Pike (The Pawn Duet #1) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,36

I’m afraid of you.

Pike walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders. “I need you to do something for me.” His tone isn’t a demand or an order. “Close your eyes.” It’s a soft request.

“I don’t know what kind of sick––”

“Just close your eyes. It’s an experiment to see how this works.”

Eager to get whatever this is over with and even more eager to see what exactly whatever this is and get back to planning my escape, I comply and close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

What he says isn’t nearly what I expect. “What does my kitchen look like?”

“What?” I ask, my eyes springing back open.

His face is serious, his lips in a straight line. “Close your eyes,” he says, this time with a little more demand in his voice.

I close them again and he repeats his question. “What does my kitchen look like? In detail.”

I scrunch my nose. “Ugly.”

His fingers tighten on my shoulders. “Tell me how you see it right now. From your memory.”

This request is an easy one for me. It always has been. Just as easy as looking at a picture in your hands and rattling off what you see. I give him every detail complete with faded tassel curtains over the small window and a description of every chip and scrape on the butcher block counter to the crooked bars over the outside of the window. “At least, they’re ornate bars and have a little bit of charm. The fleur de lis design in metal of what is basically a cage over your window is a nice touch as far as decorative cages go. But do bars over windows really need to be decorative? It’s kind of an oxymoron if you ask me. Like flower boxes on the top of a pile at the garbage dump.”

For a few seconds, there’s only silence. I open my eyes to find Pike staring at me with bewilderment in his eyes.

“Did I pass or fail?” I ask, not knowing what the hypothesis of this experiment was to begin with.

Pike’s face returns to cold and emotionless. “Both.”

His hands slide from my shoulders, down my arms then around my waist, pulling me tightly against his chest. He drops his hands to the tops of my thighs then higher, kneading my ass. “What are you doing?” I whisper, feeling my body burning with embarrassment and shock and fucking biology.

His lips brush my earlobe. A full body shiver rakes over my skin.

Pike takes one of his hands off my ass and runs his knuckles down the goosebumps on my forearm. The other hand moves off my ass to the small of my back, pushing up the back of my shirt. I’m as still as a statue.

“The question is, Mic, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He drops his hand from my back and the other grabs my forearm tightly. “You won’t be needing this.” He shoves my arm away with look of disgust twisting his otherwise beautiful face.

He steps away, and my gaze drops to his hand.

A hand that’s now holding my knife.

The fucking cameras.

A Kidnapper’s Commandments

THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO CARING FOR YOUR CAPTIVE

By Samuel Motherfucking Clearwater

Have you found yourself in the position of having to torture and care for an unwilling captive? Are you planning on obtaining an unwilling captive in the near future? Or maybe, you’re just daydreaming about the day when you’ll have an unwilling captive of your very own.

Well then, these guidelines are for you.

Having been both an abductor and a captive, I’ve designed these foolproof guidelines to ensure a successful experience for the abductor (you) while keeping in mind the needs of the unfortunate fuck in your grasp.

I’m not just the president, folks. I’m also a motherfucking member.

The Guidelines

*Do not abandon your captive. One other person besides the abductor (you) must be aware of your captive’s whereabouts at all times in the unlikely case of the abductor's untimely demise. And remember, a lonely captive is an uncooperative captive. They’re already receiving your torture. Now, give them the gift of your time.

*Allow your captive some freedom. How, you ask? House arrest bracelets with built-in explosives are a good way to keep your captive terrified of becoming human abstract art while allowing them a wee bit of exercise. It’s good practice to get the blood flowing before you get their blood flowing. Also, the mind-fuck alone the captive will experience while questioning said restricted freedom is motherfucking priceless.

*Wounds must not be allowed to fester.