Her Prisoner Ch. 1

His hair was damp, his right cheek pressed into a cold floor that felt uneven. The movement from breathing hurt. Trying to open his eyes - little splinters of white pain jabbed his eyes, and he groaned, quickly shutting his eyes again. He thought he might sit up, and discovered his hands were tied behind his back. Something wide and thick around his wrists. He shivered; it was cold in the room, wherever he was, and his jacket was gone.

Where was here?

Slowly, slowly, he tried one eye, and saw floor in the dim light; glanced up a little and saw a deeper darkness. He rolled onto his right side, feeling sick with dizziness. His head hurt. He had to get up. Had to - the others would be searching for him, worried. Where was his jacket?

Another groan. He moved his legs, heard a clink, felt something pulling at his left ankle. He dug the toe of his boot into the uneven floor and tugged back; something held firm. Slow twisting and wriggling and he could just see, in the dimness, a - chain? From his ankle? to some thick ring in the floor.

It was ridiculous. The worst parody of a horror movie dungeon. If his head didn't hurt, he would have laughed. Donovan would laugh. Donny would make a joke about the whole thing. Where was Donny?

Steps, echoing. He tried to turn onto his left side, groaning again when he lay on his left side and his head touched the floor. Clenching his teeth against pain, he shut his eyes, feeling sick. The steps drew closer, two sets? Three? He waited, lying there, swimming in pain and cold, realizing something was wrong with his head. And where was Donny? And the others? Tamran would be pissed. He would yell about the delay - the delay of - of what? Something important.

A hand on his hair suddenly, grabbing a fistful, jerking him up so that he was suddenly on his knees, the chain tugging at his left ankle, his arms struggling to brace himself at the sudden movement, but unable to do so because of something holding them. A moan, his eyes closed, feeling dizzier. His head was pulled back further; he opened his eyes, slowly, blinking at shapes and at the light overhead which suddenly swung into view. Blinded for the moment, his eyes tearing at the light after such dimness, he struggled to stay on his knees and not fall back.

The hand jerked his head, tightened, pulled his head back so that he was staring at the ceiling again. He waited.

Something on his throat, cold, sharp. He was beginning to shiver from the cold which was eating into him, little spasms that he tried to control. The jacket...the jacket would have been warm. A knife danced before his eyes.

"Nicholas. So kind of you to come here, to provide me with entertainment," said a deep voice. A face near his, a man. He knew the man - no? he had seen the face, though. Somewhere...

A woman's laugh, low, delighted. Nicholas shivered more, his balance swinging by the man who held his hair in such a grip.

"He's beautiful, Dmitri. You didn't tell me he was so lovely," said the woman. The man who had spoken to Nicholas laughed. A woman, stepping closer into the light, into his sight, leaning over him. A hand, stroking his cheek, touching the left side of his head...

Nicholas groaned, turning his head. A sharp slap across his face, a taste of copper pennies in his mouth from blood. It tickled down his chin. He swallowed, his breath coming in little shudders because he was so cold, his head hurt so.

"Never turn from me," said the woman. The hand came back, stroking his jaw with one finger, down his throat. Dmitri moved the knife back before Nicholas' eyes.

"You shouldn't get too close, Selena," he said. "He's still dangerous."

Selena laughed. "He's dangerous? My dear - I am dangerous."

Dmitri waved the knife again, touching the tip of it to Nicholas' cheek. "It's time for us to begin. I want to know what they've done with my files." He leaned close to Nicholas, the knife moving down the throat, pricking at the collar bone. "Tell me where you took the files."

Nicholas blinked, shaking his head. Files? An image, Nicholas and another man with dark hair, at a computer while the room was dark, whispering, excited. A noise...climbing out the window into bitter cold and ice chipping at their skin from the harsh wind, more darkness, and running...

Another smack across his mouth, his head jerking back against the hand that was still there. He would have fallen if the hand had not held him up by his hair.

"Tell me!" shouted Dmitri. "Don't play me for a fool, boy!" Another smack, another. Blood, he could feel it trickling down his mouth from both corners, down his neck. His eyes rolled, blurring, and he groaned.

"He'll never tell you, love," said Selena. Her hand again, dabbing at Nicholas' mouth.

"I'll use drugs."

She shook her head, visible even in the dimness. "No. They've been trained. He's been trained to resist that. He'll never tell you."

"Then I'll kill him."

A low chuckle from the woman, and somehow, that was more terrifying than Dmitri discussing the use of drugs.

"You should have faith, my love," she said. Soft clicking of heels on the hard floor as she moved about. "He really is beautiful, you know," she said softly. She touched Nicholas' hair. "It's like pale gold. I want him."

"You - WANT him? I don't have time for your games, Selena. I need those files. If Caleb learns - "

"Caleb won't learn. And give me the boy for three days. That's all I ask, Dmitri, three days. If I can't get him to talk in three days, you can do whatever you want to with him." Her hand again, moving down his chest, exploring. Nicholas shuddered, feeling - used.

A long pause, Nicholas breathing harshly as his body jerked in little spasms from the cold and Selena's hand beneath his shirt, touching, moving, as though she had the right. He twisted away from it, only to feel her suddenly grasp a nipple and twist it; it hurt. "uhhh" he said, his shoulders tensing.

"I said - never turn from me." The hand again, groping, and he clenched his teeth, not moving. "Good," she said, approving.

