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  Deadly Captive

  ISBN 978-1-60592-286-7

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright 2011 Bianca Sommerland

  Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

  Edited by Bonnie Walker

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  Book Blurb

  Lydia awakes, bound and blind, to the whispered urgings of a man who has his hands on her. His words confuse her at first, but she soon understands they are both in the middle of a performance that will determine whether she remains in captivity or dies.

  The crowd must be entertained, and her cellmate makes sure it is.

  Forced submission is not the only horror Lydia endures. She has no memories of life before her imprisonment, and Joe, her cellmate, is her only comfort as the powerful creatures that hold them captive torture and debase her. Together, she and Joe cling to the will to survive long enough to break free and seek revenge. Their desire to sustain one another triumphs over their wardens' efforts to destroy them. There is no pain, no suffering, that can tear them apart.

  Beyond their cell, their love is tested. Can they hold strong in the face of the challenge of the new powers they have gained along with their freedom?

  Chapter One

  I woke to the sharp tang of metal on my tongue. Something cold jammed between my teeth tore the edges of my mouth. A steel chain. Blood dribbled over my chin as I lifted my head.

  Where am I?

  All I could see was a bright blur. I tried to roll off my back. My muscles screamed in protest as I strained against the chains wrapped around my torso. My arms were bound to my sides. Maybe my legs were free. . . . I tried bending my knees, but more chains rattled. Stiff fabric, wrapped around my ankles, held my legs open in a wide V.

  The cold of the floor seeped into my bare flesh.

  Naked! Spit, mixed with blood, gurgled in my throat. I'm naked!

  I bucked and twisted, jerking at the restraints. The clang of metal striking metal echoed off the walls. The chains tightened with every move I made, as though a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around me, determined to squeeze until all my bones were crushed and my body was pulped. My shoulder blades grazed one another and my stomach lurched.

  I sensed movement at my side and immediately went still.

  A soft hush, then a man's deep voice. "Don't fight the restraints. You'll only hurt yourself."

  My lips formed words around the chains: Who are you? But my voice failed me.

  At some point, I had screamed myself hoarse.

  Coarse fingertips smoothed my hair away from the sweat-slicked skin of my brow. A palm rested against my cheek.

  "It doesn't matter now," the man said. I felt the brush of his hot breath on my cold flesh. "Just let it happen."

  I tossed my head and tried to see him. Let what happen?

  His hand left my face and settled on my knee, then moved slowly up my thigh.

  No! My chest rose and fell, offbeat from my jerky inhales. I choked back a sob.

  Don't panic. Stop him.

  My thighs clenched, my hips twisted, but I couldn't move enough to deny him anything. His hand covered my exposed sex, and the tips of his fingers pressed against my slit. His calloused flesh scraped my delicate folds. I tensed, expecting him to ram his fingers inside.

  He cursed and withdrew his hand. "You're too fucking dry."

  I heard him spit. When he touched me again, his fingers were slick. They stretched me slowly, invaded the most vulnerable part of me. I couldn't stop him, so I closed my eyes and prayed he'd be quick.

  Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, growing louder as though a storm approached. Then, voices rose above the noise. This was no storm; this thunder came from a crowd.

  The man pressed closer and groaned. "Listen to me. Keep fighting, but know I do this to save your life. I can't take another woman dying in this damn hole."

  A hole? Air jammed in my throat. I imagined myself, trapped with him in a pit deep in the earth. Were there dead bodies all around us? Had he been forced to kill others for not submitting to him?

  What if he's lying?

  Grit scored my cheek as I fought to twist away from him. Hissing wetly through the chain, I forced my eyes to stay open. Something was wrong with them. My vision was blurred. I blinked and squinted. No use.

  Blind. Helpless and blind.

  "You can't see, can you?"

  I turned my head toward the sound of the man's rough exhale.

  "Don't worry," he said. "It will pass. From the look of you, they've had you here for a while. Hard to believe, but they treat their prisoners worse than their pets."

