How is she so nonchalant, and what about the threats? Isn’t she supposed to be demanding money? And what’s amanupartner?
He is about to snap at her when white-hot pain flashes across his feet. An undignified sound hurtles from his throat. Able to move his limbs, he high-steps across the room as if he is dancing across coals.
“Did that hurt?” Kate’s dark eyes fill with concern, like she’s surprised.
He lands on the one piece of furniture in the room, a small bed draped with a light gray blanket. No pillows. No side tables. The firm mattress creaks as he adjusts his position so he’s sitting perched at the foot of the bed next to a small package of what he hopes is his clothing. He crosses one leg over the other and angles his foot to inspect the sole. There’s a mark tattooed in red ink, similar to a QR code but with characters he doesn’t recognize. His feet no longer hurt, so he runs his fingers over the ink to see if the odd brand has any texture. The skin appears to be perfectly healed and smooth. An identical mark is on the opposite foot.
“Yes, it fucking hurt,” he barks. “What are these marks?” Though the pain has evaporated completely, his irritation lingers. He holds it in. Most of it, anyway. He needs to see how much information he can get from the woman who’s holding him hostage and has branded him before he tries to get away. Surely he can overpower her, but who knows what lies beyond the door.
Kate gives the little square scale-looking thing he was standing on a quizzical look. “The shock must have come from the disconnection to the electrical charge. Now that your body is performing its ownelectrical functions, you no longer need it. The tagging laser shouldn’t have caused you pain.”
The woman gave him a minor electrical shock? A submission tactic? She makes quite the actress, standing there with her pouty lips turned down and her large, sparkling brown eyes blinking innocently at him.
He’s aware he’s gawking. The way her black bodysuit highlights every sumptuous curve—those fucking tits alone. They are too perfect to be her originals, but . . . they lookreal. The material looks like it’s sprayed onto her. He can’t even detect a seam. If this is a sex thing, there would be no reason to drug him. Too bad she’s abducted him. And is, apparently, a sadist.
Kate gives him a lazy smile, as if she’s noticed him studying her and knows she’s pleasing to the eye.
“Listen, lady,” he says. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, with your sexy cat suit, those ridiculous boots, and the little insignia on your chest like you’re some sort of Avenger. What does that say?”
She takes a few steps closer, leaning forward so her chest is eye level. “ ‘Sector C Air Control Officer.’ I worked this morning. Didn’t have time to change before your alarm sounded.”
“Air control?” He was right. She works for the private jet share company—though that is a fancy name for a flight attendant.
“Mmm . . . yes. A very important job. It puts me in pay bracket C. That’s how I can afford this place. And you.” She winks as she boasts, as if what she’s saying means anything to him. “You should get dressed. I’ll do the same. Then we can head downstairs and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
Downstairs, possibly with other people. Who else is involved? He hears nothing from the room beyond. His focus turns back to her. He’s got to get out of here and back to his life—whatever that entails. Somehow, the urgency he feels makes him think it must have been important.Hemust be someone important. Why else would he have had the number for a global rescueservice memorized—practically embedded into his subconscious—if he hadn’t thought he’d need it one day?
James watches her slip out of the room, seeming pleased with herself. Her long auburn hair swishes behind her as she leaves.
Wait. She thinks her pay bracket afforded him? She already said she plans to use him . . . how precisely does she intend to use him? A chill that feels a lot like intuition dances across his skin.
No reason to panic. Things could be worse. He could still be immobile. Someone could be pointing a gun at his head, making an astronomical demand.
James takes a calming breath and grabs the package, tearing open the closure. Not a zipper, more like a smooth magnet? Inside, he finds a fitted pair of pants—uncomfortably, revealingly fitted—and an asymmetrically cut knit shirt. Both are a deep navy with a subtle sheen to them. No boxers, or even briefs. Not that they’d fit under the second skin he’s squeezed himself into. At least he isn’t naked.
He scans the room for footwear, eyes catching on a pair of military-style boots that would rise to mid-calf. No socks either. He sighs as he struggles to figure out the clasps, eventually discovering the gunmetal buckles are only decorative. Giving the shaft a tug, like the package, a practically invisible seam opens down the center. A smooth sock-like material meets his bare foot as he slides it inside. As he does, the boot seals itself over his ankle, cinching to match its circumference perfectly.
They are a strange style. One he’d never wear. Like something from a costume shop selected to match the weird outfit the woman wears. But they’re his only option and seem sturdy enough. He shakes his head as he tugs the other one on before rising to his feet, finding the odd boots surprisingly comfortable.
He approaches the door, which doesn’t have a handle. He runs his fingers along the gap between it and the wall until the door clicks, then swings open to reveal a minimalist apartment. The stark concrete walls and floor lend it an eerie, sterile feel. The solid material of the ceiling glows, brightly illuminating the space. Yet the light is soft enough to stare at without irritating his eyes. An elaborate computer desk sits in the center. Or at least what looks like a computer out of some futuristic movie. The giveaway is the keyboard stationed between the six of what must be screens. Except they are metal bars suspended on stands, each emitting a field of black light, shooting upward into paper-thin rectangles. He assumes that means they are asleep. Other gadgets James can’t identify litter the desk.
Across the room, an L-shaped couch wraps around the corner of the room. Conveniently placed tables sit around it, along with a few footstools. An embarrassing gasp escapes his throat as his eyes land on the windows. Though Kate mentioned she worked all day, it still appears to be light outside. Wherever this apartment of hers is, a deep, dense green forest surrounds it. Pine and fir trees fill two of the three windows. Outside the third, a rugged peak climbs to the sky in the distance.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she muses, her soft voice drifting toward him from behind.
James staggers back. Where this could be? Canada? Russia, depending on how long he was out. Where has she taken him? And why haven’t his memories come back yet? His head feels clearer by the minute.
“I know. This is one of my favorites. I’m glad you like it too.” She stares dreamily at the scene in the window. “Tomorrow we’ll try a different scene.”
“You mean go somewhere else? Do you have a private plane too, Air Control Officer Kate?” He means it sarcastically, but she doesn’t seem to take it that way.
“No, silly. They’re particle panes, though I’m surprised you don’t know this. The literature says you’re supposed to come equipped with a certain base knowledge of the world.”
It takes no slight effort to tear his eyes away from the scene in the windows. Escaping this woman is becoming more daunting with each passing minute. “Jesus!” His eyes land on the pale pink floor-length gown she wears. A completely sheer gauzy material drapes across her languid curves. Her barely concealed, dusky pink nipples beg for his attention. Against his better judgment, he obliges, fixing his gaze to her perky breasts. He tries to tear it away. He really does. Once he notices her strange tattoo, it’s easier. Iridescent pink and red scales that complement her auburn hair peek out over her shoulders and sides.
Seeing where his eyes have traveled, she spins, lifting her hair so he can take in the artwork adorning her body. “Dragon scales,” she offers. “To honor my ancestry.”
The tattoo runs from the top of her spine to its base, with only wisps reaching toward her front. Otherwise, her body is perfectly unmarred. A delicate thong and an equally delicate pair of high-heeled sandals are the only other clothing she wears. James tries, but he can’t spot a single imperfection as she turns toward him.
