Page 10 of His Captive

“Tristan mentioned something about a break in,” he sounds intrigued.

“Yeah, there was a break-in. Sorrento took the Snow Tail.”

“Sorrento! He dared coming back here?” Bud’s eyes expand in disbelief.

“No, Bud. As always, he had people do his dirty work. He wouldn’t dare show his face around here.” My fists clench at my sides, just thinking about the consequences that would bring.

“Trist also said something about a girl...said she was a fucking ten,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, there's a girl, and she’s down in the basement,” I tell him, casually passing him to take a bottle of scotch from the cabinet.

“Wait. You have a girl in the basement? In the basement?” Buddy has to check twice that he’s hearing me right

“Yeah Bud, the hot girl is in the basement, chained to the wall by her fuckin’ throat, now you gonna stop with all the questions and just let me fuckin think for a moment?” I bury my face in my palm. This is all so fucked up, even by my standards.

“I’ll leave you to think boss man, can I take some of these up to my room?” Buddy holds up the tray of leftovers, looking hopeful.

“Yeah, sure. Take whatever you want,” I feel guilty for snapping at him, none of this is his fault.

“Yes! Thanks, Ethan.” He grabs a plate and piles it high with appetizers, grinning as he walks out of the kitchen.

I top up my glass and follow him out. Instead of going upstairs, I open the door to my office and sit at my desk. Staring at the newly vacant space on the wall, I try to figure out how Sorrento even knew I still had it after all these years.

And why would he want it? Sorrento had no use for sentimental things. Sure, the thing was valuable now, but this wasn’t about the money for him either. When his father died a few years ago, he had inherited a fortune.

I’d get the butterfly back, and I’d use the girl in my basement to do it. I vowed a long time ago that Sorrento would never take from me ever again, and I’ve always been good on my word.

The girl is still filling my head even in her absence, her soft locks still touchable in my fist. My chest still feeling her tight little body thumping wildly, crushing between me and the wall. That collar laying heavy around her neck and keeping her right where I wanted her. Whoever she is, she has somehow managed to get herself tangled up in the war between me and Sorrento. And now that she’s fallen into my hands, she’s mine to do what I want with.

And I plan on fucking her until she breaks.

I unzip and pull out my cock. My eyes shutting so I can visualize her chained up downstairs.

I fuck my fist hard, fast strokes, in attempt to erase her from my mind. I have to fucking think straight, because thinking with my dick is gonna to get me nowhere.

Her timid little face, the pulse I’d felt in her neck when I’d held it, along with the terror I’d seen in her eyes when I dragged her downstairs. It all helps push me closer. I’ll bet my life that if I’d slipped my fingers inside her panties, she’d have been wet for me.

I want to make her wet, to watch her come, and to taste all that pleasure on my tongue. I plan to fill every hole in her body with my cock, to fuck my come inside them all just so I can watch it spill from her.

It’s that vision that makes my cock spasm, releasing hot, sticky spurts that drip over my shaft, and spill over my knuckles. And I promise myself that the next time I shoot my load, her hot little body will be the receptor of it.

Three

LYSETTA

I wake up cold, damp and with a sore back. All repercussions of sleeping on a concrete floor in the basement of a psycho. I try to sit up, forgetting about the heavy weight that’s clamped around my neck that causes me to topple backward again.

I manage to rebalance myself, then reattempt to lift the upper half of my body from the ground.

The room is still dark, with just a slither of daylight creeping through the bars on the windows.

I still don’t cry, what’s the point. Crying isn’t going to get me out of this. In fact, I can’t think of anything that will, everything that has happened to me since my dad’s funeral I’ve been completely powerless to stop.

All I can do is hold on tight and endure the ride.

Some might call it fate, I call it shit luck.

Footsteps sound from the other side of the door and I scurry backward, propping my back against the wall as if it might offer me some kind of protection.

---