Page 35 of Captured

I even managed to plant a smile on my face as he led me out of the room. He took my hand in a sensual way and I sucked in my breath. What I found interesting is that once in the light, he turned his face away, pulling me along from behind. Did the bastard honestly believe I wasn’t going to memorize every detail of his face to help with his arrest? He was even more arrogant than I thought.

I remained unsteady and having him help me down the stairs was a necessity, even though his gentle touch made my skin crawl. Still, I scanned the stairwell, noticing we were inside what I envisioned to be a huge house of some kind. My guess was it was outside of Boston, maybe in one of the wealthy suburbs close to my father’s house. It was still night, which likely meant he hadn’t taken me far away.

As we landed on the bottom step, he stopped short, slowly turning his head toward the corridor of rooms to the left. The front door was to the right. There wasn’t a security system that I could see positioned on the wall, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t placed it in a less conspicuous area like an office or the kitchen. However, I made mental note of it. Maybe he was arrogant enough to think he could con me easily.

“Did your mother ever tell you that you had to work for your supper?”

His statement caught me off guard completely. “My mother is dead.”

“I’m well aware of your mother’s death.” The bastard’s statement allowed me to know he’d learned everything he could about me, which was undoubtedly from breaking and entering my father’s home.

And taking you.

I recoiled from his touch, even if goosebumps were tickling my skin.

He took the last step onto the garishly beautiful granite floor, the colorations unlike anything I’d ever seen but more artistic than I would have believed a killer would be interested in. “You’ll need to prove to me that you understand that this is now your home.”

He made that ugly little statement after walking me down a wide hallway, passing by several stunningly decorated rooms. For some reason, I would have believed the man preferred classic black and white, like most crazed people did. But his tastes were as impressive as they were artistic. And in every comfortable space was a massive door leading to what had to be the outside.

Every step of the way, my photographic memory allowed me to capture a picture. If he noticed I was stopping along the way, scanning every room, he didn’t acknowledge it, just continuing to walk more like a robot than a man.

When he came to the end of the hallway, there were two doors, the wood tones rich and I sensed terribly expensive like everything else I’d seen.

“My sweet virtuoso. I hope this will make you happy.”

Virtuoso. I shuddered from the thought.

He opened the one on the right, walking inside in a rather dramatic way, turning immediately and watching my reaction. It was obvious he was waiting to see if I approved.

A glossy ebony Steinway grand piano was positioned in the center of the room, sweeping windows with no openings located as walls on two sides, the other two walls painted in crimson. As I studied the oversized space, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the blood that had covered my hands and legs as being the same color as the paint. The black and white tile floor was highly polished, the drapes adorning the windows in red velvet and the artwork on the two walls sexual in nature.

There was also a leather sofa and coffee table, no doubt for the asshole to be able to sit and enjoy hearing his little sparrow playing for her supper.

I wanted to be repulsed from seeing women depicted in various stages of undress, some being flogged by masked individuals wearing dark leather. It was the epitome of BDSM. I knew better. I’d taken a class in college on the art of ecstasy and agony, as the professor had called it, even taking a field trip to one of the local clubs. I’d been a voyeur instead of a practicing submissive, but the moment had been eye opening.

One of the paintings drew my attention and I found myself heading toward it, instantly shocked seeing the exterior depicted of the very club my professor had taken the class to. The moment I pressed my hand across my mouth to keep from crying out, I felt his presence behind me.

“I thought you would appreciate seeing art of the same location you were taken almost two years ago. I had an artist friend of mine paint that especially for you, my angel, as I did most of the other pieces in this room. While I must admit I was surprised to learn you’d taken the class, that added to the realization of just how truly special you are.”

I was certain I would soon collapse on the floor, but I was determined not to do a single thing to allow him satisfaction. “It was just a class, not a life choice.”

“Mmm… Whatever you say, sweet Emily. This is your space, everything I knew you’d like.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I knew he was waiting for my appreciation. The last thing I wanted to do was to anger him. “This is… amazing.” God, my words and voice were stilted. I only prayed to God he didn’t notice.

“I’m very pleased. Now, come. It’s time you play for me. Only for me.”

The image of the picture remained in the front of my brain as I turned around to capture a glimpse of my abductor. I was shocked by two things, the first being how insanely gorgeous he was. I was right about how tall he was, at least six foot five with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, a perfect shade of cobalt kissed with a hint of ice. His irises held the most incredible violet luminance, accented by long, lush eyelashes and a strong brow. His jaw was as perfectly chiseled as the rest of him. He wore no tie, which allowed me to bask in the thick cords on his neck.

The suit was unable to hide how muscular his physique truly was, his long torso and massive thighs making my mouth water. But more noticeable even than his extreme beauty was the scar on his right cheek, the mottled skin as if it had been seared in the hottest of fires.

He was watching me as intently as before, his jaw clenched as if in preparation for what I’d say. Everything about the moment, the situation and what I was feeling continued to surprise me, especially when I reached out to touch the scar. He grabbed my hand when it was only inches away, his heated gaze falling all the way down the dress he’d slapped on me to my bare feet.

“I say when you’re allowed to touch. Now, go play so we can enjoy dinner together.”

His tone was stern instead of sensual, his command something I knew I’d better not ignore. He let go of my hand, waiting until I turned and walked toward the piano. My pulse was racing, my mind spinning with how I was going to get away from him. I pressed my hands down the dress he’d selected for me, trying desperately to control the fear tearing through me. The bastard hadn’t allowed me to wear any panties.

I sat down, studying him once again as he walked toward the couch, taking the time to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves. He even undid another few buttons on his crisp white shirt. Why did I have the feeling that every suit in his closet was the same color, all worth thousands of dollars as was every piece of furniture, every work of art in his house?

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