Captured in Croatia (9 page)

B
smiles at me as he sets a tall glass of ice water beside a steaming bowl of soup and a small plate of sliced fruit and cheese. He has a charming, boyish gap between his two front teeth. I remain still and take in the unique kitchen. The floors are the same wide planked wood that runs throughout the rest of the home, obviously original to the construction. But this awesome kitchen is the epitome of modern chic.

A selection of stainless and Calphalon pots and pans hang from
the ceiling from an oval-shaped, suspended steel brace. A Viking gas range is embedded in the center of a black and gold-flecked granite island. Every appliance is a matte stainless steel, and the cabinets are a rich, glossy cherry wood. Masculine and beautiful all rolled into one.

“Sorry I don’t have time to give you the
full tour of the place, but you are free to look around. Just don’t go outside. I only have an hour to work out before I have to pick up my girlfriend. She really enjoys live music and there’s an outdoor concert tonight in the next town. I’m headed downstairs to the gym. You okay up here?”

My eyes implore him to help me as I say,
“Please, please take me to the airport. I don’t belong here.”

He looks sincere
as he replies in his exotic accent, “Yeah, I can see that. I wish I could. But my brother told me what’s happening and you aren’t going anywhere. You’re his and he’s serious about that. You should eat. He told me to make sure you do. It will get your mind off things, all right?”

My shoulders sag as I sit down on
the low, glossy wood bench. I turn and watch him leave the room. A moment later I hear an interior door close within the house.

The long rectangular table
in the airy kitchen is ancient and gorgeous with all its blemishes and imperfections striated into the weathered wood. When he remodeled he must have kept the things he was attached to, I think to myself.

A lemon
and tarragon scented steam rises from the orzo soup, and spinach and chunks of chicken swirl around in it. My stomach growls as I stir the soup. Still in something of a daze, I realize that I haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. I manage several spoonfuls of the delicious soup and a few bites of the fresh apple slices and raspberries. My apprehension, coupled with the gravity of this depraved situation, has left me less interested in the meal than I would be otherwise. I stand to take the bowl and plate to the sink.

As I rinse everything out
, the constant roar of water causes me to move to the closest window, place my palms flat against the cool glass, and peer out. It’s already late afternoon.

T
he home is built right up against a waterfall that flows down in a fluid rush of white, bubbling water. It’s hard to tell how far it descends. From this vantage point, the depth of the fall seems to be about twenty feet. Not massive but certainly notable. I would calculate the width between the two banks to be right at forty feet across.

Did he inherit this place?
It’s beautifully mysterious and I’m inexplicably drawn to it, just like its dark owner.

M
y Hummer crawls up the long driveway. It’s nearly dusk and I’m relieved to finally return home. The dogs watch my truck approach with eager anticipation. They pace back and forth, no doubt wanting both attention and dinner.

I
slide out of my vehicle, grab the two bags out of the back, and round the side of the house to their oversized kennel. They rub fervently against my legs as I put down fresh food and replenish their water from the wooden shed. Unfortunately, their customary game of ball will have to wait until tomorrow. Having now gone over thirty-four hours without sleep, I am in a particularly black mood.

I
’ll need to relax a bit before speaking to the girl. Right now, with my patience spread so thin, she could easily set me off. A shower should calm me down.

B told
me during our brief chat that he was surprised by my recent acquisition. The blonde American is definitely an exotic and out-of-place addition in my orderly life. I did not bother to explain myself; it can wait. I’ve never brought a woman to my home before today and my brother knows this. It’s inevitable that B would be curious.

Whenever
I need down and dirty sex, which is on a regular basis, I simply pay for it discreetly in the city. Random women consistently offer themselves up for my use, so I know all too well that I don’t have to pay for a fuck, but I’m more comfortable with a cash transaction. This keeps any emotion out of the fucking equation. Business is business. Period.

Because
I work so hard, I always purchase the finest that money can buy. Always the highest grade pussy, and more importantly, a different girl each and every time. That way no one gets to know me, and no one gets attached. It’s been this way for the past ten years.

S
ex is like a fine steak, both a luxury and a complete necessity. But I’ve started to become less and less satisfied with anonymous sex. Almost bored at times. It irritates me that I don’t understand why. With the last two women, I didn’t even care if I finished, but each girl always leaves satisfied. Always. I make sure of it.

More than once
, with the tell-tale flush of orgasm still glowing on their pretty cheeks, I’ve been offered a free session on the side. Sex is something I excel at, like sharpshooting. They wouldn’t dare fake that shit with me. I would know anyhow. My intuition and ability to read people’s bullshit is keen. More than once those instincts alone have kept me alive.

