Page 29 of Captive Prize

Chains rattled, and the cold steel of shackles bit into my ankles and wrists.

Red-hot anger filled me.

It crept up my neck from my chest to my face; it moved faster with every single elevated heartbeat.

Chains? Really?

He had shackles around my wrists and ankles.

Who had shackles just lying around?

When did I walk into a medieval dungeon?

I thrashed and flailed, trying to break free.

He just watched, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips while he enjoyed his drink.

“Where the fuck am I?” I demanded.

Roman took his time, bringing his glass back up to his mouth, swirling the liquid inside again before taking a long sip. It was a power play. He was showing me I had absolutely no control over any of this. He was the master of this situation, and I was on his time, not the other way around.

Well, fuck that.

“Where the hell am I?” I repeated through clenched teeth.

“You are exactly where I want you to be. Somewhere safe. Somewhere your men will never find you—and no one will ever hear you scream.”

My heart slammed against my ribs, but I refused to let him see the panic slowly creeping over my body.

He would never see my fear. He would never see my weaknesses.

One quick look around told me we were in a cabin somewhere.

The décor was nice—really nice.

The quietly luxurious kind of nice, but still rustic.

It reminded me of an updated version of an old-world hunting lodge. Everything was wood and leather, in deep earth tones. A roaring fire in the fireplace giving off hints of sweet wood smoke, like from cherry or applewood.

We were in a family cabin that was outfitted with cozy furnishings by someone who cared.

Heavy drapes covered the windows and there was no hint of light around them, so I had no idea what time of day it was.

I could just make out the sounds of crickets from outside.

Okay, so we were no longer near the city but I couldn’t have been knocked out more than an hour or so, so we must be somewhere in Virginia.

Probably at the infamous Ivanov compound.Fuck.

One more look at him told me he was waiting for me to realize how fucked I was and start the show again. Well, mission accomplished. I’d guessed how fucked I was, the trick now was not to show it.

The sick fucker probably got off on my fear.

Well, it would suck to be him.

It didn’t matter what I felt. He would never see fear in my eyes.

Instead, I leaned back, tilting my chin up and stared him down like he was nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.

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