Page 26 of Beckoning Liam

"Over my dead body," Liam said, each word laced with a deadly promise.

"Quite possibly," Sokolov replied. But before Liam could launch himself at the sadistic tormentor, one of Sokolov's henchmen emerged from the shadows. With a swift, brutal precision, he stabbed Liam.

Liam crumpled to the floor and appeared not to be breathing. Becks' world started to spin out of control. She wanted to scream, to rage against the injustice, but her voice was trapped beneath a rising tide of helplessness.

"Take her," Sokolov ordered, his gaze never leaving Liam's fallen form or the expanding pool of blood, as if savoring his victory. He kicked Liam’s body and then started to lean over, presumably to check for a pulse but stopped as sirens in the distance sounded. “Move now.”

Rough hands gripped Becks, dragging her away from the man who had become her safety in this treacherous game. Despite her struggles, the men were merciless, binding her wrists with coarse rope that bit into her skin, an unwelcome parody of the ties she willingly accepted in the art of Shibari.

A burlap bag engulfed her head, cutting off her sight and muffling her protests. Panic clawed at her insides, and she felt like a wild animal desperate for escape. She was lifted like cargo, her body tossed carelessly into what felt like the back of a vehicle.

As the vehicle jolted into motion, Becks lay amidst the darkness, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear, calmed only by the thought that Liam would come for her. She refused to entertain the thought that he had been killed. For now, bound and blindfolded, she surrendered to the unknown, her mind clinging to the memory of Liam's fierce vow—a lifeline in the enveloping dark.

After what felt like hours, but might have only been a few minutes, the van came to an abrupt halt, the inertia throwing Becks' body against the cold metal of its interior. Her heart racedas she heard the vehicle's side door sliding open, bracing for another wave of violence. But it was not Sokolov's rough hands that reached for her this time—it was someone far more chilling.

"Remove that sack and untie her," commanded a voice that dripped with authority and barely restrained malice. As the bag was removed, Becks blinked her eyes, trying to get them to focus. The man she recognized as Dr. Cezar Baro stood outside the van, his silhouette a dark monument against the hazy light that filtered through dirty warehouse windows. She’d seen his picture in magazines and scholarly journals.

Sokolov grumbled under his breath before cutting the ropes around Becks' wrists with a swift, practiced motion. She blinked against the harsh daylight, her violet eyes locking onto Baro's dark piercing gaze. Fear knotted in her belly, yet she held herself with a poise that belied her internal turmoil.

"Leave us," Baro instructed Sokolov, dismissing him with a flick of his wrist. The Russian's ego seemed to be deflated by the sudden loss of control over his prize as he quietly walked away.

"Dr. Ashworth," Baro began, his tone smooth as silk. "You’ve caused quite the commotion."

Becks rubbed her chafed wrists, buying time as she assessed the situation. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she replied coolly, her upper-class British accent clashing against the rawness of the scene.

"Come now," he said, circling her like a predator eyeing his prey. "You and O'Shea have been quite busy unraveling our plans. Tell me, who else is privy to your discoveries?"

"Nobody." Becks lied effortlessly, maintaining eye contact with Baro. Inside, she willed Liam to regain consciousness, to find her before it was too late.

"Your loyalty is touching," Baro mocked, "but ultimately futile. You see, secrets have a way of coming to light, and I intend to uncover every one of yours."

"I wish you luck with that," she retorted, drawing upon her submissive training to present a facade of calm surrender. Her mind worked to weave together a web of half-truths and careful omissions.

"Tell me, Dr. Ashworth," Baro leaned in closer, breathing against her skin, "does your heart race from fear or... anticipation?"

"Perhaps a bit of both," she admitted, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She could almost feel Liam's presence, the dominant force that had guided her through darkness before. Hold on, she urged herself silently, hold on just a little longer.

Baro's smile was thin and devoid of warmth. "We'll see how long that bravery lasts," he murmured, taking a step back, indicating that she take a seat, giving her space and yet none at all. "For now, let's continue our little chat, shall we?"

Becks nodded, her mind weaving a complex tapestry of deceit as she sat in the chair indicated. She would play his game, for now, holding on to the hope that Liam, her protector, her Dominant, would once again emerge from the shadows to claim her.

Sometime later, the warehouse's oppressive silence was shattered by the faint scuffle of movement. Becks' pulse quickened, her eyes darting to the corner where a shadow detached itself from the wall. It was Liam, his presence both a balm and a blade to her frayed nerves. His blue gaze met hers for a split second—sharp, intense—before his finger rose to his lips. His message was clear: wait, watch, be ready.

She gave a nearly imperceptible nod. She had learned to read his signals as if they were her own thoughts, and she understood. Patience was their ally now, and she clung to it like a lifeline.

"Time is not on our side, Baro," came a voice that sliced through the thick tension in the room. Marcus Hawthorne entered, the urgency in his tone grappling with the usual composure he carried like a cloak. His salt-and-pepper hair appeared more striking in the dim light, his scar bearing the mark of battles fought and won. "We need to move, now."

Baro turned, his expression unreadable as he faced Hawthorne. "Interpol, the French police—they're no longer concerns," he said, his voice as smooth and cold as ice. "Our paths remain unobstructed."

"Perhaps," Hawthorne countered, his eyes flickering momentarily toward Becks before returning to Baro. "But we can't afford delays. I have received word that Cerberus is closing in even as we speak."

Becks could sense the shift in the air, the crackle of something momentous on the horizon. Her mind worked at a furious pace, calculating the odds, the exits, the potential for escape. Somewhere beyond these walls, danger lurked, a dark cloud ready to burst.

Liam edged closer, his movements catlike, despite the pain from being stabbed. In the periphery of her awareness, Becks felt the electric charge of anticipation. The stakes were high, the game deadly. And yet, there was a thrill in the unknown, a dark allure that sang through her veins. This was the imperceptible line where trust and danger danced.

"Then let us waste no time," Baro conceded, casting a final, piercing glance at Becks. "However, I think I'll keep this one a bit longer. She has... potential."

Hawthorne's gaze lingered on Becks, an unspoken question hanging between them. But it was Liam who held her focus—abeacon in the storm, the master of her fate. As the men spoke, she braced herself for what would come next, knowing that whatever the outcome, she was not alone.

---