Page 8 of Captive Heart

Her barely focusing eyes fixated on a chocolate bar wrapper with a tell-tale bulge that hinted at leftovers, and she snatched at it. Well, in her mind, she snatched at it; the reality was somewhat more listless, but hoping the sugar would do something to combat her sluggish lethargy, she nibbled hungrily at it before she even closed the lid.

Maybe that’s why she missed the rapid footsteps or didn't key into the sixth sense that usually warned her of danger.

Or maybe it was just the sickness and light-headedness she felt. She was normally so alert!

She had to be.

It was the shout that made her almost jump out of her skin and kicked up her heart rate to the level of sheer terror.

She dropped the heavy lid in her abrupt shock, and the edge crashed into the fleshy part of her arm just below her elbow, tearing a pained howl from her lips even as she instinctively dragged her hand out, grazing and lacerating the rest of her forearm as she did so.

The inherent impulse to flee had her whirling around and heading for the woods before her lucid brain kicked in, but sickness and injury caught up with her in those terrifying moments and she tripped over her own feet in the bulky, oversized wellington boots.

The flurry of movement sent her stomach rebelling, and she retched as she tried to run, choking with the effort to keep going. The strain on her injured foot sent shards of pain shooting up her leg and caused her to stumble.

Tears streaked down her face and a wail resembling the cry of a wounded animal was ripped from her throat as her hazy brain chastised herself at being caught.

That was the last thing she remembered before blessed blackness swept through her last vestige of consciousness.

4

"Shit!" Micah cursed under his breath as the indeterminate figure stumbled away from him.

The person had been hidden from him by the expanse of the recycling bin’s lid and, at first, he had thought it was a kid. As the figure staggered away, retching, with a shuffling, uneven gait, he re-evaluated and decided it must be someone elderly or maybe even a drunk trying to get his hands on some free booze from the club.

The anguished cry sounded decidedly female, however, and his innate protective instinct had him sprinting over to where the figure now lay crumpled and unmoving on the rain slicked ground.

He frowned as he took in the size of the boots that stuck out from the folds of a bulky waterproof coat. They were definitely man sized and had him proceeding with a little more caution. The long winter coat concealed most of the figure, the tatty fur-trimmed hood flopping over its owner's head.

"Hey there!" Micah gave the prone figure a gentle nudge with the tip of his boot, in case it was some kind of trap, but there was no response, and he decided no one would lie that long in a cold, wet puddle unless they were incapacitated.

He crouched down, still keeping his guard up, and leaned forward to rip the hood away from the intruder's face. Micah sat back on his haunches in shock when he uncovered the dirty but deathly pale face of a young woman.

He swore again as he realised she was unconscious.

Bracing himself to pick her up, he got another shock and almost toppled backward when, instead of hefting a dead weight mass as he expected, he found she weighed barely enough to cause his muscles to strain. It was all just bulky fabric, he realised.

One of the Wellington boots fell off as he readjusted his stance and lifted her, uncovering a skinny leg, unhealthily thin despite the thick, oversized sock that was covering it.

Micah didn't think twice as he carried her toward the elevator and into the club. His sole concern was in helping the unfortunate girl.

It wasn't until he briskly made his way into the employee lounge and laid her down on the couch there that he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do next.

Call an ambulance? The police? The club owners, perhaps?

Nobody would appreciate having any kind of narrow-minded law enforcement types sniffing around a kink club. And calling paramedics to an unconscious woman at a venue like this might cause some undue suspicion, but he couldn't leave her like this!

As he grabbed his phone out of his pocket, he opted to ring Logan Thornton. One of the four co-owners, he was also a lawyer. This could be his decision.

"Hey, Micah?" The tinny voice came through the earpiece with a definite question. It was unusual for Micah to ring his bosses unless there was a really severe problem.

"Logan…" Micah greeted. What the hell did he say now? "Umm…I have a woman here at the club."

Logan gave a dry chuckle. "I don't think you rang me to give me an update on your non-existent love life, but if you did, then way to go, buddy!"

The noise Micah made in his throat resembled a snort. "Yeah, well, this one might be a problem. I don't know if she's a vagrant or something, but she's unconscious."

"Fuck!" The epithet shot like a bullet over the phone connection. "What the hell happened? Have you called anyone?"

---