Capture Me: The Complete Trilogy

Chapter 16

16Yulia

As I plan my escape, I realize that I’m faced with three major obstacles: the fact that I’m tied up when Lucas is not around, the military-level security of the compound, and Lucas himself. Any of those three would be enough to contain me, but when all three are combined, escape is all but impossible.

On the surface, it shouldn’t be difficult. When Lucas is home, he usually keeps me untied, letting me eat at the table and even do a few stretches and body-weight exercises to keep fit. However, he always keeps a watchful eye on me during those times, and I know I won’t win in a physical battle with him. Even if I managed to grab a knife, he’d probably wrestle it away from me before I could inflict a serious injury. A gun would be a different matter, but I haven’t seen anything more deadly than a kitchen knife inside the house. I know Lucas usually carries weapons—I saw him with an assault rifle that first day—but he must leave them in the car or some other location outside.

Contrary to appearances, I’m more likely to escape when he’s not around.

To that end, every time Lucas ties me up, I test the rope to see if he left some slack in it, and every time, I discover he didn’t. The bonds are always just tight enough to keep me restrained without cutting off my circulation. I don’t want to leave betraying marks on my skin, so I don’t tug at the rope too hard. Even if I managed to get free, I’d still need to get past guard towers and through a jungle patrolled by Esguerra’s men and high-tech drones—assuming Lucas didn’t catch me before I got that far.

For me to stand a chance, I need my captor far away, and I need to know the patrol schedule.

I begin by trying to get the latter out of Lucas when we’re lying in bed, relaxed and satisfied after a lengthy s*x session.

“How did you get this?” I ask as I trace my fingers over a bruise on his ribcage. “The compound wasn’t attacked, was it?”

My concern is only partially feigned; the idea of Lucas getting hurt in any way bothers me. He seems invulnerable, every inch of his body packed with hard muscle, but I know that won’t save him from a bomb or a gun. In his line of work, life expectancy is much shorter than average—a fact that makes me sick with worry when I dwell on it too much.

“No, nobody would attack the compound,” Lucas says, a smile curving his lips. “I got this bruise in training, that’s all.”

“I see.” Acting on some irrational impulse, I press a small kiss to the injured area before looking up to meet his gaze. “Why wouldn’t someone attack the compound? Doesn’t your boss have a lot of enemies?”

“Oh, he does.” Lucas’s eyes darken as he slides his hand into my hair and guides me lower, toward his stomach. “But they would be suicidal to come here. The security is too tight. And now”—he pushes my head toward his rising erection—“I want something else that’s tight.”

Hiding my disappointment, I close my lips around his c**k and apply the strong suction he likes.

Lucas is too smart to give me the security details I need—which means I’ll have to figure out something else.

As the days drag on without me getting any closer to a viable escape plan, I console myself with the knowledge that I’m using the time to recover from my ordeal at the Russian prison and rebuild my strength. Between sitting most of the day and consuming every bite of food—no matter how boring—Lucas puts in front of me, I’m steadily putting on weight, my body regaining the curves it lost during my weeks of near-starvation. By the time I’ve been in Lucas’s house nine days, I’m no longer a skeleton—and I’m desperate for something other than sandwiches and cold cereal with milk.

“You know, you seriously should let me try cooking,” I say after yet another sandwich for lunch. “I can make omelets, soup, chicken, lamb, mashed potatoes, salad, rice, dessert—anything you want, really. If you don’t trust me with a knife, you can help me by cutting things up. I’ll just add seasoning and things like that. You’ll be perfectly safe—unless you store rat poison in your kitchen.”

He laughs, making me think he’s going to ignore my offer, but that afternoon, he brings in several boxes of food, including all kinds of fruits and vegetables, two types of fresh fish, several whole chickens, a dozen lamb chops, and an entire collection of spices.

“Where did all of this come from?” I ask, eying the bounty in astonishment. There’s enough in those boxes to feed five people—assuming one knows how to prepare it all, of course.

“Esguerra gets weekly deliveries, so I took some for us,” Lucas says. “I figure it’s time to test your cooking skills.”

I can’t conceal my startled joy. “You’d trust me to cook?”

“I’d trust you to direct me.” He grins. “You’ll sit there”—he points at the kitchen table—“and tell me exactly what to do. I’ll follow your orders, and who knows? Maybe I’ll learn something.”

“Okay,” I agree, more than a little excited by the prospect of ordering Lucas about. “I can do that. Let’s start by putting everything away, and tonight, we’ll make lamb chops with garlic-dill potatoes and green salad.”