I
cross back over the lawn to the front of my home. She’s inside. The possibilities are endless. I have a plan this evening for my cunning siren, and it’s going to start with getting the facts. I want them tonight and she had best be prepared to come clean.

The house is quiet
, as usual. I close the heavy door behind me and head up the stairs toward the shower, stripping out of my jacket and shirt as I go. I sense that she’s not up here as I hit the top step. She can try to hide out somewhere within the house, but it’s not going to get her out of anything.

I’m
bone-tired as I throw my clothes into the linen and steel hamper, and the sound of the buttons on my pants hitting the edge twangs through the room. Sound travels easily through this house. She’s well aware that I’m home. At the thought of her, waiting here for me, I begin to grow hard.

I
nearly groan as the hot water pours down over my body. With the soap running down my chest, I pause to inspect the three circular scars on my torso. Those scars, along with the knife wounds marring my forearms and the top of my right shoulder, are not exactly something I’m comfortable showing off.

W
hat will she think of these imperfections? Probably that I’m a dangerous thug. That’s all right; she would be on right track with that. Some people were just born on the wrong latitude and longitude. You can’t choose your nationality, can you? I wouldn’t change a single aspect of my life. Regrets are for the weak and weakness leads to death. I should know.

I
take my time toweling off. As I cross over to the wardrobe, I glance at the oversized bed.
Soon she will be in it
.

My
body tenses up with the thought of her sleek ballet dancer’s body splayed out for my rough use. My cock starts to throb harder in greedy anticipation as I pull on a fitted, solid black t-shirt, midnight blue boxer briefs, and a well-worn pair of army green and black camo pants.

It annoys
the hell out of me that I had to follow such formal social guidelines when we met at the club last night in Zagreb, knowing that I couldn’t stop her from coming on to Juric. I saw the look in his eyes the moment he spotted her. He had to have her, that was a certainty. I’d had her in my sights for several minutes before he did. I recall the jolt that shot through me when I observed her from across the club. She’s remarkable, but even so she’s going to comply with my demands. She isn’t going anywhere unless I permit it.

Juric’s a smart bus
inessman, I’ll give him that, but the man is a complete fucking douche when it comes to women. He’s like an insatiable crackhead, running through them night after night. All the money and flashy cars are not enough for him.

I stack
five logs atop each other in a pyramid shape before adding a bit of dry kindling and hold my lighter to it. The fire crackles and sputters to life. Of the three fireplaces in the house, I am most attached to this one. The light oak mantle was carved by my great-great uncle, who was well known in the region for his supreme woodcarving skills.

I
place my steel zippo on the curved mantle, thinking that the warmth will be a bonus when I bring her up here later tonight. I normally keep the bedroom chilly, preferring it that way, but I want her to be comfortable. That is, if and when she decides to behave for me.

My
lips turn up at the corners as I pad barefoot downstairs.
Damn, I would’ve given my Hummer to have seen my little
princeza
choke out that sissy bitch.
Good for her
.

There
’s no way she could get anything like that past me. Not even without the sprained wrist she’s sporting. I hope that it heals properly, though. The air cast that I brought back from the medical supply store in Zagreb should help.

After p
icking up the two packages I left on the bench downstairs, I round the corner from the foyer to find her sitting tensely on the edge of the sofa. Her delicate hands are clutched together, shaking in her lap, and upon seeing me motionless and watchful in the doorway, she breathes harder. She’s clearly scared and is trying to hide it from me.

Light and heat com
e from the far corner of the room. B must have made a fire for her before he took off.

I
watch her carefully for a moment, never once breaking eye contact, before giving her the first of many instructions to come. “Stand and remove my shirt from your body.”

***

A dark savage … that’s
exactly
what he looks like in his rugged, masculine clothing, bare-foot and staring hard. The hedonistic part of my brain ignites as I see him in all his glory. His shoulders are massive and must be well over two feet across. Long, toned arms hang at his sides. Too still
.
The suit was definitely a polite cover. This man, as he’s revealed to me now, is danger to the Nth degree. Seriously.

I’m c
autiously alert as I assess him. I’ve been sitting in this spot for nearly two hours now, waiting to speak with my baffling captor. Desperate to know when, if ever, he plans to release me. There is absolutely no way in hell I’m slipping out of the safety of this shirt, regardless of what he’s just told me in that hot accent of his.

