The metallic click of the second shackle echoed in the velvet-draped room like a starting gun. Skye's left wrist was free, the skin beneath the steel raw and throbbing with a dull heat. She didn't pull away immediately. She forced herself to remain still, her body pliant and soft against the silk sheets, even as every fiber of her being screamed at her to claw Ryder's eyes out.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her wrists with a delicate, practiced grace. She looked down at the silver chainmail of her dress, now wrinkled and torn at the shoulder, then back up at Ryder. He was watching her with a look of insufferable triumph, his ego bloated by the belief that he had not only captured the Songbird but had tamed her.
"There," Ryder murmured, tossing the key ring onto the nightstand. It landed with a heavy thud. "Doesn't that feel better? No more chains. No more Roman. Just the two of us in the heart of the kingdom."
He reached out, his hand sliding up her thigh, the heat of his palm seeping through the cool metal links of her dress. Skye felt a wave of cold revulsion wash over her, but she didn't flinch. She leaned into his space, her eyes half-lidded, projecting a mask of weary, dawning affection.
"It feels... different," she whispered, her voice a low, melodic lure. "I spent so long behind walls, Ryder. Roman's walls, the club's walls. Being here, with you... it's like the world has finally stopped moving."
Ryder's eyes darkened. The narcissism she was feeding began to take hold, clouding his judgment. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "I can give you a world that Roman couldn't even imagine. I don't want to hide you, Skye. I want to display you. You're the crown jewel of the Vane collection."
He began to press her back against the pillows, his weight shifting to loom over her. His hands moved to the hem of her dress, his intent clear. The air in the room grew thick with his desperation to finalize his conquest. Skye knew she was at the edge of the cliff. She could kiss him, she could flirt, but she would not- could not- let him take the one thing she had left: her bodily autonomy.
She placed her hands on his chest, not pushing him away, but holding him at a gentle, firm distance. She let her head fall back, a soft, pained groan escaping her lips.
"Ryder... wait," she breathed, her voice laced with a convincing tremor of exhaustion.
He paused, his brow furrowing in irritation. "Wait for what? You've been unchained. You said you wanted this."
Skye looked at him, her eyes wide and swimming with a feigned, drug-induced haze. She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers trembling slightly. "I do. I want to feel everything you do to me. But my head... it's spinning. Whatever you used on that cloth... it's still heavy in my lungs. My vision is blurring, Ryder."
She let her eyes flutter shut for a second, a masterful performance of a woman struggling to stay conscious. "If we do this now... I'll be a ghost. I'll wake up tomorrow and it will all be a fog. I don't want to wake up and wonder what happened. I want to remember the way you touch me. I want to remember the moment I finally became yours."
She opened her eyes again, looking at him with a calculated, pleading intensity. "Give me a few hours? Just to sleep off the ether. I want to be awake for you. I want to be present."
Ryder stared at her, the struggle visible on his face. He was a man driven by immediate gratification, but his vanity was even stronger. He didn't just want a body; he wanted the validation of her conscious submission. He wanted to hear her voice, to see the recognition in her eyes as he took her. The idea of her "remembering" what he did to her was the ultimate ego stroke.
"You're a tease, Songbird," he growled, though the edge of his anger had softened into a smug, possessive frustration. He sat back, straightening his blazer, his eyes raking over her form one last time. "Most women would be begging to stay awake in my bed."
"I'm not most women," Skye whispered, letting a small, tired smile touch her lips. "And you aren't most men. That's why I want to be ready."
Ryder stood up, picking up the wine bottle and the glasses. He looked toward the door, then back at her. "Fine. Two hours. Sleep it off. I have things to attend to anyway- security sweeps, ensuring our guests stay away. But don't think for a second that this is a reprieve, Skye. It's a delay."
He walked toward the door, his hand on the handle. He paused, his expression turning cold and sharp. "And don't bother looking for a way out. This room is equipped with motion sensors and high-definition thermal cameras. The windows are reinforced plexiglass. You move toward that door or those glass panes, and the alarm will alert the entire floor. You're free of the chains, but you're still in my cage."
"I'm not going anywhere, Ryder," she said, pulling the silk duvet up to her chin. "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
The heavy door closed with a definitive, electronic thud, the lock engaging with a sound like a guillotine.
The moment the light from the hallway vanished, Skye's mask shattered. She sat up, her eyes snapping with a cold, calculating fire. She didn't have two hours. She knew Roman. If he had seen the footage, if he had tracked the car, he was already on his way. But the northern ridge was a three-hour drive from the city, even in the fastest car. She had to assume she had at least ninety minutes before the Dragon arrived.
She looked at the ceiling, spotting the discreet black domes of the cameras. Ryder wasn't lying. He was watching. Every move had to look natural.
She lay back down, rolling onto her side as if falling into a deep sleep, but her mind was racing. She needed a weapon. She needed a way to disable the electronic lock. She looked at the silver dress. The chainmail was made of tiny, interlocking links of high-grade silver and steel.
She reached for her shoulder, where the dress had been torn during the struggle. She began to pick at a loose link, her fingers working with the precision of a seamstress. If she could unravel a length of the wire, if she could get enough of the metal...
I'm coming home, Roman, she thought, her fingers bleeding as she twisted the sharp silver wire free. I'm just going to make sure there's a path cleared for you.
She knew the layout of these types of mansions. The security hubs were usually integrated into the master suites. If she could short the circuit in the bedside control panel, she might be able to trigger a fail-secure- which meant the doors would unlock in case of a fire.
She closed her eyes, pretending to drift off, while her hands worked feverishly under the covers. She was the Songbird, the Captain Mom, and the Queen. And Ryder Vane was about to find out that a bird who has been caged once knows exactly how to pick the lock.
Outside, the wind began to howl through the pines, a low, mourning sound that mimicked the engine of a black SUV screaming up the mountain road. The war was coming to the hunting lodge, and Skye was going to be the one to open the gates.