"
I twisted my wrist, feeling the restraints give slightly. "When I was younger, I broke my right wrist. Never healed quite right—gives me extra flexibility to work with. Convenient."
The plastic ties weren't professional-grade—a mistake on our captors' part. By dislocating my thumb with a practised motion I'd mastered years ago, I could potentially slip one hand free.
"You and Beatrice," Aoife said suddenly, her eyes searching mine. "What did she mean about the hunt? About the maze?"
I paused, considering how much to reveal. "It's a long story for another time."
"I'm not exactly going anywhere," she countered with dark humour, chains rattling as she shifted.
Before I could respond, the barn door creaked open. Two masked guards entered, carrying water bottles and a bucket. My muscles tensed, preparing for another round of torture.
"Boss says keep them alive," the taller one grunted. "Says they need water."
The shorter one laughed, eyeing Aoife's naked body with undisguised lust. "Pretty fancy setup. Like something from those films."
They approached me first. The taller guard held a water bottle to my lips, allowing a few precious swallows before pulling it away.
"That's enough for now," he said. "Don't want you pissing yourself."
The shorter guard moved to Aoife, water bottle in hand. Instead of offering it to her lips, he held it above her head and squeezed, sending water cascading over her face and body. She gasped at the shock of cold, but maintained her dignity.
"Give her the water properly," I growled, my voice deadly quiet.
"Shut up," the shorter guard replied, but the taller one intervened.
