The Villain’s Captive by Bella J.

6

The bow weigheda ton as I held it in my hand. I was scared. Cold. Even my thoughts were frozen. With the cello leaning against my chest, I stared out in front of me. It felt surreal being caught in this nightmare. It was something you’d only hear about on the news or read about in the papers. Girls being kidnapped. Girls who vanished, never to be seen or heard of again. Their families would plead with the public to come forward with any information about their disappearances. Mine wouldn’t, though. I didn’t have anyone who would search for me. No one would miss me or look for my face in a crowd. I would just stop existing.

I didn’t know which was worse—being kidnapped, or having no one to search for me. No one to rescue me. It was such a hollow feeling, being without hope. So, I did the only thing I knew to fill the emptiness. I played.

I allowed my fear, my sadness, everything I felt inside to pour out of me and onto the strings as I effortlessly guided the bow. Whenever I played, my endless search for perfection replaced the terror I felt weighing heavily in every bone. Music had always been my escape. I allowed every note, every sound to infiltrate my thoughts and possess me. It transported me far away from everything. Far away from a life I hated ever since my mother died. Being here, kidnapped and held against my will, was no different than the life I lived out there in that shitty apartment with two jobs that required me to clean other people’s messes. What was the worst that could happen to me here? What was the worst he could do?

Torture me?

Kill me?

I knew pain. I lived with it almost every single day. And death—if I were honest with myself—would be a welcome reprieve from a sad fucking existence. So, why fear him? Why fear a fate that had seemingly already been decided for me?

The low tenor slowly resounded. Angered and sad. Strong yet lost. The more I played, the more my dark thoughts subsided. This was why the world needed music. This was why God had created an angel dedicated solely to music in the heavens because He knew its importance. He knew music was food for the soul, a light when everything else felt dark.

As the final note resounded around the unfamiliar room, the music slowly fading—so did the peace that came with it. It took mere seconds for my resolve of not fearing the unknown to return with a vengeance, clawing at my insides and poisoning my blood.

I finally opened my eyes, only to find him standing in front of me, his gaze fixed on mine. But there was something different about him, his irises not as dark as they were before. He seemed…calm. Serene. Nothing like the wild beast who almost slammed my head into a concrete wall.

Although my heart pounded erratically inside my chest, I managed to lower my arm, holding the bow steadily in hand.

For the longest time, he didn’t take his eyes off me, and I didn’t dare speak. Somewhere in the distance I heard a clock, seconds ticking by—seconds that felt like hours while his presence filled the room little by little until it became increasingly difficult to breathe. But still, I refused to move. Refused to look away.

Not knowing whether I’d get the chance again, I observed every inch of him. If this weren’t a case of kidnapping and abduction, I would have considered him a handsome man. He had the type of face that could stop you in your tracks to have another look. Dark, mysterious, beautiful. Curls of midnight hair touched his thick, dark eyebrows, and his strong jaw was perfectly accentuated with a well-manicured beard that was slightly longer than your average five-day stubble.

It was difficult to decide which color his irises were since they had been a dark chestnut earlier, yet now a more cognac gold. The lighter color made his stare more intense, as if it could reach out and caress my skin as he looked at me so brashly—as if he had every right now. As if I belonged to him.

The white dress shirt he wore was pulled taut as he held his arms crossed in front of his chest, the collar unbuttoned. The longer our gazes remained, the more difficult it became not to look away. He had an unyielding presence, the kind of self-assurance that made him difficult to ignore. The kind that held you captive, whether you wanted it to or not.

Unable to handle the intensity any longer, I looked down at my bare feet, the pin of the cello placed between them.

“When you—” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “You said there’s not much you don’t know about me. What did you mean by that?”

My question was met with deafening silence, but I wanted him to talk. Earlier, his voice had sounded so familiar, and I simply had to place it. Place him. Figure out if I knew him.

I glanced up but couldn’t look directly at him. “Am I supposed to know you?”

