Stockholm Syndrome (3 page)

He sensed the exact moment when she became aware of him and
her steps quickened. Close enough to see she’d removed the ridiculous veil, he
saw her inky-black hair hanging in waves down her back. She was small but fast,
running at full speed now, her feet skimming the bricks without seeming to
touch them. He pounded after her, so close, but when he reached for her, she
seemed to find an extra burst of strength and surged ahead of his grasping
fingers. She made no sound as she ran, and he guessed she focused all her
energy on staying ahead of him. He also realized that she was nearing the edge
of the parkland. If she didn’t slow down, she’d run right out of the campus
grounds, disqualifying herself from the game. Catching her became the most
important thing in Mason’s life at that moment. His failure would be absolute
if she got away.

At that moment, with escape in sight—a busy street looming
beyond one final bend in the path—she glanced back over her shoulder. In his
hyperalert state, he saw and heard her trainer scrape against a protruding
brick in the wet pathway. She stumbled forward five more paces, arms flailing,
trying to regain her balance, as he drew level with her. His arms swept ’round
her torso as she fell, capturing her and saving her in one move, and she landed
gently on her knees.

Reaching into his pocket for the ball gag, he forced it into
her gaping mouth, cutting off her scream. Holding it in place with the palm of
his hand plastered across her face and the back of her neck wedged against his
thigh, he hooked the strap over her head with the other hand and pulled it
tight.

He paused and considered his next move. She would scream the
moment he took his hand away from her mouth, he knew it. Ball gags were great
for fun, but not for muffling sound, and that’s why he liked them—the
desperate, inarticulate noises that gagged women made when he pleasured them
were some of his favorite sex sounds. He had every intention of hearing this
girl scream, but not now, not here, close to the public road. He decided to
settle for good old-fashioned intimidation. After all, she would expect him to
act like the bad guy.

He tightened his grip, digging his fingers into the soft
skin of her face, but taking care to stop short of bruising her.

“Don’t you dare make a noise.” His voice was so hoarse and
gravelly, he startled himself. “If you scream, it will be the last sound you
ever make, do you understand?” He considered this a bit melodramatic, but what
the hell—nobody else was watching their performance.

He turned her face to the side so he could see her properly.
Her eyes rolled up to peer at him, the whites startling in the dim glow of one
of the walkway lights. She looked quite frightened, the little drama queen. And
she was a beauty too! His hand covered most of her face, but her eyes were
large, her nose delicate, and her skin pale and flawless.

“Do you understand?” he repeated. “Not a sound!”

She gave a jerky little nod, all she could manage with his
firm grip on her face.

***

Disbelief overwhelmed Evelyn. This couldn’t possibly be
happening. Shock immobilized her, and all her useless muscles could do was shake.
The adrenaline that had given her feet wings just moments ago now surged
through her veins, futile, drowning out her ability to think. The man’s huge
hand crushed her face, partially obstructing her nostrils, and she breathed in
panicked gasps, unable to draw enough air into her desperately straining lungs.
He’d rammed something into her mouth, and now as he spoke to her, his voice
hoarse and terrifying, she strained to look up at him.

Oh god, he was huge…a hulking black shape looming over her.
A sinister mask concealed half his face and the top, sides, and back of his
head; only his eyes glittered through the holes. Chilling waves of panic washed
over her and darkness swirled across her vision. The only thing that kept her
from passing out was the thought that if she did, she’d be utterly at his
mercy.

What had he said? Oh yes, if she screamed, it would be the
last sound she’d ever make—what did he mean by that? Would he kill her if she
screamed? Even if she dared test him, even if she could force her petrified
body to move, to claw desperately for freedom, his grip was too strong. She
nodded, choking back a sob of fear.

The hand withdrew from her face. Relieved, she gulped in
huge breaths of air around the obstruction in her mouth.

The man put his hands under her arms and lifted her gently
to her feet like a child. She lost her balance and reflexively grabbed his
forearms to stop herself crashing to the bricks then snatched her hands away,
appalled that she had touched him. The corded muscles under his skin felt as
hard as steel. He held on to her arm with one strong hand, supporting her, but
she had no illusions—that grip was to stop her making another run for freedom.