  Prisoners? But what had I done to . . . ?

  "I don't expect you to understand now. You will soon enough. But understanding won't comfort you." His fingers stopped moving. His shadow, all I could see of him, went still. "Would you prefer death? It would be selfish not to offer." He moved his fingers again, just a little. "This . . . is not the only option."

  Death? Or What? Rape?

  I shook my head. Wherever I was, whatever happened, I wanted to live.

  The rumbling grew louder still.

  "Fuck her already!"

  "We came to watch her suffer!"

  "You've got her wrapped up so nicely." The man shifted again. One of his palms rested on my mound. The fingers of his other hand traced my collarbone, and then slipped under the chains crisscrossing my chest.

  The crowd went silent.

  "The way these chains frame her . . . assets . . . ." He paused and his tone gained a seductive, lulling quality. "This wasn't done to simply restrain her. You wanted her on display." His hands curved under my breasts, lifted them as though in offering. "But if you want me to hurry . . . ."

  Right then, I didn't want him to hurry. His thumbs dented the supple flesh under my nipples, hard and throbbing and begging for him to touch them. He drew a half-moon beneath them, and I squirmed, frustrated at the idle motion.

  Why wouldn't he touch me?

  "Very well, toy with her for a bit." A refined, masculine voice sounded from somewhere above us. "But, if you don't make her suffer, we will."

  The man at my side laughed. "Make her suffer?" His fingers finally brushed over my nipples. Pleasant little sparks shot down to my clit. I let out a muffled moan. Then he pinched and twisted. "How's this?"

  My hips shot up as pain sizzled along my nerves. The chains rattled as I jerked at them, and the crowd buzzed in approval.

  "She's so fucking hot . . . ." Something clamped down on my pulsing nipple, wet and hard. His teeth. He sucked, and I panted. When his mouth left me, I whimpered. "A drink and she'd be dripping wet . . . ."

  "You're pushing it," said the voice from above.

  "Not yet, but I will."

  A cool drip warned me, seconds before the water spilled over my face. Sure I would drown in it, I turned my head. He grabbed my chin and forced it back. The water came again, and I gulped as much as I could.

  "Better, kleine?" He seemed closer than before, as though he was lying beside me.

  His hand rested on my belly. His breath brushed over the nipple he'd bitten.

  Better? Is he insane?

  But the water had helped. My tongue was moist, and I could feel the moisture slowly building elsewhere, somewhere . . . lower. His fingers slipped between my folds.

  "Ah, yes." He thrust one
finger in and pulled it out. "Much better."

  He made a slurping sound, and I pictured him sucking his finger. The crowd hummed. Something wet lapped around one of my nipples, then the other. Probably his tongue.

  "I'm going to hurt you now," he whispered. "You'll like it, but pretend you don't."

  He cleared his throat, and his next words were loud enough for the crowd to hear.

  "Little whore, you want this, don't you?"

  One finger, two, prodded, then slammed inside. Each thrust into my cleft, curved inwards, and grazed sensitive nerve endings. Pleasure rolled through me in a hot wave and overwhelmed the pain. My hips rose to receive him even as I twisted as though to escape.

  He climbed on top of me and lowered until his naked body covered mine. Agony lanced up my spine as his weight settled over me. I wanted to ask him to take me facing the gritty floor and relieve the pressure on my arms, but the chain in my mouth prevented the words. When he settled his hips between my thighs, I forgot I'd wanted to say a thing.

  Fisting his hand in my hair, he bent my head back in time with the plunge of his dick. I moaned as his hipbones ground against my pelvis. My body stretched to accommodate his thickness. Then, movement ceased. He curved one arm under my shoulders and took some of the strain from my joints. Then, he nipped my earlobe hard enough for an edge of pain. I yelped, but my core billowed in response to the intense sensation as he laved away the sting with his tongue. A few short, shallow thrusts pushed him past the last of my resistance. He'd done a good job preparing me to be fucked.