Still, he remained silent, and I diverted my gaze toward the window. At least I knew we were still in New York. I’d lived here long enough to recognize its majestic skyline.

The sound of his heavy footsteps filled the silence, and fear squeezed at my chest, forcing me to close my eyes so I could just focus on breathing.

God, I needed so much more air.

I didn’t have to open my eyes to know he was close. I felt it—felt him as he leaned in, the warmth of his breath touching my cheek. My instinct to pull away was almost too strong to control, but my determination to not cower again proved more vital this time.

He gently brushed the hair back behind my ear, and my throat closed up, my skin ice-cold, yet I could feel perspiration bead at the back of my neck.

His hand lingered on the loose strands of my hair, and the fear he ignited had me clenching my fists, pushing my nails into the flesh of my palm.

“Charlotte,” he whispered, and my heart stopped. It fucking stopped, the ground ripped from underneath me as his voice tore through the barrier of my memory, allowing me to remember.

My eyes shot open, and I looked at him, his face inches from mine. “It was you.”

A threatening grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

“It was you, wasn’t it? That night at the theatre.”

He straightened and somehow made himself seem larger as he towered over me with a threatening stance. There was no need for him to answer or confirm. It was written on his face as he stared down at me, his expression stone.

“What is it that you want from me?” My voice quivered. How could it not? This man oozed malice and trouble with a capital T—all of it directed at me.

He reached out, and I flinched, but he merely brushed the back of his hand down the side of my neck—barely touching me. “These should heal easily enough.”

I shuddered, thinking of his hands around my throat, squeezing.

He dropped his arm and took the cello from me. “You have a remarkable talent.”

I pressed my lips together.

“Yet you’re afraid to show it to the world.” His eyes narrowed, as if he stared at a puzzle that needed solving, then stepped back, putting some welcomed distance between us. “It’s quite ironic, don’t you think?”

I stood, hoping that if I came closer to eye-level with him I’d be less intimidated. Turned out, I was wrong. It wasn’t as much his size as it was the way he looked at me that unnerved me—as if I was nothing but prey, and he a predator who craved the hunt.

“I don’t know what to think because I have no idea what’s going on here.”

“Why didn’t you accept my gift?”

“What gift?”

He stretched his arm out, moving the cello to the side, answering my question without saying a word.

“Oh, you mean the cello you left on the stage for me that night? When no one was supposed to be there, yet this gift seemingly appeared from out of nowhere?”

He cocked a brow.

“That would be reckless of me, don’t you think? Taking something that some stranger just randomly left for me.”

He smirked. “I’m no stranger, Charlotte. If you think about it,” his gaze settled on mine, “I’m the only person who knows who you really are.”

Chills coursed through every bone, a trickle of warning traveling down my neck. “You don’t know me.”

“Oh, I think I do.” His eyes darkened—focused. “One is only your true self when you have no other company but your own.”

“What?” I frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense. If I’m in no one else’s company but my own, how could you—” I stopped mid-sentence, the penny dropping like a thousand-pound wrecking ball. Fear forced me to take a step back, needing space, needing air. “You…how…”

I couldn’t get the words out because in my head it sounded so fucking absurd. Surreal, and just…sick.

My chest expanded as I forced myself to take a breath, sorting my thoughts. “You stalked me?”

The expression on his face remained stoic, and he placed the cello in the corner. “I observed you.”

“This is insane. Who the hell are you, and what do you want from me?” I blinked back tears, my survival mode urging me not to show weakness. But I was passing the point of fear and nearing the part where I’d lose my mind because none of this made any sense. This man didn’t make sense. Me being here didn’t make sense. God.

I pulled my fingers through my tangled hair. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Just let me go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can. You can open that door and let me walk out of here. Super easy.”

“It’s not that simple anymore.”

I lifted my shoulders. “What do you mean it’s not that simple anymore?”

He wiped his chin with his hand before crossing his arms. “Our situation changed.”

