Page 86 of Irish Betrayal

forty

BLAIR

Blair licked her lips again, feeling the sting of raw skin from the heavy, silver tape Peter had covered her mouth with. Despite how bad it hurt when he ripped it off, she was thankful it was gone.

Between panic and the tape, she felt like she hadn’t taken a full breath in hours. Only after she’d promised not to scream had he taken it off, which was hours after he tied her wrists and ankles to the bed. They were solid, and no amount of twisting got her loose, but the inside of the straps were lined with soft, thick fur-like material. They were also pink with gold tassels—definitely from a sex toy shop.

The horror of her predicament was frightening. She should have been on her way home but instead was tied to a bed by a lunatic. It would only become worse if he discovered what was hiding beneath her baggy clothes.

Peter would assume she was still a virgin, pure and untouched, as he liked to say. Though how he equated what he’d done to her over the years with purity showed another level of delusion in his demented brain.

When Blair didn't show up at the airport, Daniel would have called her dad. She knew he would. Thankfully, Peter had no idea what her father and uncle did for a living. Their security business wasn’t just about bodyguards and perimeter checks. They lived to track criminals down, following their digital footprint.

Peter might think he’d outsmarted everyone by keeping her in the same city that he kidnapped her in, but her family would find her, Tulsa, Oklahoma, or Timbuktu.

Her biggest regret, besides allowing Peter liberties for years and not standing up for herself four months ago, was not confiding in Daniel. Had she done that, he would have insisted on telling her parents, and she wouldn’t be tied to a damn bed with a creature of epic weirdness scaring the hell out of her.

The thing was, she knew Peter was trying to play mind games with her, outlast her, and bend her to his will. She was frightened. He had hit her before in a fit of rage, but what he hadn’t taken into consideration was that she was smarter.

Peter was a botanist and…a sexual deviant—she hated thinking about that—but he was no criminal mastermind. Of that, she was sure.

Repeating the mantra that he was incompetent helped peel back some of the layers of panic. It wasn’t only her that needed rescuing, but the baby as well, and Blair would endure anything for as long as it took to save what she and Daniel had created.

There was always hope that Peter kept her phone, but surely even he wasn’t so foolish. No matter. The parking garage had cameras. His car could be tracked. His credit cards, bank account, and photo identification.

Her dad was already halfway to finding her. That was the truth she would center on.

So far, Peter hadn’t touched her except to tie her up. She was hungry, thirsty, and her bladder was about to burst, but she’d remained stubbornly silent, not wanting to speak to him aloud since her hands were useless for communication.

For his part, Peter sat in the small living room watching her. It was frightening how intensely he stared. She didn’t want to ask for anything, knowing that he would have to come close—touch her.

She shuddered at the thought, but peeing herself would only make things more uncomfortable and give him an excuse to undress her. That couldn’t happen.

“I need to use the restroom.” She could get a drink from the faucet if there were no cups.

“There’s my girl, funny voice and all,” Peter said, with his typical condescension and subtle cruelty.

Another puzzle piece clicked together. He was the one who for years had told her not to speak out loud to anyone if she could help it. There was no reason to embarrass herself. BSL drew enough negative attention.

Blair felt her face burn. One more thing she had done for him.

Peter walked to the bed and gazed at her lovingly, or what he must assume the stupid look on his face resembled. She didn’t care. Play the game, Blair.

She held still as he undid her cuffs. The instant relief to her joints had her swallowing back a moan. When he tried to scoop her off the mattress, she twisted hard out of his grasp and stood on her own, swaying slightly at the quick change in elevation after laying on her back for so many hours.

“Don’t be like that, Blair. I’ve missed you as much as you’ve missed me. I don’t like you being angry at me. You used to want to please me.”

Peter’s whining, his exaggerated faces made her grimace. Trying to keep distance between them, she made her way to the bathroom, but he stopped her before she could shut the door in his face, turning her so she was forced to see his lips move.

“I’ve put all your things in the bathroom cabinets. Take your time and shower and relax. I’ll order in Chinese. Your favorite.”

She liked Chinese, but Cullen Skink and Josephine’s American meatloaf and mashed potatoes were her favorites.

Blair didn’t respond. The moment the door shut behind her, she locked it and spun around, praying she would find a window. She had to swallow back tears at finding four windowless walls. She leaned her head against the wood and sighed. That single door made the bathroom feel like a stronghold despite its lack of escape routes.

Sure enough, all of her clothes and toiletries were unpacked. She hadn’t even considered a shower, but knowing she was safe for the next few minutes at least, she wound her hair into a large messy bun high on her head and laid out a fresh set of clothes, relieved to see her oversized pair of gray sweatpants and matching hoodie. A perfect outfit to hide her body from Peter.

She turned the shower on, and while it heated, she went to the bathroom and, after washing her hands, she took several drinks of water from the faucet, undressed, and stepped into the open shower.