Take Me (Enslaved #1)

CHAPTER 3

I jostle against the pillows as the car bumps along uneven terrain, deep into the forest or up into the mountains, where no one will find me.

At least not until it’s too late.

No one will start worrying until I don’t show up at home in two weeks. And maybe even then, another week will go by before someone will notice something is wrong. That’s the consequence of being a recluse, preferring to spend my vacation among mountains and trees instead of drinking cocktails with my girlfriends on the beach.

Whatever search will be conducted once someone realizes I’ve gone missing will be brief. This country won’t care about a young woman who has gone into the mountains alone. They’ll conclude that I’ve been eaten by a bear or fallen off a cliff. Another victim to Mother Nature. People die in these mountains every year.

That’s when another terrifying thought strikes.

The Facebook post.

No one will even look for me here. Everyone thinks I went to Italy.

My breath speeds up to a frantic pace. The air crashes in and out of my mouth so quickly it doesn’t reach my lungs. The darkness closes in around me, thick and oppressive. I frantically whip my head back and forth, trying to see anything, just a tiny dot of light.

Nothing.

Pitch-black nothingness swallows me up.

I shoot my hands up to rip at the bag over my head, but my wrists catch on the ropes. Struggling, I lift my legs and my head to get my hands closer to the bag, but the rope is too short. No matter how much I twist and turn, my hands remain stuck at waist level, never getting close to the fabric.

So I fumble for a hatch instead, scooting back and forth in the confined space, shoving my hands under the pillows, reaching as far up the edges as I can go. It’s awkward and a hassle—especially when I search the inside of the lid and have to lift my back off the floor to reach it.

I’m balancing on my ass when the car hits a hard bump, and I crash into the side, bouncing off the pillows and hitting my head on the floor. I moan through the sharp burst of pain and curl up on my side as I accept defeat.

I’m not getting out of here until someone takes me out.

Hopelessness descends upon me anew, as dark and heavy as the blackness surrounding me. But just as I’m about to succumb to it, a little flicker of hope comes alight.

Nikolai. He doesn’t have my Facebook. He took me to the train this evening, kissed me goodbye, and told me he looked forward to seeing me again. He saw me get on the train, and I told him I’d text him once I arrived in Brasov.

Will he worry when he doesn’t receive that text? Will he even care enough?

I have no idea, but it’s all I have. So I cling to the hope and let it be my beacon of light through the nightmare that has only just begun.

***

I’m bouncing on a hard shoulder again, my bound hands and legs flopping against a strong body after they cut the rope connecting them. The fresh air seeping through the hood brings me the scent of pine and wet dirt. It reminds me of Nikolai. And quiet hours spent hiking among the trees. But the scent does little to soothe me. Rather, it seems foreboding in my trussed-up state, witnessing a secluded place where my chances of rescue might be nil.

The bumpy ride has left me drained and sore. All fight is gone, my senses dulled after having been confined to the narrow space for God knows how long. All I can do as the bulky man carries me down a long flight of stairs is gasp and groan, stiffening my muscles to abate the bouncy movements.

A heavy door screeches, and the air becomes dry with a sort of dusty, old smell. The smell of stone walls.

Bright light of the artificial kind filters through the hood, and the thudding steps of my captors become a loud echo as the sounds bounce off hard surfaces.

The acoustics change slightly as if we enter a smaller space, and then there’s the clank of another hefty door.

Iron.

The bulky man places me on the ground, and then two sets of hands are on me, cutting off my clothes with mechanical proficiency.

My whole body is shaking once they’re done. I want to cry out of sheer desperation, but I’m too numb, too stuck in the shock of it all.

“Get up,” a gruff voice orders, and before I can even think to obey, someone jerks me up by the rope on my hands.

I stagger, barely able to find the strength to support my own weight. My tied feet are no help, and I sway from side to side when the man fastens my bound hands to something high above my head.

He cuts the rope on my neck and yanks the hood off. Sharp light assaults my eyes. Blinking, I catch glimpses of stone walls and ceilings from another era. Eerily old, but well-maintained. Two large figures loom in my periphery, and I try to focus my gaze to get a better look, but a jet of cold water throws my attention into chaos. I fall backward, wincing as the ropes strain around my wrists and icy coldness engulfs me.

I gasp to catch my breath and shuffle my feet to regain balance but never find it.