“Our situation? I’m sorry, but there is no fucking our.”

“You have a foul mouth for a woman.”

“I guess being kidnapped brings the worst out of a person.”

His full lips pulled into a thin line, his dark brows slanted inward while he eased closer, his stare firmly focused. He didn’t say a word, yet it felt like he was speaking volumes through his gaze alone—telling tales of darkness and sin, violence and menace.

“You shouldn’t have invaded my privacy like that.” It was one of those uncomfortable moments when words would just pop out of your mouth.

“There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t have done.”

“You had no right.”

He smirked. “Of course I didn’t.” Another step, and he came closer, sucking all the air out of the room as he closed the distance between us.

My back hit the wall, and I sucked in a breath, realizing I was trapped.

The heart of the prey beating rapidly under the predatory gaze of the hunter.

Brown irises gleamed with something primal as his gaze knotted with mine, and my insides coiled tight, my body rigid. The weight of his presence pinned me against the wall, and I couldn’t fucking move. The moment, the way he stared at me, it was just too goddamn intense, like it held every muscle captive.

“I won’t make this easy for you.” I lifted my chin, determined to put on a convincing show of bravery, which could either work in my favor or potentially backfire by increasing the thrill of the hunt for this man.

A mischievous smirk curled at the corner of his lips, and I shuddered as he placed a palm against the wall, right above my shoulder. His pointed gaze drifted from my eyes to my lips, paused, and looked back up. There was something about staring into those cognac swirls, his irises giving me a glimpse of a silent devilry that lurked within. A certain magnetism that baited me, lured me in by seducing my fear and turning it into curiosity.

“Tell me,” he urged, inching forward. “What do you think I’ll demand?”

“I don’t know.” I rushed my answer. “But whatever it is, I’m sure you don’t have my best interest at heart.”

He licked his lips, amusement painted across his every feature. For what felt like eons, we stood there in silence, our gazes locked as a silent war raged. My heart beat so fast, I was afraid he’d hear it, see the vein pulsing in my neck. But this was different than before. When he came in here the first time, I was overcome with fear, my mind was too scattered and drowning in adrenaline, rendering me incapable of thinking straight. Right now, though, there was this sliver of courage that peeked through the panic, allowing me to see past the fear.

The rich scent of musk blended with cardamom’s earthy-sweet possessed the air. There was a sensual sway in the way he smelled, a hidden influence that strengthened his presence—a presence that was already hard to ignore.

His gaze dropped, but this time lower, staring at my throat as he brought his arm down, brushing a fingertip down the side of my neck.

“You almost killed me.” I brought my hand up to my throat, reminded of what it felt like to have the air choked from my lungs.

His smile was sardonic. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”

“Is that a threat?

“Just a fact.”

“So, you don’t plan on killing me, then?”

A half-hearted laugh left his lips, clearly the only answer he’d give to my question. He stepped back, pulling a hand through his midnight curls. “It’s almost dinnertime. I would have offered you the option of eating with me at the dining table,” he narrowed his eyes, “but I have a feeling you won’t…behave appropriately.”

“If by appropriately you mean not try to run and scream for help, then you’re right.”

He nodded. Still smiling. “I’ll bring dinner to you, then.” He turned, and I hastily stepped forward.

“What is your name?”

He stilled and glanced back.

“The least you can do is tell me your name.”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” He turned to face me. “I don’t owe you anything. There is no ‘least’ I can do for you. You’d be smart to remember that.” There were a thousand threats that laced his words, causing me to bite my tongue.

“I don’t…I didn’t—”

“Elijah.”

His gaze was unsettling as it reached for me all the way across the room. “My name is Elijah.”

I sucked on my bottom lip, shifting from one leg to the other. Such a beautiful name for a kidnapper. What a contradiction.

“Well, I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you…Elijah.”

“Yeah,” he turned his back on me, “wish I could have said the same about you…Charlotte Leigh Moore.”