Capture Me: The Complete Trilogy

Chapter 15

15Yulia

Over the next week, Lucas and I settle into an uneasy routine. He has s*x with me every chance he gets—which is at least a couple of times at night and once during the day—and we eat all of our meals together in the kitchen. The rest of the time I spend watching TV while tied to the chair, or sleeping cuffed at Lucas’s side.

“Do you think it would be possible for me to read something?” I ask after two days of binging on TV shows. “I love books, and I miss reading them.”

“What kind of books?” Lucas appears unusually interested.

“All kinds,” I answer honestly. “Romance, thrillers, science fiction, nonfiction. I’m not picky—I just love the feel of a book in my hands.”

“All right,” he concedes, and the next day, he takes me to a small room next to the bedroom. Like the rest of his home, it’s sparsely furnished. However, it’s much cozier, boasting a desk, three tall bookshelves filled with books, and a plush armchair next to a bay window that faces the forest.

“Is this your library?” I ask, surprised. I’ve always thought of my captor as a soldier, someone more interested in guns than books. It’s easier to imagine Lucas wielding a machete than peacefully reading in this room.

“Of course it’s mine.” Leaning against the door frame, he gives me an amused look. “Who else’s would it be?”

“And you’ve read all of these?” I approach the shelves, studying the titles. There must be hundreds of books there, many of them mysteries and thrillers. I also see a number of biographies and nonfiction works that range from popular science to finance.

“Most of them,” Lucas replies. “I tend to order in bulk, so I always have something new to read when I have downtime.”

“I see.” I don’t know why I’m so shocked to discover this aspect of him. I’ve always suspected that Lucas is keenly intelligent, but somehow I’ve let myself buy into the stereotype of a hardened mercenary, a man whose life revolves around weapons and fighting. The fact that he went straight from high school to the Navy only added to that impression.

I underestimated my opponent, and I need to be careful not to do that again.

Stopping in front of the bay window, I turn to look at him. “When did you manage to acquire all these books?” I ask. “I thought you spent a few years on the run after you left the Navy.”

Lucas’s gaze hardens for a second, but then he nods. “Yes, I did. I keep forgetting how much you know about me.” He crosses the room to stand in front of me. “I got most of these books within the past year, after Esguerra decided we should make this compound our permanent home. Before that, we were traveling all over the world, so I kept a few dozen of my favorites in storage. And before that, I didn’t own many belongings at all—made it easier to move around.”

“But that’s not what you want anymore,” I guess, studying him. “You want to own things, to have a home.”

He stares at me, then lets out a bark of laughter. “I suppose. I never thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess I got a little tired of never sleeping in the same bed twice. And owning things?” His voice deepens as his gaze travels over me. “Yeah, there’s something to that. I like having things I can call my own.”

My cheeks heat up as I look away, pretending I’m interested in the view outside the bay window. Lucas’s extreme possessiveness hasn’t escaped my notice. I know my captor believes he owns me, and for all intents and purposes, he does. He controls every aspect of my life: what I eat, when I sleep, what I wear, even when I go to the bathroom. When I’m not tied up, I’m with him, and for much of that time, we’re in bed, where he does whatever he pleases with me.

If I didn’t want him as intensely as he wants me, it would be hell.

“Yulia…” Lucas’s voice holds a familiar heated note as he steps behind me. His big hand gathers my hair to move it to one side, exposing my neck. Leaning down, he kisses the underside of my ear and slides his free hand under the man’s shirt I’m wearing as a dress. Delving between my legs, he finds my s*x, and I can’t suppress a moan as he penetrates me with two fingers, stretching me for his possession.

And for the next hour, as Lucas f***s me bent over the arm of the chair, books are the furthest thing from our minds.

After that time in the library, the quality and variety of my entertainment improves. Instead of watching TV all day, I spend a portion of my alone time reading by the bay window. I also gain the concession of a more comfortable seat and having my hands handcuffed in the front—that way, I can actually hold and read a book. Every morning after breakfast, Lucas secures me to the armchair with ropes, leaving my handcuffed hands just enough range to turn the pages, and I read there until lunch, at which point he comes to feed me and let me stretch my legs.

“You know, I’m not a dog who uses the bathroom on a schedule,” I dare to complain one day. “What if I really have to go, and you’re not home?”

To my relief, he doesn’t point out how spoiled I’ve become. Instead, later that day, he gives me a small device that resembles an old-fashioned pager.

“If you press this button, I’ll get a text,” he explains. “And if I can, I’ll come to you. Or send someone else to help you.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling genuinely grateful and increasingly hopeful.

Maybe one day he really will let me go, or at least give me enough freedom to enable my escape.

Of course, I know I can’t rely on that. Every day, Lucas spends a portion of the mealtimes interrogating me, and even though I’ve successfully stonewalled him thus far, I’m afraid he’ll eventually lose patience and resort to more surefire methods of extracting information.

It hasn’t been that long, and I can already feel his frustration growing.

“You don’t owe them a damn thing,” he says furiously when I refuse to talk about the agency for the fifth time. “They took you when you were a f*****g child. What kind of bastards send a sixteen-year-old to a corrupt city like Moscow and tell her to sleep her way to government secrets? f**k, Yulia”—he slaps his palm on the table—“how can you be loyal to those motherfuckers?”

How, indeed. I want to scream at him, tell him that he doesn’t understand anything, but I remain silent, looking down at my plate. There’s nothing I can say that won’t expose Misha to danger and ruin his life. My loyalty is not to Obenko, the agency, or even Ukraine.

It’s to my brother—the only family I have left.

To my relief, Lucas lets my non-response slide, ultimately changing the topic to the plot of a post-apocalyptic thriller I read that day. We discuss it in great detail, as we frequently do with books and movies, and we both agree that the author did a good job of explaining why the scientists couldn’t prevent the Gray Goo from taking over the world. The meal concludes on an amicable note, but my determination to escape is reinforced.

Eventually, Lucas will get fed up with my silence, and I don’t want to be around when he does.