Jess Haines: Enslaved By the Others

“Not his choice,” I said, perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary. “I don’t belong to him.”

“No. Not anymore.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Did Alec give you a taste of his blood?”

“Yes.” The words were bitter on my tongue, made more so by the copper taste of fear.

“More than once?”

“No.”

“Excellent,” he said, and my skin broke out in fresh goose bumps from the slight stirring of air as he rose. “Lucky you, little love. You get to live to see another day.”

I couldn’t help myself; some of the tension that had drawn me so tight eased.

“You’re doing very well. Just a few more questions, pet.”

“I’m not your pet.”

He chuckled. “Quite the contrary. You haven’t been permanently bound by Alec, so I just may keep you for myself. It might take a bit longer to break you in since you’ve gone through withdrawal, but I can assure you we’ve got nothing but time.”

I couldn’t help it. I surged to my feet, hoping against hope that I could outrun him, needing more than anything in that moment to escape.

His fingers scraped over my back, his laughter echoing through the room as I made a hectic, panicked dash forward. I finally opened my eyes, daring the risk to search for some way, any way, to get out of there.

There was a single door, which I made a beeline for. The handle wouldn’t turn no matter how hard I twisted it, and my cry of frustration warbled into a scream of fear as his hand settled on my shoulder, shoving me around until my back was pressed against the door. Stunned, I stared up into his patrician features, forgetting momentarily to close my eyes as I met his pale gray gaze.

He looked exactly the same as he had the last time I had seen him. His dark brown hair was cut short, but not so much that I couldn’t see the curls threatening to escape their gelled prison. Dusky skin was too dark for him to be taken as a vampire by a casual glance—not unless you already knew what he was. His tailored business suit didn’t hide the solid, muscular build of his frame, or the shadow of a rabid, murderous predator lurking behind the mask of civility.

There was no pull of his mind overtaking mine. All he did was smirk and lift a hand to dangle a set of keys between us—unmistakably mocking me.

“Not yet, pet. I’m not done with you.”

Gone were any thoughts of cooperating. Mindless terror drove me to shove and kick and scratch at him, screaming as I fought to get him off of me. He pulled me away from the door, only to let me go again—and I am not ashamed to admit that I ran like my ass was on fire, putting as much distance between us as possible. I didn’t stop until I hit the far corner of the room, shivering as I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he stood there, contemplating me. I wasn’t entirely naked, but I felt stripped bare.

He flicked through the keys, found the one he was looking for, and unlocked the door. Hand resting on the knob, he looked back over his shoulder.

“I’ll give you some time to calm down. Come to terms with the fact that you’re mine now.”

I shook my head, denying it, arms wrapped around my stomach to keep the bile in. His voice softened, became almost kindly, making his next words even harder to bear.

“No knight in shining armor is going to save you. There is no escape from this place, or from me, unless I release you. The more cooperative you are, the better you will be treated. If you continue to fight me, I’ll either bind you to me or gift you to one of my number like ... what was the name of my progeny you destroyed?”

He honestly didn’t seem to recall Peter’s name. The first vampire who had bitten me. The first vampire I had killed with my own two hands. I was too frightened to raise my voice to tell him. It didn’t take him long to shrug it off as inconsequential and continue.

“No matter. I’m sure you remember what that was like. There are others like him who would be pleased to have the opportunity to break you. Choose wisely.”

With that, he walked out, the door latching shut behind him.

I scoured the room for tools to use for escape. Max must have learned his lesson from the last time he’d thought he had me under his thumb. My purse, like my clothes—save for a bra, panties, and socks—was gone.

Fucking hell, my anti-Other mind mojo charm was gone, too.

Like the last place he’d imprisoned me, the damp, musty smell to the air told me I was underground. The room was small; four plain, white walls, with no openings other than the door that had locked behind him. Maybe six long paces from one end to the other, leaving little room to move around. Cold. Not freezing. Not so terrible that I couldn’t stand it, but I was grateful for my socks. Even still, I rubbed my hands over my arms and legs periodically to warm them up. As for furniture, aside from a neatly made bed, the chair, and a chamber pot in the corner (ugh), there was nothing. No closet, no bathroom, no clothes—just the barest of essentials.

Thoughts of confinement and torture à la Christian Bale’s plight in Rescue Dawn danced in my head as I examined the furniture for small nails or staples. The thought of being stuck in this room for whatever remained of my life made me sick. There had to be a way out. I didn’t have any bobby pins in my hair and the contents of my purse weren’t available, so my options for picking the lock were limited.

It took quite awhile, but I managed to pry off a couple of staples holding the fabric to the bottom of the chair. They were big staples, but the metal was thin enough to serve for a makeshift lock pick. I tore off most of my nails in my frantic efforts to dislodge the metal bits from the wooden frame.

I took a moment to feel gratitude toward my brothers for teaching me something useful when we were hell-raising kids—and that I had thought to keep those skills honed in case of emergencies like this.

Bending the metal into shape earned me a couple nicks that were made worse by the way my hands were shaking. I had to hold my wrist steady with the other hand while I worked on the first part of the lock, which left me unable to do much about the few drops of blood trickling from my torn fingernails or to wipe away the panic-induced sweat dripping into my eyes.

What normally would’ve taken me thirty seconds to accomplish stretched out into ten or fifteen minutes. It didn’t help that the first staple broke and the second disappeared, flying away to land somewhere on the carpet.

When the lock finally turned over, I closed my eyes and said a brief prayer of thanks under my breath, along with a request to anyone listening that luck would stay with me long enough to see me safely out of this hell. Then I stuck my stinging, bleeding fingers in my mouth, because ow.

I hoped my work had gone unheard. Not knowing what might be on the other side, I slowly opened the door a crack and peered through, checking for any sign of Max or his cronies.

The small slice of the hallway I could see was empty. Emboldened, I edged out the door, taking in my surroundings.

Like the house in upstate New York where Max had once kept me trapped, the floors were a highly polished hardwood, this time accented with a gold design that glowed by the light of intricate gas lamps. I was unnerved to see that there were numbered doorways spaced evenly up and down the hall. Many were shut, but based on the uniformity and the outer locks on most of the doors I had no doubt these were all prisons identical to the one I had just escaped. There was a carpeted staircase at one end leading up, but I couldn’t see what lay at the top. At the opposite end of the hall was a set of double doors, one open a crack, light shining through the thin gap. Both options were a long way off from where I currently stood. There were faint sounds of conversation coming from behind one or more of the doors—hard to tell which—but no one was in sight.