Curiosity Broke Kat - Chapter 3: A Lesson to Others
A wave of disorientation sweeps over me as I slowly come to, the taste of chloroform still lingering on the tip of my tongue, the rest of my mouth dry and throat parched. Even as my eyes blink open, the first sensation I feel is the soft, silky material beneath me, engulfing and caressing my body...Which is a little odd considering I was wearing a scratchy jumper and too-tight skinny jeans.
My eyes spring open and I try to sit up. Chains rattle, and my arms remain stubbornly where they are, fastened above my head. My ankles are in a similarly compromising position, spread apart on the beautiful, black, silk bedsheets, each leg chained to a bed post.
I tuck my chin into my chest to double check I am, in fact, completely naked. Unfortunately for me that's not quite the case. I should have gone commando today...or at least paid attention to what I was putting on. Granted, if I had my way, nobody would have seen my underwear at all. But alas, luck is not on my side, and I managed to pick out my emergency knickers...the ones with a cat on the front giving a thumbs up.
"Fucking hell," I groan, leaning my head back on the pillow. Wriggling my wrists, I try to free myself from the shackles, scrunching my fingers together and pulling, trying to slip through. I whimper as the soft skin on my wrist rubs and scratches against the cool metal, then breathe out in defeat, allowing my arms to fall limp once again.
Lifting my head, I take in my surroundings, almost admiring the spacious, lavishly decorated room. A gilded mirror on the far wall hangs above the fireplace. Angled slightly down, it reflects my serious conundrum back at me, my fucking cat undies front and centre. I growl and curse my shitty luck, but continue surveying the rest of the space.
A vanity table stands nearby, adorned with crystal bottles and a silver-backed hairbrush, seemingly frozen in the midst of morning preparations. Just above, a portrait of a somber-faced woman in a bygone era gown seems to watch over me with solemn eyes...probably judging my predicament...or my panties.
My biggest surprise comes when I realise the curtains aren't drawn across the bank of windows on my left. The room is dim, the sun having set not long ago. I'd been knocked out all day. My head slowly turns to the door as the sound of muffled voices comes from outside, breaking the still and quiet of the room.
I let my head flop back on the pillow as footsteps draw near, closing my eyes and attempting to calm my heart to portray the slow, steady breaths of someone still sleeping.
The voices stop just outside the door, a man and a woman talking. The door opens and despite my best efforts to play dead, I'm certain my heart is going to burst from my chest at any moment.
"Leave, Veronica. You had your fun, now it's time to go," the man states coldly, his words acidic as he steps into the room.
"Oh, I see how it is," the woman, Veronica I imagine, replies. "You found yourself a new pet to play with."
My eyes are closed...but I can feel Veronica's on me, the stabbing pin prick of her glare.
"No," the man responds, a hint of boredom in his tone. "This one is different." The mattress depresses beside my feet, a rough calloused hand going to one of my ankles. The sound of a soft click, then the metal releases from my ankle. One down...three to go.
High-heels click along the wooden floorboards as the woman approaches the bed, and the mattress springs back to its original position as the man stands. "Please, Logan, we had a good thing here!" The woman gasps, the sound in chorus with shuffling feet as she's pushed back towards the door.
"Enough," the man snarls. "Our contract is over, your job is done. Take your money, and go." The door slams shut, barely blanketing the sound of Veronica's sobs and her clicking heels fleeing down the corridor.
The man, Logan, sighs. "I know you're awake."
I grit my teeth and keep my eyes closed. A moment passes and he says nothing. Beside me, the mattress dips once again as my other ankle is freed from its shackle. The temptation to kick him is almost too much to bear, but I need at least one hand free first.
"You stole from me," he says, continuing, likely not believing I'm asleep. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
I continue to remain quiet, breathing in and out, slowly, evenly, thinking calming thoughts. His hand suddenly touches my thigh and I nearly jump. Logan chuckles, his palm moving north, slowly creeping towards the apex between my thighs. My eyes spring open, knee rising as I kick out.
Logan catches my foot in one hand and smiles down at me. "Nice bloomers, Miss Bloomer. Glad to see you're finally awake."
"Fuck you," I growl in return, tugging my foot out of his grip and crossing my legs to cover my overly zealous cat panties. "It's considered impolite to kidnap people, you know."
His grin only widens as he runs a hand through his short, dark-blonde hair. Blue eyes remain fixed on mine as he takes a seat on the chair beside the vanity, his gaze raking down my body. I squeeze my thighs tighter together, my pussy doing a little dance and clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation.
"Stealing is considered equally as impolite," he retorts, unbuttoning the top button of his crisp white shirt and loosening his tie. "As is kicking someone in the face or..." he lifts a finger to his lips as if trying to catch the small chuckle before it escapes, "or head-butting people."
My gaze catches on a dark bruise below the stubble on his chin, likely from where I had done exactly that, and head-butted him before escaping the night before.
I try to shrug, but it's difficult with my hands still shackled. "You cornered me, so I acted."
"I cornered a thief who shouldn't have been there in the first place," he says with a shake of his head. The light seems to dim in his eyes, the almost playful mood turning sour. "I'll ask again. Do you know who I am?"
I had done some research on the location before planning the robbery, but not on the man himself. Crow Keep Manor is known around town as a place of business, a gentleman's club for the rich and ruthless. I hadn't expected anyone to actually live here. Logan Kincaid popped up in my research as the owner of the manor, but there was little information beyond rumour and speculation, the worst dubiously linking him to a string of murders over the past ten years.