He slipped a twist of rope over her hand, and with
astonishing deftness and speed, tied her wrists together in front of her,
looping the rope around and between them, several times. Her arms and legs felt
weak and shaky, and she wondered if it was from shock, or just plain fear.

He was speaking to her again.

“Will you walk, or must I carry you? I’m warning you, it’s
quite far. It will hurt to bounce over my shoulder all the way.”

She had no doubt that he could carry her for miles, for she
was half his size, but if he carried her, she would have no opportunity to
escape.

“Aawk,” she croaked around the foul-tasting thing in her
mouth. What the hell was it? Saliva ran down her chin from the corners of her
lips and she twisted her head around to wipe it on her shoulder.

“Good choice. Get moving!” He pushed her along the path,
back in the direction she had come from, away from the road and her hopes of
freedom. He walked close to her, to the side and a little behind, holding on to
her upper arm with his nearest hand. With his other hand, he loosened his mask
and pulled it off. She could see his movements out of the corner of her eye,
but she didn’t dare turn to look at him even though she was intensely curious.

Evelyn walked as slowly as she could, in no hurry to reach
wherever he was taking her, hoping that something, anything, might offer her a
chance to run away again. He didn’t object to the slow pace, seeming strangely
relaxed as he ambled along, his unrelenting grip on her arm the only sign of
his vigilance.

He guided her back past the sports fields and around the
side of the main building toward the residences. As they drew closer, she heard
the sounds of other people around—screams and laughter. It sounded like a rowdy
party. How very strange that he was heading closer to the noise. Why wasn’t he
leading her off to some dark and lonely corner to do whatever wicked deed he
had in mind? The sounds of revelry soothed her slightly. She wasn’t all alone
with him, and she reasoned that he wouldn’t do anything too terrible in such
close proximity to other people. The adrenaline had receded somewhat during the
walk and her mind was starting up again. If only she could speak to him, but
his threat and the thing in her mouth made that impossible for now. She
breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing pulse.

Without warning, he stopped, jerking her to a halt. He took
some black fabric from his pocket and shook it out. It looked like a bag, the
open end loosely gathered by elastic. Before she could move, he stretched it
wide and popped it over her head. Just before it descended, she caught a
fleeting glimpse of a startlingly handsome face, shaggy dark hair, and pale
eyes that flashed in the dim light. Deprived of sight, she reeled away, almost
falling again before he caught her.

This time he swept her up, but not to sling her over his
shoulder, as he had threatened. He cradled her in his arms like a baby…or a
lover. She squirmed and kicked, and cried out around her gag, and he bounced
her in his arms as if he was going to drop her.

“Quiet, little drama queen, or I will punish you!”

Something about the way he said it gave her pause. There was
a sensuous quality to his rough voice and suddenly she knew, beyond any shadow
of doubt, what he intended to do to her. Under the hood, she froze, eyes
closed, hardly breathing. Panic lapped at the edges of her mind, but there was
something else too. Something dark and shameful, and more dangerous than he
could ever be. She pushed at him with all her might. He simply crushed her
against his massive chest, and strode off as if her weight meant nothing to him
at all.

Even through her fear, she sensed him enter a building and
mount a staircase. She heard voices and activity nearby, and other strange
sounds. How her captor escaped detection, she could not imagine, but nobody
stopped him to demand to know why he was carrying a woman with a bag over her
head and bound wrists, so he must have avoided any encounters. The hood
confused her, the thin fabric allowing a hint of light and shadow to pass
through while distorting sound so that the voices seemed much closer, as if
they were in the same room. The elastic at the bottom around her neck was not
tight at all, but just enough to keep the hood hooked under her chin to prevent
it from sliding off. Light and air came in from the bottom with every step that
he took, and his scent teased her nostrils—a fresh, spicy, masculine aroma. It
distracted her momentarily and, grateful when she regained some measure of
control over her emotions, she breathed it in deeply.

The stairs went on for a long while then he made his way
along an equally lengthy passage. He shuffled her in his powerful arms,
changing his grip to unlock a door. Moments later he dumped her unceremoniously
onto a bed.