When the water stops, I’m hanging limply in the ropes. The painful bite into my wrists is nothing compared to the cold. It stabs at my skin and gnaws into my bones, and jerky shudders rip through my body and set my teeth chattering. I’m almost grateful when a set of calloused hands start soaping me up from head to toe. They travel over my skin in rough motions, making me feel cheap and worthless, but heating me nonetheless.

The small relief is brief, though. Soon, cold water splashes over my body anew, washing away the soap, the last few slivers of heat, and my dignity. Then the same rough hands pat me dry with a towel.

It’s almost a relief when the other man pulls me into him, pressing my head to his chest and steadying me with an arm around my body, taking some of the weight off my bound hands. I have no idea what he’s doing, but I almost don’t care as I’m desperate for the heat he provides. I know that it’s the same man from the train—the one who put the hood over my head, put me in the trunk, and told me to breathe. I know because he’s less rough than the one who tied me up and soaped my body, his hands smoother, less mechanical.

The other one pinches the skin at the back of my neck, and I see a flash of something long and sharp in my peripheral vision just before it hits. A thick needle penetrating my skin. The prick is sudden and sharp, making me tense up in every sore muscle.

“No, no,” is all I can say as pressure builds beneath my skin. “What are you doing?”

“ID chip,” the man holding me says.

The other one picks up a scanner and holds it to my neck. There’s a beep as it reads the chip. “245314,” he says.

“Correct. Make sure it says she’s off limits.”

“Already done.” The man behind me cuts the ropes on my wrists, and the other one hoists me up in his arms and carries me from the room. Once again, he holds me in his arms against his chest, almost like I’m human and not just a sack of potatoes.

I try to catch a glimpse of his features, but the harsh fluorescents are too bright. All I see are flashes of dark hair, more stone walls, and green iron doors.

It’s not until he carries me through one of those doors and the light becomes softer that I can finally make him out.

He has a distinct longish face with a straight, prominent nose, long, low brows, and intense hazel eyes that make me feel like he can see directly into my soul with a single glance.

I have to avert my gaze when he looks down at me. It’s like getting too close to the sun. But when he places me on a mattress in the corner, I can’t help peering up at him again.

He’s tall and lean, dressed in slacks and a black silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing tanned arms covered in dark hair. He sports an upscale haircut and a short beard trimmed in even lines.

This guy definitely doesn’t spend his days in a dark basement. He looks more like a businessman—a CEO of a profitable company.

“I’m Mikhail, but you’ll call me Sir.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt as he aims the magnetic power of his gaze at me. “You’ll address every other man down here the same way. Are we clear?”

I curl up on the mattress and nod into my arms. It’s all I can do.

“What do you say?” he demands.

Humiliation wrenches at my gut as I mutter, “Yes, Sir.”

The iron door creaks as someone comes in, speaking in a Romanian accent. “Where do you want these things?”

Mikhail must respond with a gesture because the door slams shut with a metallic clank a minute later, leaving me alone with my captor.

“Scoot over.” Mikhail gives me a nudge as he lowers himself onto the mattress.

He doesn’t need to ask twice. I turn around and huddle close to the stone wall, praying he will go away. At least, some part of me does. Another part can’t stand the idea of being alone in this windowless prison cell, naked and shaking with cold.

A quick flicker of my gaze across the space tells me that’s exactly what this is. A cell. There’s a mattress, a toilet, a sink, and chains on the walls. That’s it. I’m surprised the toilet is of the normal porcelain kind and not just a hole in the ground.

What surprises me even more is when Mikhail lies down behind me and covers us with a thick blanket.

I tense up so hard that my body stops shivering for a moment.

“Don’t fight, Koshechka. We need to get you warmed up.”

Then the strangest thing happens. This man, who has kidnapped me, stripped me of my dignity, and shoved me into a cold prison cell slides an arm under my neck, one over my waist, and gathers me to his now naked chest.

Warmth envelopes me on all sides, and the effect is instantaneous.

I can’t control it, just like I haven’t been able to control anything else that has happened to me on this horrible night.

A tear drips from my eyes, onto his arm. Another one falls onto the mattress, and then I’m weeping. I try to keep it down—I really do—but it doesn’t work. Soon, I’m sniffling and jerking as sobs rack my body.

“Shh, Koshechka ,” he soothes, using the Russian endearment for kitten, as he slips a hand up to brush my wet hair out of my face. He doesn’t say anything else, just holds me as I crumble under the force of it all. And God, I don’t want to admit it, but with the way he strokes my arm and holds me tight, it almost feels safe.

