Page 42 of The Captive
"Can’t move. Are you restrained, too? Oh yes … ahhh." Pain filled his tone. “I remember now.”
"Chained from the ceiling," I said anyway with a grunt born of extreme distress. "It's... not particularly comfortable."
He cursed softly. "Are you hurt?"
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Nothing fatal. Though I might reconsider our present alliance if this is your idea of hospitality."
His answering chuckle was strained but genuine. "Not exactly how I planned to entertain you."
"Clearly." I shifted, unable to suppress a hiss as the chains cut deeper. "Any thoughts on getting out of here?"
"Working on it." His voice tightened with concentration. "Beatrice is?—"
The lights suddenly blazed on, blinding after so long in darkness. I blinked frantically, tears streaming reflexively down my cheeks as my eyes struggled to adjust. When my vision cleared, I saw Alexander had been blindfolded—a thick black cloth wrapped tightly around his eyes.
The heavy barn door creaked open with dramatic slowness. Beatrice entered like she was walking onto a stage, wearing a dress so short it barely covered her arse and a raven mask that obscured the upper half of her face. Each step was calculated seduction as she moved toward Alexander with predatory intent, hips swaying hypnotically.
The woman was batshit, that much was evident, but I knew that already and still ‘worked’ with her. I was an idiot.
"Do you recognize this, Alexander?" she purred, circling his chair, trailing red-tipped fingers across his shoulders.
The mask was beautiful in its grotesque elegance—glossy black feathers framing golden-rimmed eye holes, the beak extending slightly over her nose. It transformed her into something not quite human—a creature of myth rather than the troubled wife of Patrick O'Brien.
"I've recreated everything, precisely as it was," she continued, voice trembling with barely contained excitement. "The ropes that marked my skin now mark yours, the blindfold that heightened my senses now heightens yours..."
Yes, I had to confirm once more: the woman was completely unhinged, if there was ever the slightest doubt. What hunt was she talking about? What sick game had these two played before?
"Does she know, Alexander?" Beatrice taunted, gesturing toward me with a knife that had somehow magically appeared in her hand. "Ah, I don't think so."
She laughed again—that same manic sound that made my skin crawl. Then she began touching him with possessive familiarity—running her hands over his chest, his thighs, her nails leaving faint red trails on his skin.
"You want him, right?" She turned to me, eyes fever-bright behind the mask. "Rival families, sworn enemies, but he's so very hot..." She pressed herself against Alexander's bound form, moaning obscenely. "Hmmm. I know you want to have him again, but you can't."
Her head tilted as she studied me. "The mighty Aoife O'Malley, hanging like a piece of meat. What would your father say if he could see his precious heir now? His little princess stripped of power, forced to watch while I take what's mine."
I kept my expression neutral despite the rage boiling inside me. "My father would say you talk too much."
Her smile vanished. "Your father is dead, and you'll soon join him." She turned back to Alexander, brandishing the knife. "But first, a show."
What followed was the stuff of nightmares as she methodically cut into Alexander's clothes, slicing the fabric with deliberate patience. Each cut was a performance, her breathing growing heavier as she peeled layers from his body.
"You're so beautiful," she whispered, running her free hand over his now-bare chest, tracing the defined muscles there. "So much stronger than when we first met."
She continued until he sat in only his underwear, his powerful body tense beneath her touch. Then, with theatrical slowness, she slid the knife under the elastic of his boxers, the blade pressing dangerously against his groin. It just registered he didn’t have the tactical gear on anymore.
"What shall I do?" she mused, eyes fixed on me rather than him. "Rip this off you, or make it so you never have a woman again?" Her laughter filled the room, high and deranged, until she sighed dramatically. "No, that would be such a waste. To remove such a magnificent tool..."
With a quick flick of her wrist, she sliced through the material, leaving Alexander fully naked and exposed. His cock lay against his thigh, impressive even in its soft state. Beatrice's eyes gleamed with triumph behind her mask.
She removed his blindfold then, allowing him to see what awaited him. His eyes immediately found mine, sharp and alert despite the drugs still visible in his slightly dilated pupils.
"She's pretty though." Beatrice turned toward me, knife glinting in the harsh barn light as she approached. "Look at her, Alexander. All that fire, all that pride."
My heart hammered against my ribs as she drew nearer, but I refused to show fear. I straightened as much as my chains allowed, chin lifted in defiance.
"Such bravery," she murmured, trailing the knife down my cheek without breaking the skin. "Let's see how long that lasts."
Her torture began methodically as she cut away my clothes just as she had Alexander's. The cold blade slid against my skin, slicing through my bra, then my jeans and even my underwear, until I hung naked and vulnerable before them. The knife travelled back up between my bare breasts, its touch feather-light yet terrifying.