I’ve stashed a
nother weapon, a steak knife hidden deep in the sofa cushion behind me. If he wants to get rough, I’ll do my best to match him. He waits, watching me with silvery, narrowed eyes. He can stand in that doorway all damn night for all I care. I won’t even dignify him with an answer. I simply lift my chin up a fraction of an inch.

And then he move
s.

As if
released by a catapult, he drops the bags he was holding and bolts toward me. My training kicks in and I instantly reach down into the cushion for the sharp knife. He’s on me just as I bring it front and center.

“Ah,
princeza
, I see you want to get right into the foreplay. I like to play dirty as well, baby.”

With a simple twist
of my wrist, he removes the knife from my outstretched hand. It skitters across the wood floor, coming to rest after several twirls.
At least he had the decency not to snap my good wrist!
Before I can blink, he throws me over his solid shoulder.

The move is so fast and jarring that I struggle to catch my breath.
He carries me quickly through the kitchen and I begin to struggle, throwing my weight to and fro in a desperate attempt to get him off balance. I know that my one good arm will do nothing to a man of his size. Smacking against his back would be both asinine and futile.

He seems totally unfazed,
as if he’s casually carrying a bag of groceries. He walks with sure strides down an interior hallway where he stops at a closed door.

With
renewed effort, I sway harder, kicking my legs full force, trying to connect as I scream at him, “Let me go!”

My pleas are ignored as he
opens the door, flips a light, and descends a narrow set of oak stairs.
No, no! Holy hell
. The last place on earth you want to be taken by an interrogator is a basement. No, this is righteously awful.

Monumentally
bad
things happen in basements. His is a gym, which means heavy equipment. Fuck! I won’t be able to physically best him. No way. I’ll have to outthink him. Perhaps strike a bargain. I can only imagine what he could come up with as a ‘fair deal.’

He hits the bottom step and five strides later I’m dumped
unceremoniously onto a black padded table. With my good hand, I shove my hair back from my face to assess the situation. As I stare up from my prone position, it becomes instantly clear that I’m in a cavernous workout room and he’s placed me on a wide leather massage table. I fight to scramble back, not liking where this is going in the least.

Like a
cobra striking, his hand lashes out to clasp my ankle. He drags me down toward him. My shirt sticks against the leather as I slide against the table. It comes to rest just across my breasts, leaving the rest of me bare to him. Thank God for my skimpy black panties.

“Get away from me, you monster!”
I scream up at him.

He smiles a cold smile
, but zero emotion reaches his beautiful, deadly eyes. With the fleetness of an athlete, he hops up on the table and descends on me. His chest pins me flat against the leather as his callused palms rest against my temples, thick fingers threading through my hair.

I’m im
mediately reminded of the scenario in the club’s shadowed hallway. Now the stakes are much higher. The tension is volcanic. I could control my reactions last night with cool grace. Now, trapped beneath him in his native environment and feeling his hard body against mine, I’m nearly coming apart inside. And he knows it.

He cocks his head and asks,
“
Princeza
, you’re making it hard on yourself. Why?”

How can he be so ver
y cool and collected? I look away, off to the right wall that’s covered with mirrors for training. I hate with a passion that a frightened girl stares back at me. Trapped. Forced to see him, to see us, like this, nearly intimate. My humiliation is colossal.

“Get off me
!” I hiss at him, eyes still averted.

He whispers,
“Disrespect will only get you punishment from me. Soon that fact will click for you.”

His right hand filters through my hair and moves lower
, down and across my breasts, until it covers my lace-clad pussy. I let out a frustrated groan as his hot palm covers my sex. My excitement swiftly changes to panic as he grabs the front of my panties and tears them off me.

I
feel the blush explode across my face and neck as I writhe hard without gaining an inch. The air in my lungs departs in a heated blast. Before I can sputter out an objection, he slowly licks the pad of his index finger and lowers it between us to press firmly against my clit. To my complete horror, a gush of wetness floods my sex. Regardless of what rational messages my brain is sending, the primal responses are needy and desperate. As if I’ve always craved his touch.

I cry
out wildly, while meeting his cold eyes. In desperation, I call out, “Ssstttop! Please! Dear God, please!”

H
e watches me with icy calculation but does not relent. “What were you doing in Zagreb?”

Oh, shit no. Here we go
….

Gulping
in air, I struggle to keep it together. I can’t tell him anything about my mission, regardless of what he does to me. Tears begin to run down my cheeks as he begins to rub that skilled finger in slow, tight circles, causing me to gasp at the pressure and heat building like wildfire between my legs. His touch feels so fine that it’s making me dizzy. Damn him!