It reminds me of Nikolai. His special brand of sadism mixed with comfort.

I hate myself for even thinking this monster is anything like the man who opened up my life to terrifying kinks and profound intimacy .

But the thought helps. The man behind me isn’t quite as wide as Nikolai, but he’s as tall, speaks in the same Russian accent, and seems to harbor the same contradictory characteristics. It’s easy to imagine that it’s Nikolai when I close my eyes.

My muscles begin to relax as I imagine Nikolai’s arms wrap around me as he rocks me with gentle motions of his chest.

“That’s it,” my captor praises, and the smooth quality of his accented voice is so much like Nikolai’s that it’s easy to disappear in the illusion.

But when his hand starts a slow trail down my stomach, unmistakably headed for my pussy, reality seeps back in.

“No,” I pant, pushing against his other arm that is suddenly lodged around my chest with unbreakable strength. “No!” I repeat with more urgency as a long finger slides between my folds.

“An orgasm will help you relax—make your body heat up faster.”

“I don’t want one!” I shove at his hand, but he’s already at my opening, feeling the cruel betrayal of my body covering my pussy in slick juices.

“Oh, but I think you do.”

I let out a long, plaintive sound as he plunges a finger into me. The intrusion guts me, and the stark cruelty of my new reality wrenches at my chest when my eyes fly open. Bare stonewalls and a stranger who isn’t Nikolai.

The illusion splinters like a thousand pieces of glass around me. I go frantic, writhing against his arm and kicking my bound legs.

“Hmm,” he scoffs. “I thought you’d be more grateful. That’s another thing to add to your training list.”

I’m stunned when he removes his prodding finger, but then I see the manacles as he grabs the chain attached to the wall behind my head. Real iron manacles. They’re not rusty and old—clearly not an original requisite of this old dungeon—but they fit right in.

The chain rattles as he moves the manacles onto my chest, and my breath claws at my throat as it moves at a frantic speed.

Grabbing one of my wrists, he shuts a manacle around it. I try to fight, but as with everything else down here, it’s hopeless. Soon, both my hands are trapped in the cold steel.

The manacles fit perfectly around my slender wrists. Snug enough to be inescapable and loose enough to not cut my circulation. The realization sends a jolt of icy fear through my veins.

But I don’t get to linger on it for long as two fingers shove into my opening, easily sliding through my wetness.

“Noo!” I wail, bucking off the mattress, hating myself for being so wet—for allowing myself to disappear into the fantasy of Nikolai when my world crumbles around me.

“You should be grateful,” my captor says, and the cruel edge in his voice has my eyes darting to him. “Only a few of the girls here get a free orgasm like this.” He pumps his fingers harder, and even as pain flares in my lower belly, something tightens in my core. A heated sensation. An urge to go further.

“Why?” I croak, needing to distract myself from the shameful sensation.

“Because you’re special,” he says in his dark accent.

“I don’t want to be special.”

He lets out a nefarious chuckle. “No?” Climbing on top of me, he takes my cheeks in a hard grip while he keeps thrusting his fingers into me. “Would you rather I leave you alone in your cell, cold, scared, and horny?”

Horror rattles through my brain, messing with everything I thought I knew.

“Either you beg me for this orgasm, or I’ll string you up from the ceiling and have Dorin flog you.”

I stare back and forth between his eyes, trying to gauge whether he’s bluffing.

He’s not. I know it even before he says the next thing.

“I have two months to train you. I think that’s enough time to mend the damage.” He presses a finger to my forehead like he’s talking about mental damage rather than physical.

“Please don’t,” I say, hating how weak I sound.

This man has me scared to the bone. Something about his sudden shift from protective caregiver to demanding captor is more frightening than if he’d been cruel all along.

“So, what do you say?” he prompts, his eyes flaring with sadistic power, already knowing he has won.

I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing it too. “Please let me come,” I mutter so quietly I think he won’t hear it over the slick sound of his fingers pumping between my legs.

“Again!” he demands with a force that has my eyes flying open. “Look at me while you beg me, and speak up.”

I swallow hard and breathe through my nose as I try to calm the erratic panic stirring inside me.

“Please let me come,” I blurt.

“Let me come, what ?”

I close my eyes and steel myself with a long breath before facing my own humiliation by staring into Mikhail’s demanding eyes. “Please let me come...” I shudder and add the last word, “Sir.”

