Those Emerald Eyes

Copyright © 2024 by Olivia Grayson All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact livygray1201@o*********m. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Book Cover by Photo / Illustration: www.depositphoto.com / www.pexels.com Cover Design: ASCStudioDesign / f*******: Page: https://w**************m/ascstudiodesign / Email: ascstudiodesign@gmail.comIllustrations by [Illustrator] First edition 2024 How did I end up here? This can’t be real. The crazy events of the last three months torment my thoughts. First, my shitty ex cheated on me, so I moved into a new condo, and then I met the most arrogant, cocky, self-absorbed womanizing, gorgeous... no... not gorgeous..okay, hot as hell, but asshole, in my life and everything changed. The sense of entitlement and confidence permeated his every cell, and somehow, I found myself craving him. Craving his touch, his lips, his deep voice, and mesmerizing hazel eyes, but I’m out of time, here, in this place...in this…this crazy, perilous situation where I’m pretty sure I’m going to die. Okay, his assholiness had diminished over the last month, since the night of the club, but I trusted the playboy as far as I could throw him. The “playboy” title turned out to be accurate if last night was any indication of his prowess, because...wow...I sighed inwardly, wishing to have his lips on mine once more, and his--. I shook my head. I can’t think of that now, even though any escape, even if it’s only mental, was better than nothing. Besides, this s**t wasn’t his fault, well, some of the blame lay at his feet. Stop it, Ronnie. None of this was his fault. I’m just mad that he hadn’t burst through the door like some movie star hero coming to save the girl, swinging by a rope with one hand and blasting an AK-47. The reality is, it’s quiet. Eerily quiet. What if he were dead? Right when I let him in, literally and figuratively. Or what if he doesn’t come at all? I don’t know. He was not a target. I was, I was THE target. He could walk away from this and never look back. It wasn't like he loved me, right? But he wasn’t that big of an asshole, so maybe he would call the police? But what would they even do? I shook the thoughts out of my head and focused back on my current situation. How am I gonna sneak out of here, I wondered? Will he catch me and violate me, catch me and kill me, or catch me, sell me, violate me, and then kill me? If any of my captor’s words that echoed in my head rung true, selling me is a very probable looming reality. I cowered in the furthest recesses of the dark closet in the conference room I stumbled across, knees secured to my chest, struggling not to hyperventilate, and beseeching an unknown entity to grant me the power of invisibility. The gloomy emptiness of my refuge was in harmony with the atmosphere of the rest of the building that enveloped me in hopeless desperation. This new structure I was trapped in was a hotel, not yet open, but soon to be filled with guests from all over, who would travel for business or vacation. However, a vast majority of the floors remained unlit, silent, and haunted, all but one, the floor with the penthouse. A shiver slithered up my spine, and I gasped inaudibly. Something pricked at my senses. Someone was here. HE was here. Goosebumps spread up my arms, and I swallowed a whimper of fear. I was a bona fide i***t; I chose to stash myself away in a closet in the freaking basement. Cornered, stuck, alone, and helpless. It was a meeting room for business meetings in a hotel, but who built a conference room in a basement...? Oh right, criminals, for criminal business meetings? Maybe one of these rooms would host future auctions, auctions of the flesh variety? In my defense, I aimed for the main floor, but my exit was barricaded on the other side of the door. In my attempt at a hasty escape from the penthouse, I almost lost my footing. The horror of a near stumble down the stairwell radiated through my body with a surge of adrenaline. Glee soon replaced my fear, and I rejoiced at my imminent freedom as the dark stairwell had become illuminated by the exit sign at the bottom landing. Wrapping my clammy fingers around the handle of the door, it moved under my grasp; however, it refused to budge beyond a jiggle. A frustrated sigh escaped my lips as I rammed the door in desperation and succeeded in injuring my shoulder. Nothing. Not even an inch. This motherfu...he thought of everything and blocked my only path to liberation. With no other choice, I pressed forward and maneuvered down another flight of stairs, hoping to locate a good old-fashioned hiding place. Ah, the place where screams are meant to fall on deaf ears and the madman in a mask, of sorts, brandished a large knife or chainsaw. I might as well be wearing a short skirt and just my bra after a hot