Page 83 of Captive Prize

I took deep, even breaths, trying to slow my heart rate. Maybe if the blood wasn’t circulating as quickly through my veins, I wouldn’t burn through the medication as fast?

Was that a good thing?

Normally I would say yes, but in this scenario, I wasn’t sure.

There was no way Mateo was going to let me walk out of here.

I either gave him the money and he threw me to the men anyway.

Or I didn’t, and he kept hitting me until I bled out.

I was going to die one way or the other.

Death was always a risk in this line of work. I knew that going in.

But it had never seemed as real as it did in this moment.

There was no hope. Not unless Roman came to take me back.

Would he?

I wanted him to. I wanted to believe that Roman was going to storm the castle and save me, but why? Why would he? Because he held me so tenderly after he fucked me? Because he took care of me in the shower?

No.

Just because he wasn’t a monster, despite what his reputation would have others believe, didn’t mean he cared about me. I wasn’t his girlfriend; I was his prisoner.

Even if he came to get me, that wouldn’t have changed.

No, I needed to realize that I was on my own. Like always. It was on me to save myself, to protect myself.

Life had shown me over and over that no one else could be depended on, and I needed to remember that.

“What’s it going to be?” Mateo asked, ripping my head back again. “Are you going to be a good girl? Or are we going to have a little fun first?”

Fuck him.

He wasn’t getting my money.

Mateo wasn’t going to let me walk out of here anyway, and I wasn’t going to let him become one of the richest men in the world.

“I’m not giving you the money. You’d only snort it all or shoot it up anyway.”

Mateo hit me again. And again. But his blows were growing weaker.

“You hit like a girl,” I seethed, and he responded with an uppercut straight to my gut. I coughed and doubled over, trying to protect myself.

He pushed the laptop in front of me, and then wrapped my hair in a fist, lifting my face up to stare at the screen.

“Log in,” he demanded.

“How?” I asked.

“With your fucking username and password,” he shouted.

“Asking nicely doesn’t change the fact that my hands are tied behind my back, dickweed.”

One of the men by the door barely stifled a laugh, and Mateo’s eyes shot over to him.

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