A smile spreads across his features, crinkling the corners of his eyes and creating dimples in his cheeks. It should be utterly charming, but nothing will erase the sadistic cruelty that flickers deep in his dark eyes.

He pumps his fingers hard a few more times, and the unwelcome need grows inside me. But only a little, and the defeat thrumming throughout my system drowns it out. Not daring to go against him, I close my eyes and try to focus on the pleasure. But it doesn’t work. There’s no way this static finger-fucking will make me come.

I open my eyes and glance between him and the stone wall. “I—I can’t come like this.” I flinch as the words leave my mouth, expecting some kind of reproach.

One of his straight brows shoots up in an amused curve. “You thought I was trying to make you come like this? You really are an inexperienced little one, aren’t you?”

I make a confused shake of my head. He’s right—the wildest thing I did before Nikolai was the sixty-nine position. But how can he know? Does my sexual innocence linger on me like a stigma?

“Don’t worry. We won’t be able to say that once I’m through with you.” He seems to muse on the words, and his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip as his eyes become unfocused for a moment. When he notices my confusion, he adds , “I’m just considering how I should start out.” He studies my face as if searching for the answer there. “Maybe we should do it the easy way—get it over with so you can catch some sleep. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”

Before I can respond, he leans forward and wraps his hand around my throat in a tight grip.

My eyes go wide with terror as the heel of his hand rests against my windpipe. He doesn’t press, but the threat is right there, hovering, waiting to be released.

“Let’s see if this will do the trick.” He flexes his hand on my neck, gripping it harder, while he adjusts his hand in my pussy, angling two fingers upward and pressing his thumb to my clit.

Everything flips in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, my entire body pulses with need. And alarm. All he has to do is flick the right switch, and he knows just where to find it.

“Oh, yes.” His expression lights up as he reads the effect in my wide eyes and clenching pussy.

“Please don’t,” I say, but the last word becomes a gasp as he moves his hand inside me, working his fingers against my g-spot and rubbing my clit.

Sensation shoots through my nerve endings with a force that sends me bucking off the mattress. He tightens his grip around my throat, just enough to let me feel the pressure on my windpipe without taking my breath.

It sends me straight back to Nikolai and the staggering orgasm he gave me as he choked me. It’s the same deadly cocktail of fear and pleasure that has my world tilting on its axis now.

I fight the orgasm—try to keep my focus on my unforgiving surroundings. The nightmare that has consumed me in the blink of an eye. But it’s no use. Mikhail has already set it rolling, and my breaths speed up as tension coils through my body. All I can do is close my eyes and imagine Nikolai as pleasure shoots through my veins, pounds in my heart, and curls my toes.

A long cascade of moans erupts from my throat, deep and lustful. I jerk on the mattress and press my throat into the hand around my neck. All thoughts evaporate as I succumb to an orgasm as staggering as any of the ones Nikolai has given me.

“Hmm,” a deep voice hums, and when I open my eyes, my world shatters once again.

There’s no Nikolai. No bright sunlight. No scent of an earthy cologne . There’s just my captor, the dusty scent of old rocks, and the four bare walls shutting me off from the world.

“That was easier than I thought.” Mikhail gets up, cuts the ropes on my feet, and attaches manacles to my ankles. “No touching your cunt without permission.” He tugs at my wrists to check if I can reach between my legs, and sure enough, they only reach my chest. “We’ll fix something more comfortable tomorrow.”

I don’t even try to process his words. I just stare blankly at the ceiling as he puts his shirt back on, unable to cope with the twisted reality surrounding me.

Numbness has taken residence in my mind and body. I can barely think. It’s nearly blissful, and I’m ready to shut my eyes and let sleep claim me in its restful arms when Mikhail is about to leave.

But the last thing he does breaks me again, spearing through the void and opening a crack to all the grief and desperation I can’t bear to confront.

“I almost forgot.” He shoves something plush under my arm, making the shackles rattle as he goes.

I stare down into the golden-rimmed eyes of a red teddy. The fox Nikolai gave me to comfort me whenever I feel lonely. The numbness draws back with a startling jerk, baring the raw emotions I blissfully ignored. My chest heaves under the weight, and tears well in my tired eyes.

The heavy door slides closed with a shrieky noise and makes a clank to cement the finality of my captivity.

Darkness descends upon me as the lights go out.

Left are only the hollow echoes of my sobs and the rattle of chains as I hug the teddy so hard it hurts and remember Nikolai’s last words. A promise now squashed by these barren walls.

