Page 41 of The Captive
One of the others approached me with a syringe in hand. What the fuck … really?
"What is that?" I demanded, struggling against my restraints.
"Just a little something to keep you compliant," the man replied, jabbing the needle into my upper arm. Shit. "Boss lady wants her prey docile when she arrives."
The effect was almost immediate. A wave of heaviness swept through my limbs, dulling my senses. I fought savagely against the feeling, desperately trying to remain alert.
"Aoife," I managed to say, my words slurring. "Stay... strong."
Her eyes met mine across the space and in that moment, something unspoken passed between us. A promise. An understanding that transcended our tangled history. I wasn’t even mad at her anymore for what she did, although she still had to answer for it.
And I’d punish her accordingly…
If I wasn’t losing my grip on reality, my cock would be hard at the thought.
As darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, I clung to that fantasy like a lifeline. But in the end, it couldn’t beat the numbness that spread through me.
Fucking hell, how many times would I get knocked out cold just tonight? This was getting tedious.
My last thought before consciousness slipped away was a vow—that somehow, some way, I would get us both out of this alive.
I’d cut these bastards to pieces.
And then I’d make sure Beatrice would never again be a problem for any of us.
Twelve
AOIFE O'MALLEY
I was draggedkicking and screaming into the barn, my body thrashing violently against the men who manhandled me across the dirty floor. Blood roared in my ears as I fought with every ounce of strength, landing a solid kick to one man's groin and hearing his satisfying howl of pain. Despite my training, their superior numbers overwhelmed me—three against one, their rough hands bruising my arms as they subdued me.
"Fucking bitch!" one of them snarled as my teeth sank into his forearm. The taste of his sweat and blood filled my mouth before a vicious backhand sent my head snapping sideways, stars exploding behind my eyes.
They dragged me to the centre of the barn where rusted chains hung from a weathered beam. Cold metal shackles snapped around my wrists, hoisting my arms painfully above my head until my toes barely brushed the floor. The position stretched my body into a taut line, shoulders immediately screaming in protest.
Across the room, Alexander was bound to a wooden chair bolted to the floor. Through the curtain of hair that had fallenacross my face, I saw one of the men inject something into his neck. When they stepped back, his head dropped forward, his powerful body going slack. Unconscious.
One by one, the men exited. The last one paused at the door, his gaze traveling over my suspended form with undisguised lust before flicking a switch. Darkness swallowed us whole.
Beatrice's voice sliced through the speakers overhead, the sound jarringly intimate in the pitch black: "He will be awake in an hour. Meanwhile, you'll get tired, Aoife... but you get no chair because you let Alexander fuck you earlier..." Her laughter echoed—a high, unhinged cackle that sent ice down my spine, revealing the full extent of her madness.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The darkness was absolute, disorienting. My entire world narrowed to the burning agony in my shoulders and the raw metal biting into my wrists. Each time my muscles trembled from exhaustion, I slipped lower, causing the shackles to cut deeper. Warm blood trickled down my arms in rivulets, the coppery scent filling my nostrils.
I tried shifting my weight, seeking any position that might offer relief. Nothing helped. My training had prepared me for many forms of torture, but the relentless pressure of hanging by my wrists while time stretched endlessly was its own special hell.
"Focus, Aoife," I whispered to myself, the sound of the words oddly comforting in the oppressive silence. "Control your breathing. Find the pain, acknowledge it, then push it aside."
Still, a whimper escaped me when I slipped again, the metal slicing a fresh path into already raw skin. My father would be disappointed by such weakness. The thought made me grit my teeth and straighten as much as possible, finding unexpected strength in my rage.
After what felt like an eternity, a grunt broke the silence. A rustle of movement followed as Alexander regained consciousness.
"What the fuck..." His voice was sandpaper-rough, disoriented.
"Welcome back," I managed, my own voice strained from the hours of silent suffering.
"Aoife?" He shifted in his chair. I could hear the slight movement. "Where are we?"
"Some kind of barn," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tremors starting to wrack my body. "We've been here for hours. You were drugged."