  "More!" The voice above sounded strained, as though he was the one pounding into my body. "I want to hear her scream!"

  "Scream," my unknown lover whispered. He drove into me, harder, and spoke through his teeth. "Please scream."

  A twist of his hips swirled him over a spot that burst with pure, raw pleasure.

  My body didn't understand it shouldn't enjoy this. Arching back, I surrendered, tightening against him, throbbing and wet. And I screamed, screamed in pleasure, in pain, because I couldn't tell the difference.

  When the echoes of my screams died, the room fell silent.

  With a loud grunt, he gave one last powerful thrust, spilling heat. His hand smacked the floor by my head, and I winced as he bent down. My core felt bruised.

  His lips brushed my cheek, spreading tears I hadn't felt spill. "We're done."

  He withdrew with a feral growl, and I heard him move away. Blinking, I made out his figure, little more than a flesh-colored silhouette against the harsh light. So very large, standing inches from me.

  "Are you satisfied?" His voice echoed around me, a vibrating timbre, gruff with rage. "Does this please you, Cyrus?"

  Coarse laughter reverberated back to him. So many voices speaking among themselves, some high, some deep as his own . . . . One finally deigned to answer.

  "Quite. I'll let you keep this one." The speaker drew out a pause like a dull blade.

  "So long as you both amuse."

  Metal clinked near my head.

  "Release her. Enjoy a brief respite. It won't last."

  Darkness followed the ominous words. I could hear the shuffling of the departing onlookers. When the sounds of the crowd muffled off to nothing, I was turned on my side. Metal scraped as the chains released. Relief flowed through me.

  Despite a thousand searing questions, I let myself slip into darkness.

  Chapter Two

  "There's food if you want it."

  Consciousness returned when he spoke, but I kept my eyes shut and clung to the darkness like a child hiding under a blanket. The bad things couldn't hurt me if they didn't see me. For a whole, blissful minute, I indulged in the illusion. Then I opened my eyes.

  I could see. Small blessing. My surroundings weren't much to look at. At least I wasn't in the room where the crowd had watched me . . . .

  Not a pleasant thought. My mind drifted to how I'd gotten here. No better. The idea of someone moving my unconscious, naked body freaked me out. I focused on the room. Four cement walls with white, peeling paint, smeared with what looked like bleached blood. Several chains hung from the wall across from the bed where I lay. The man hunched over a little table in the middle of the room with metal legs and a circular melamine top, eating . . . something gross.

  Sitting up, I looked down at the bed. The mattress beneath me was thin and lumpy. Odd scratches marred the metal bed frame. The white sheets were threadbare and stained. The ends were torn. I fingered the frayed edge of the strip of cloth covering my breast. Someone had put a makeshift dress on me while I slept, but who? The man?

  Why bother? He'd seen everything already.

  Still sore, but bearably so, I perched on the end of the bed tried to reacquaint myself with the groggy body that did not feel like my own. My self-image was like a Polaroid picture taken without a flash. No colors, no lines. Nothing but a blur.

  I touched my face. My fingers traced the outline of my lips, ran over my closed lids, and slid down along my sharp cheekbones to my chin. A dull throb started in the base of my skull, pulsing harder and harder as I fought to recall . . . .

  The man touched my arm. I slid back and made a pitiful sound. Hand still outstretched, he watched me.

  Tears burned my eyes as I looked up at him. "Please. I can't remember—I can't see it! I can't see my face!"

  "Hush." He closed the distance between us and pulled me against him.

  Stiffening, I debated fighting, but I couldn't. He was all I had. His voice, his body—I knew more of him than I knew of myself.

  I sobbed against his chest and let him hold me for a while.

  After soaking his grey T-shirt in tears, I looked up at him and touched his face.

  Prickly, dark stubble on his chin, more on his shaved head. Hard features, grayish-blue eyes. And big. Much bigger than me.

  "What color are they?" My question made no sense, even to me.