***

I glanced around the luxurious bar, feeling a bit self-conscious at the sight of the upscale clientele. Men in fitted suits, women in pretty dresses, and fancy cocktails being handed over the bar without thoughts about the growing bills. It was a scene that had always drawn me in. One teeming with control and power. And one I definitely didn’t fit into. My soda alone had cost almost as much as my dinner. But despite my weeping credit card and my fidgety self-consciousness, I ventured into places like this every now and then in search of something. Something I could never quite seem to find. This night was no different, yet here I was, feeling close to that something.

Taking a sip of my Coke, I turned my head as someone scooted onto the barstool beside me. I nearly choked on the soda as I came face to face with a bright set of blue eyes set in a strong face, staring straight at me. No, into me. Their directness was intimidating, yet the warm smile shimmering in them was disarming.

“Can I buy you another one of those?” he asked, nodding at my half-full glass as he pressed his palms to his thighs and turned on the stool to face me directly.

Setting my glass down, I swallowed the soda in my mouth a bit too hard. “Sure.”

Taking my glass, he smelled the contents. “No alcohol, huh?”

“Hiking with a hangover is no fun,” I said, tilting my chin a bit downward as a shy yet sort of heated sensation washed over me.

Lifting two fingers, he gestured to the bartender and pointed at my glass. The short reprieve from his heady attention allowed me a moment to collect myself, but the heady sensation returned the moment he locked eyes with me again.

“Hiking? Let me take a guess here. The Carpathians? You’ve left the flat fields of Denmark and come here in search of some mountains.”

“How did you know?” I asked with half a smile, not quite knowing whether to be intimidated or impressed by his astute observation.

He huffed a laugh that had the faint lines around his eyes deepening. “Your accent is as flat as your country.”

I just watched him for a moment. The almost boyish smile in his eyes. The lines on his forehead. The short stubble peppered along his strong jaw and the white streaks at his temples.

Christ, he had to be at least fifteen years older than me. I had just celebrated my twenty-fifth birthday last week, and he had to be at least forty. Mature and confident. And rich by the looks of his perfectly fitted suit and the massive watch on his right hand. He was a world away from me in every sense of the word. Generationally, geographically—judging from his Russian accent—and not least in terms of wealth and authority. I had just started my first job in a new city after having finished my studies last year, and I still felt green and uncertain in everything I did.

But despite the glaring contrasts, there I was, hopelessly attracted to this man I had only known for a few minutes, feeling some strange pull I couldn’t put my finger on.

Maybe it was the warm smile in his eyes and those crinkles at the corners?

No, those weren’t there when I first saw him and almost choked on my soda. It had to be the directness of those eyes. The way he held himself, commanding the very air around him without even trying.

“What is your name?” he asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Julie.”

“Julie,” he repeated, tasting the word. “Pretty name.”

A shiver skittered up my arm as he reached for a pendant on my bracelet and his fingers grazed my skin.

“Is this your favorite animal?” he asked, toying with the small fox pendant—my favorite on the bracelet.

Biting my lower lip, I nodded.

“The little fox Julie is going into the woods,” he said, watching the silver fox with two golden stones as eyes. “ All alone?” He directed his gaze back to me, still toying with the pendant.

I nodded, hoping he was asking what I thought he was.

“No boyfriend to keep you company?”

A bolt of anticipation had me shifting on the stool, and I gave a small shake of my head as I wetted my lips. “All alone,” I confirmed.

Lifting a hand to twirl a lock of my auburn hair, he said softly, “A pretty little Lisichka going into the woods all alone.”

“Lisj— Lisich—?” I said, trying to form the Russian-sounding word.

“ Lisichka ,” he repeated. “It’s Russian for little fox.”

“Oh,” was all I could say.

Releasing the pendant, he moved his thumb to my pulse point and circled with feather-light movement. “All alone in the woods, hoping the big bad wolf won’t come to get her.”

Something in his eyes darkened and deepened, and my breaths became shallow, my cheeks heating, as I felt something coming.

“Or hoping that it does.” Leaning his elbow on the bar, he moved closer, and I completely lost the ability to breathe as he slowly slipped his fingers around my slender wrist, entrapping it in his strong grip.

My head clouded and the world around me swam as all I saw was him.

“Submissive?” he asked softly.

“What?” I all but gasped.

“I think you are,” he said to himself. Tightening his grip on my wrist, he tilted his head slightly as he studied my reaction. And that was it. I was spellbound. Unable to think or breathe on my own from that moment.