and heavy make-out session with the quarterback of the football team. For f**k’s sake, I was such a cliché. Footfalls whispered in my ears, dragging my mind back to the situation at hand. Clamping my hand over my mouth as the sounds of shifting and shuffling shoes crossed the flat, grey carpet lining the outer room and closed the distance to the closet. Holding the air in my lungs, my eyes widened in terror, all the while the pounding of my heart thrummed against my ribcage, like drums or foreboding music. It summoned my kidnapper, not unlike the Pied Piper calling forth the little children from Hamelin. The glimmer of light bounced off a silver gun, followed by the shadow of a man through the crack of the French doors, stealing me into utter blackness. Squeezing my eyes shut, I willed myself to become invisible, as all small children believed. However, the terror of being caught unaware, they popped back open without my permission, waiting for the worst. Oh, God, he is right in front of the doors; of course, he will open it. And I am pretty sure I know who this silhouette belonged to as ice poured into my veins. Why couldn’t it be one of the other ones? Really, Ronnie? The others brought sure death, but the imagery of his repulsive hands on me sprang to the forefront of my mind, and I softly sobbed into my palm. “Come out, come out wherever you are…” he chuckled. I c****d my head, stifling a humorless chuckle. For real? The lame ass taunt straight from a made-for-TV movie or fairy tale villain. “Ronnie,” singsongingly murmured my name, “don’t hide from me, my little jade. It’s time to go; it’s too dangerous to stay here. I’m really trying to help you, and I know you are in here. You don’t want it to be one of those other guys who would just come in and spray bullets.” He sighed against the doors before adding softly, “And we don’t want Lilith’s boytoy to come in here, do we?” His voice became strained as he growled, "I’ve told you what I’ll do to him myself if those assholes don’t gun him down. Quite f*****g frankly, I’m not in the mood for the games.” He whispered-shouted as the words sounded muffled, as if his lips pressed into the crack of the doors. I clenched my fists and pressed my back hard into the wall. I would laugh, but I witnessed firsthand how deadly these people were not one hour ago. I also wondered how he figured out where I had hidden. No one followed me. Of course, he is the owner of the building, a part of the planning and building, or at least he oversaw its construction. The familiarity lacing his voice created a coil in my stomach threatening to purge itself into my hands, which now squeezed my cheeks so hard, I gritted my teeth in pain. His continued use of my nickname, which I had used for years, sat in my stomach like spoiled food. A tear streaked down my face, the only thing not paralyzed with terror and disgust. The doors creaked, his weight pressed on it, then the resounding grate of metal on wood slid across it, slow and deliberate. Blood drained from my face, and darkness threatened to overtake me as I struggled against my body’s desire to faint, vomit, or scream. “I know you are in there, Ronnie. You don’t want me to come in there and get you. I guarantee that. I’ve already lost men tonight, and I’m running out of patience with you. But...you are mine, so I’m gonna give you another chance. More chances than I ever gave Lilith. You are special, but not so special that I’ll tolerate this continued disobedience.” I swallowed hard at the reminder. “You have to the count of ten to come out of there...” his voice gentle at first, then picking up in volume with each word, “...or I will come in there and grab you by the f*****g hair and drag you out!” He ended the last word with a bellow that shook the walls. He was losing it, risking his own capture: s**t, his death. My obedience, my submission, was all that mattered to him in this moment. “One...two...I’m hanging on by a fragile thread right now, Ronnie, and I may not make it to ten...It’s like I can smell you in there, your fear...” he groaned, “...your pussy..” His voice was husky with lust as if the idea of my terror, a form of torture, drove him into a painful excitement. Another shudder racked my spine. The fact I hadn’t booted yet was miraculous. “...nine...eight...oh the things I’m going to do to that sinful body of yours, you will beg me for more...seven...or you will plead for death, but mmmmm, I won’t allow that...six...” His menacing countdown, peppered with disgusting, degrading commentary, continued, soaring my panic to a level I had never before suffered. More tears poured down my cheeks, washing away all hope of freedom. I uncovered my mouth. No point. Seconds, quite literally, sat between me and doom, but I couldn’t make my body move. I couldn’t be complicit in my torture or demise.