"All right," said Dmitri, sighing. "Three days. No more."

Sounds of steps, one set, moving away. Dmitri.

"Take him to my rooms. Have him bathed, have him changed. You know what I like," said Selena. A gruff "uh" behind Nicholas was the only answer.

The guard released Nicholas' hair, letting him flop hard onto the floor. Again Nicholas felt dizzy, the darkness moving in, pushing on him...Donny? What happened to Donny? Tamran...was gonna be...so pissed...so...

Blackness.

And slow brightness, growing. This time, something soft under his cheek. Nicholas moved his arms, slowly - free? Some crazy dream. He turned his head, opening his eyes, slowly, pulling himself onto his forearms...

A room he had never seen, lying on pale creamy carpet. A fireplace, fire crackling, which would feel good. He was still cold. He moved towards, choking as something around his throat snatched him back.

His hand moved up, touching his throat, feeling until his fingers told him he wore some sort of collar, no buckle that he could locate, and a link at the front. A chain in the link, and from there it captured him, pining him to the floor. He could crouch, or kneel, but not stand. He grabbed the ring in the floor, tugging it with both hands, bracing his foot against it -

His foot! He blinked. Those weren't his boots! The chain dropped from his hands as he wildly began looking at his clothes.

"Merdé," he muttered. "I look like something from a leather bar!" Black leather boots to his calves, beneath black leather pants, snug and soft, a belt with small silver chains on each hip. No shirt. Black leather cuffs around each wrist, no sign of a latch or buckle. He held up one wrist to the light - soldered on? How long had he been unconscious? He touched his face, winced as his fingers touch his mouth; not long, then. He remembered the slaps, and blue eyes darkened with anger. He moved his hand up, touching the left side of his head, and felt almost sick at the soreness, lingering pain. A bandage there, square. He moved closer to the fire, shivering, and glanced at a polished metal basket. He could make out a bruise on his right chin, see dark circles beneath his eyes, the square bandage on his head.

He sat, his legs crossed, holding his head, eyes closed. He was a little warmer closer to the fire, but his back was cold now. He thought - of Donny, yelling, of both of them running from the streets and into a field, running until they were gasping with freezing air cutting their lungs. Someone yelling - Donny telling him they were going to make it...a loud crack, and pain in his head, falling, snow in his mouth. Someone tugging at him, trying to make him stand, and he couldn't move. He felt so sick, his head had hurt so much. Someone at his jacket, searching. A voice - "I'll be back. I promise you, I'll be back. Don't tell them anything." Leaving, leaving him - no! come back! And more voices, steps crunching in the snow, yelling, hands grabbing him, rolling him over, checking his jacket, pulling it off, taking him somewhere - to here?

He looked up again, rubbing his hands on his arms, crouching. The fire had begun to die, and there was no wood to add to it. Again, he grabbed the chain that tied his neck, and him, to the floor, to this room. He tugged, bracing the boot against the link, pulling.

"Ah ah ah!" said a voice cheerfully. What was her name? Selena?

Nicholas looked up, still holding the chain. "Who are you?" he asked. His voice seemed raspy.

She smiled. She was tall, voluptuous, wearing a red satin sleeveless gown, the neckline cut in a Mandarin style, dark blond hair pulled back in a bun. Two lacquered chopsticks were through the bun, matching earrings. Her nails were blood red. She moved slowly, motioning at a woman who was silent beside her; the woman skittered away, returning with a warm fur, wrapping it around Selena's shoulders.

"Are you cold?" she asked politely, sitting in a chair near the fire.

"Who are you?" he repeated.

"I do love your accent. French? But just a hint. Perhaps you left France as a child?" she continued, as though they were at a party.

Nicholas hated crouching on the floor in front of her. He wanted to stand; he was cold.

"I said - WHO ARE YOU?" he snapped.

The smile left her face, and she snapped her fingers. A huge man, silent, came forward quickly, grabbing Nicholas' chain in one hand, and his left wrist in the other, twisting it up behind his back until he went to the floor. The other hand twisted the chain, then jerked at the collar. Something inside the collar pulled, constricted, closing on his throat, cutting off his air...Nicholas twisted, bucking against the man, gasping for air and against the pain in his arm, in his head. He pushed against the floor with his right boot, trying to get up, to get some leverage against the man, until he began to see black dots.

Selena knelt on the floor, nodding at the man who held Nicholas. The pressure on his throat eased; he panted, still ground into the floor by the hand that was cruelly twisting his arm up his back. Selena touched his hair tenderly, smiling.

"My poor sweet Nicholas. It's not who I am. It's who YOU are."

Nicholas frowned, gasping as his arm was jerked again.

Selena smoothed his hair. "Poor boy. It hurts, doesn't it? I'm afraid I am going to hurt you a lot in the next few days." The hand continued, stroking his hair, while the man behind him was making Nicholas' arm turn numb. Selena nodded, and Nicholas was pulled to his knees, his left arm still behind him, the chain still held by the guard.

Selena stood, smiling pleasantly. It was more chilling than the room. She paced, talking.

"Dear Nicholas. What fun we will have together! And you want to know who I am. You may only call me ma'am. Or Mistress. Whichever you prefer. I'm afraid that's all the choice you will have in things now. As to who you are - " she turned, a finger smoothing back a hair into her bun, smiling at him.

"Why Nicholas. You are my prisoner."