Page 61 of Captured Heart

He cuffs one wrist, then loops the chain around a metal bar on the bedframe and cuffs the other.

“Alex, don’t do this!” I beg, yanking at the restraint, the cold metal biting into my skin. “You don’t have to leave. Stay. Please. I want you to stay.”

Despite everything, I actually mean that because the alternative scares me more. I don’t want to be alone with these people. Alex is the lesser of two evils, and I’d rather take my chances with him.

He doesn’t look at me. “You’ll be safe here.”

“Safe?” I screech, my voice spiking in pitch. “Safe with who? Safe with them? With Victor?” I’m freaking out now, grasping at any straw that will make him reconsider. “You can’t leave me. Victor told you not to let me out of your sight.”

“I know. That’s why you’re cuffed.”

He walks over to the bedside table and strikes a match to light the oil lamp. It’s not even dark yet, so it’s not necessary to light it now. How long does he plan on leaving me here?

I tug at the handcuff, desperation clutching my chest. “You don’t have to do this. Just stay.Please.”

He ignores my pleas, doesn’t even look at me before he turns on his heel and walks out, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoes in the silent emptiness that follows.

I sit there, stunned, my wrist already aching where the cuff digs into it. The small room feels even smaller now, the walls closing in with every passing second. He said he needed to get out of here, but for how long?

Does he just need a few minutes to cool off? Or did he leave entirely, abandoning me to the mercy of Victor and his men? He admitted that he was here for me. If that’s true, then rejecting him means he has no reason to stay.

I sit there, waiting for him to come back, feeling more desolate as the room gets darker. Awkwardly, I shift to lie down and stare at the ceiling, watching shadows caused by the flickering light. My arms start to go numb. I try to stay awake, stay on high alert because I don’t know what to expect, who might be coming for me.

But eventually, my eyes get heavy, and I do my best not to pass out from exhaustion.

12. Aleksandras

Islam the door behind me and lean heavily against it, letting my head fall back. My chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, my hands curling into fists at my sides. My heart is galloping, my palms stinging with restlessness. I can still feel the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips, her citrusy-vanilla scent is still lingering on me.

The heavy metal door behind me is a blessing at this point because it’s the only thing stopping me from going back into that room and finishing what I started. There has never been anything in my life that I’ve wanted more. I want her with fervent desperation, ravenous need. I want her so badly I put everything on the line for her.

Jail. Victor’s wrath. My life. I’m risking it all for her. And this would be easy if I just wanted her body. I’d be able to use logic and talk myself off the ledge. Simply cut ties and walk away because I may have been deprived, but pussy doesn’t mean that much to me. The problem is, I want so much more than that.

I want her to look at me like I’m a man who’s worthy, a man she can admire and trust. But that’s an impossible dream because she knows all my dirty secrets now, and she looks at me like the criminal I am.

I push off the door and make my way down the dimly lit corridor, the air growing colder the closer I get to the kitchen. The smell of cheap cigarettes and stale coffee hits me before I enter, mingling with the low hum of male voices and the occasional thud of cards hitting the table.

The kitchen is as dingy as the rest of this dump, with yellowing walls, cracked countertops, and a single flickering fluorescent light. Two men I’ve never met are standing just outside the door while Bowman, Smith, and the rookie are seated around the wobbly wooden table.

“John,” Bowman calls out, a deck of cards in his hand and an open beer on the side of him. “You look like you could use a drink. Or maybe a win. Sit down.”

I hesitate. Normally, I’d steer clear of these interactions, but right now, I need to clear my head. And maybe I can even get something useful out of them.

“Sure.” I grab an empty chair and sit down.

Bowman deals me in, his big hands moving with practiced ease. Smith offers me a beer, but I shake my head.

“After the day I’ve had, I need something stronger.”

He gets up, walks to the counter, and topples ice cubes into a glass. After pouring in enough whiskey to cover the ice, he returns to the table and hands it to me.

“Thanks.” I take a sip, enjoying the burn as it trickles down my throat. As I pick up my cards, I glance at Smith. “You went back to the house?”

He nods. “Yeah. Victor wasn’t convinced you got everything the first time.”

“Find anything?”

“Nah,” Smith replies with a shrug. “Just more of the same junk. Nothing worth taking and definitely nothing Victor could use.”

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