Free Locked Out (Locked In Love, an Alpha Billionaire Serial)(Volume 2) by Myra Song Page A

Little Bird. Let’s go.” He leads me to a door. “Did you know Locke has two rooms he never tapes?”
     
    My chin juts up in interest. I remembered the two dark screens in his security room. The thief laughs. It’s low, more a bark. “I see you do.” He whips me around, surprising me, and slams my back against the wall. His body presses on mine, pinning me in an intimate way. Between the remaining silk of my dress and the thin lycra of his suit, I feel his cock nestled in the apex of my legs and it makes me burn with shame.
     
    “Oh,” he whispers into my ear. The ghost of his breath sends ice down my spine. The gun has been placed back on my temple, but his other hand gropes my breast. I wince, anger and fear swarming in me. Gun or not, if that hand goes anywhere else, I’m going to knee him in the balls. “You’re just his type, too. I bet you know all about those rooms.” The hand pinches my nipple, hard, and I’m reminded of Jameson’s proclivity for pain.
     
    The difference this time is I don’t get wet. I just get pissed. “So what if I do? Pinch me again and I’ll scream. You might shoot me, but you’ll get caught. That’s robbery and a murder, you asshole.”
     
    He tsks me. “I think you’re lying. You look his type, but you aren’t nearly… docile enough. Well, let’s leave him a present, shall we?” He reaches down and grabs the ruin of my dress’ bottom and pulls it up. “Don’t move, or I will risk that murder charge.” Gripping it, he rips a large swath of it off and hands it to me. “Tie this around your eyes. I’ll know if you leave room to peek.”
     
    Reluctantly, I do as he says. The silk is dense and he checks after I’ve finished. I can’t see a thing.
     
    He guides me again and we’re walking. I hear him open a door before he shoves me through it. My sneakers catch and I fall to my knees. Instead of the crack of pain from kneecaps hitting marble, I hit something stiff but cushioned. It reminds me a bit of the shock-absorbing gym floors from my days in martial arts.
     
    Then the man in black is ripping more of my dress. The coarse sound of the expensive silk giving way to force is louder. Frightening. His fingers make sure to brush each inch of my exposed skin, too, leaving goose pimples on my flesh and the bitter taste of disgust in my mouth.
     
    In the back of my mind I’m concerned about rape, but logistically the man is on a short timer. Robberies rely on scheduling more than any other aspect. Timing is what gets a thief in and out, and the man in black has wasted more than a little time with me.
     
    The shreds of my dress are used to bind me. Only… he does it strangely. Instead of trussing my wrists and ankles together, the thief ties my forearms together in the back, my fingertips brushing the opposite elbow. The silk is wound in a pattern in and around them. There is no give, no way to wriggle out.
    He makes me kneel. He ties each leg separately, binding them so they are forced to stay bent and I am made to sit, thighs apart and legs pinned under. It is intensely uncomfortable and more than a little sexual.
     
    “You’re a shaver, I see,” he quips, and I’m worried I might throw up. He can see my pussy the way I’m tied, and time seems to expand as I wait for his dreadful touch. Instead, a final piece of my dress is shoved into my mouth.
     
    I am bound and gagged.
     
    The door whispers shut, and I know I am alone.
     
    ~ ~ ~ ~
     
    The silence is worse than the pain. This surprises me. I’m a loner. I live alone, and I work alone. I worked with Dalton, but he knew how to leave me alone when I needed it. If you were to ask me if I was comfortable with silence, I’d say “sure.”
     
    But that’s because I’m always doing things. Investigating, or cleaning. Sleeping. Eating, if I have the money to. Working out and hating my curvy body for refusing to show it. But doing means noise, just not the people kind.
     
    This is real silence. It’s