She scooted away from him, bumping her head on a hard
surface. The bed must have been against a wall. The door closed softly, and
clicked as he locked it. She scrambled around, trying to get into a sitting
position without the help of her hands. Since he wasn’t right next to her,
holding on to her, it seemed a good opportunity to try screaming. Her first
attempt was little more than a croak, but then her voice broke free in a
piercing shriek.

He chuckled. “You can scream now, little drama queen. Nobody
will mind.”

As soon as he said that, she stopped. What was the point? It
obviously wouldn’t do any good, or he wouldn’t think it so amusing.

“Much better.” His tone softer, approving. “I’d rather you
scream from what I do to you. That’s a sound I’d like to hear.”

Oh god, what did he mean? But she knew. Through her despair,
she felt a strange throbbing between her thighs. Appalled at her body’s
betrayal, she realized her pussy was wet.

She grabbed at the hood and started to drag it upward, but
he caught her hands.

“Oh no you don’t! That stays on until I say you can take it
off. You’re going to feel so much more if you can’t see.”

He raised her arms over her head as he spoke, and pulled up
her loose-fitting t-shirt, carefully easing it over her head without removing
the hood, and leaving it bunched around her tied hands.

“Oh, fuck, yeah!”

Evelyn recalled in dismay that she hadn’t bothered to put on
a bra under her baggy sleeping shirt. Men loved her breasts. She was a D-cup,
and on her small frame they looked even bigger. Under the hood, her face burned
with humiliation at the thought of this rough stranger’s eyes on her, and her
nipples bunched into tight, painful peaks. Her pussy contracted in waves and
lubricated again.

He pushed her arms back, forcing her to lie down again. From
the tugging at her bonds, she surmised that he was tying her hands to
something, probably the headboard.

His hands closed over her breasts with a gentle squeeze. Icy
sweat covered her body, and she gasped at the branding heat of his palms on her
clammy skin. She hadn’t realized how chilled she was, and for a moment, because
of the warmth, his touch seemed intensely pleasurable. Then she recoiled and
writhed on the bed, trying to evade his seeking fingers.

He laughed and withdrew. “You’re right, little drama queen.
Let’s get you out of these clothes before we really start to play.”

He unzipped her jeans then moved to the foot of the bed to
pull off her shoes. As he dragged the jeans off her legs, he laughed as she
shrieked again and kicked out wildly, but he was too strong, and they slithered
down all too easily. As her feet cleared the fabric, she struck out viciously
and connected with warm, solid flesh.

“Goddamn it, you little hellcat!” he howled. “The ‘no
hurting’ rule works both ways! I wasn’t going to tie your legs, but I sure as
hell will now.”

She heard him toss her jeans across the room with an impatient
grunt, and she winced at the thunk as they landed. That was her mobile in the
back pocket, slamming into tiles, by the sound of it. She wondered if it had
survived.

Then his hands were back on her skin, holding down her right
leg and looping rope ’round her ankle, layer after layer. She fought, strained,
and jerked, but he overpowered her easily, chuckling at her efforts and
securing both ankles to the bed with her legs splayed wide. Exhausted from
struggling and overwhelming emotions, she lay limply within her bonds.

“That’s better. You’re quite a sight, little drama queen.
We’re almost ready to begin.”

He drew away and moved around the room. It sounded as if he
was opening cupboards and drawers in a kitchen, looking for something. Then he
returned to the side of the bed.

“Now keep still. I’m holding a very sharp knife here.”

She froze, but he lifted the sides of her panties away from
her hips and sliced through the lacy fabric then pulled it away from her body,
leaving her naked.

She heard him undressing, shuffling around the bed. Panic
engulfed her. Why, oh why, was this happening to her?

The mattress sank under his weight as he climbed onto the
bed next to her. The most appalling sense of vulnerability and helplessness
swept over her. She twisted away from him and strained to close her legs, but
her bonds had little give. Then his body pressed all along her right side, and
he eased his leg under hers. Heat radiated from him like a fever. Shaking again
from chill and shock, she fought the irrational urge to curve into him and mold
against his torrid skin.