  Gathering me in his arms, he whispered into my hair. "What?"

  I arched my head back and gazed at him, unblinking. "My eyes? Please tell me. I know it sounds silly."

  He hissed in a breath, let it out slow, and shook his head. "It doesn't sound silly.

  They are green. A lovely, rich green." His lips curved into a soft smile, and he smoothed my hair away from my face. "Your hair is brown, but the highlights of it are red and gold." He touched my bottom lip with his thumb. "Your lips are swollen now, but even without the swelling they'd be lush." He drew back a little and continued his perusal.

  "You've got good bones, probably some royalty in your background. High cheekbones, tiny nose, not too pinched, you don't look like a snob." He lifted my hand, kissing my fingertips. "Your flesh is soft, but your muscles are more defined than those of any woman I've met. You have strong thighs." He glanced at my bare legs. "Maybe you rode horses, or danced . . . ."

  He was trying to jog my memory, and, though I didn't know him, I thought I might love him. He'd caught my terror. Not only was I stuck in this hell, but there was another hell, the one inside me. I had no image of myself, not even the familiarity of my own voice to comfort me.

  I could change the last. "What's your name? How did you get here? What did you do . . . I mean before all this? You've got muscles too . . . big muscles." Now, I flushed. I hadn't meant it to sound, well, like I had noticed his impressive . . . size.

  His lips curved as the humiliation played out on my face. "My name is Joe."

  "Joe?"

  Sitting back, he frowned, eyes narrowed. "Yes. Joe."

  I nodded and tried to hide my doubt. "So were you into sports? Weight lifting . . .

  ." I stopped, but I couldn't stop my lip from curling. "Let me guess. You're a lumberjack."

  Roaring out a laugh, he shifted closer and shook his head. "No. I was never a lumberjack. And I had no time for sport." He cocked his head. "Let's just say I had a good reason to stay in shape."

  He didn't want to tell me. I could respect that. "And how did you get here?"


  Bowing his head, brow furrowed, he shrugged. "Same way you did, I suppose. I caught the wrong kind of interest. You're as pretty as the other two, and I'm not too hard on the eyes myself."

  His offhand remark sent a frisson of cold up my spine. "The other two?"

  Grimly, he nodded. "More deaths attributed to me. They warned me what would happen if I defied them. The first girl paid when I did . . . ." He closed his eyes as his voice broke. "She was so young—too young. I wouldn't even consider touching her. If I had . . . ." Dropping his head, he let out a bitter laugh. "If I'd set my own misplaced morals aside, she'd be alive. They wouldn't have brought the second girl. You wouldn't be here."

  My hand drifted up to my lips. "How young?"

  He turned his head, facing the wall. "Don't ask me that."

  Something jammed in my throat. The morbid question left me before I could stop it. "What did they do to her?"

  Meeting my eyes now, expression neutral, he gritted his teeth. "You don't want to know." He raked his nails over his head, as though he'd forgotten it was bare. "But I learned from her. When they brought the next girl, I did as they asked. I fucked her. She was a virgin, so I was careful. Too careful. They saw she enjoyed it. They didn't even wait until I was off her before they slit her throat." I could see tears in his eyes, but they never spilled over. "I never saw them coming. She cried out. Then, suddenly . . .

  nothing. When I looked up, I saw so much blood . . . ."

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I shivered and drew my knees to my chest.

  There was nothing I could do but accept what he said. I'd heard the crowd, their laughter, the things they had said.

  This horror was my reality—my whole reality.

  I felt his hands on my arms, then a pull as he tugged me until I submitted. He took me up in his arms to carry me to a chair where he sat with me in his lap. Relaxed in his embrace, I let him stroke my hair.

  "You handled it well. Even with the fear, even knowing nothing, you survived."

  He kissed my forehead. "We will survive. I promise you that." Resting his chin on the top of my head, he let out a weary sigh. "I don't know how, but I'll get us out of this."