Wrong Room: The Ruthless CEO's Captive

The parking meter was cold against Joanna's back. She pressed her forehead to the metal, breathing hard, waiting for her heart to slow down. The street was busy-lunch hour, people in expensive suits walking with purpose, women with strollers and nannies, the endless motion of a city that didn't care about her panic.

She needed to get home. Needed to get away from this neighborhood, this man, this nightmare that kept pulling her back no matter how hard she ran.

Her feet moved before her brain caught up. Walking, then faster, toward the subway. She'd figure out the fare. Jump the turnstile if she had to. She couldn't stay here, not when he was three blocks away, not when he might be-

A sound behind her. Engine. Low, powerful, familiar.

Joanna's steps faltered. She didn't turn around. She walked faster, almost running, her injured body screaming in protest.

The engine grew louder. Closer. She could feel it in her chest, in her bones, the vibration of something large and predatory closing in.

She turned the corner. Saw the subway entrance ahead. Twenty feet. Ten.

Tires screeched.

Joanna spun around. The black car was there, blocking the sidewalk, its front bumper inches from her knees. She stumbled back, hit the brick wall of a building, and stared at the machine that had hunted her down.

Maybach. She recognized it now, the distinctive grille, the hood ornament that was a woman in flowing robes. A car that cost more than houses. More than lives.

The driver's door opened.

Cain stepped out. No white coat now. Dark shirt, dark pants, sunglasses that hid his eyes but did nothing to soften the line of his jaw, the set of his mouth. He looked like what he was. A man who was used to getting what he wanted. A man who had been denied, twice, and was done playing games.

"Get in the car, Joanna."

She shook her head. Pressed harder against the wall, as if she could melt through it. "Leave me alone. Please. I won't tell anyone. I just want to forget-"

"Get in the car." He took a step toward her. "Or I will put you in the car. Your choice."

People were staring. A woman with a yoga mat paused, phone in hand, probably recording. A man in a suit quickened his pace, not wanting to get involved. New York in a nutshell-see something, say nothing, keep moving.

Joanna looked at the subway entrance. So close. So far.

"I'll scream," she said. "I'll tell them you're kidnapping me."

"Scream." He was close enough to touch her now. Close enough that she could smell him, cedar and something darker, the same scent that had been on her skin this morning, in her hair. "Tell them whatever you want. By the time anyone decides to intervene, we'll be gone. And I have lawyers, Joanna. The best in the city. Do you really want to test which of us the system will believe?"

His hand closed on her arm. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just firm, inexorable, pulling her away from the wall and toward the passenger side of the car.

"Don't-" Joanna tried to dig in her heels, but her shoes slipped on the concrete. "Please. I can't-"

"You can." He opened the passenger door. "And you will."

She fought him. Kicked, scratched, tried to bite the hand that was forcing her into the leather seat. He took it all without flinching, his body absorbing her blows like they were nothing, his strength overwhelming hers with embarrassing ease.

He pushed her into the seat. She tried to scramble out the other side, but he was there, blocking her, his hip against her thigh as he reached across her body for the seatbelt.

"Stop fighting me." His voice was close to her ear, his chest pressing against her breasts. "You're only making this worse."

"Worse than what?" Joanna's voice broke. "What do you want from me?"

The seatbelt clicked. He pulled back, just enough to look at her. His sunglasses were gone. His eyes were gray and endless and completely without mercy.

"Everything," he said. "I want everything."

He closed the door. She reached for the handle, but the lock engaged with a soft click. Child safety locks. She was trapped.

Cain walked around the front of the car, unhurried, confident. He slid into the driver's seat, closed his door, and pressed a button. The windows darkened, tinting from clear to black, sealing them in a private world.

Joanna pressed herself against the door, as far from him as she could get. "Let me out."

"No."

"I'll-I'll call the police. I'll tell them-"

"What?" He started the engine. The car purred to life, powerful and smooth. "That we had consensual sex? That you came to my clinic seeking treatment? That I drove you home?" He turned to look at her, one hand on the wheel. "I haven't done anything illegal, Joanna. Morally questionable, perhaps. But not illegal."

"Kidnapping is illegal."

"Is it kidnapping if I take you to your apartment? If I make sure you get home safely?" He pulled away from the curb, merging into traffic with the ease of someone who had never been denied right of way. "I'm being considerate, really. You can barely walk. You have no money. Your phone is dead. What would you have done if I hadn't found you?"

Joanna didn't answer. She stared out the darkened window, watching the city slide past, feeling the last of her control slipping away.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Brooklyn." He glanced at her. "Unless you'd prefer to come back to my place. The Plaza has excellent room service. And a bed that already knows your shape."

Joanna's face burned. "My apartment. Please."

"Please." He repeated the word like he was tasting it. "I like that. You should say it more often."

The car moved through the city, silent and smooth. Joanna watched the neighborhoods change-Upper East Side giving way to Midtown, then the Village, then the bridge. She should have been planning her escape, figuring out how to get away from him once they stopped, but her mind was blank. Exhausted. Overwhelmed.

She felt his eyes on her. Felt the weight of his attention like a physical touch.

"Why did you run?"

The question was soft. Almost curious. Joanna didn't look at him.

"Because you're a stranger. Because I was scared. Because-" She stopped. Swallowed. "Because I didn't want to wake up next to someone who didn't know my name and pretend it meant something."

"I knew your name." His voice was sharp. "I said it. In the dark. I said-"

"You said it like a label. Like a claim." Joanna finally turned to look at him. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about me except what my body feels like. And that's not-" She stopped, searching for words. "That's not enough. That's not anything."

He was silent for a long moment. The car turned onto her street, and Joanna felt a fresh wave of panic. He knew where she lived. He'd always known.

"You're wrong," he said finally. "I know more than you think. I know you're twenty-three. I know you work at a gallery in Chelsea. I know you live with a roommate named Leah who asks too many questions." He pulled up to her building, put the car in park, turned to face her. "I know you were a virgin. I know you responded to me like you'd been waiting your whole life for someone to touch you properly. And I know-" He reached out, his hand finding her chin, turning her to face him. "I know you're lying to yourself if you think last night didn't mean anything."

Joanna jerked away. Her hand found the door handle, but the lock was still engaged.

"Let me out."

"Not yet." His hand dropped to her knee. She flinched, but he didn't move it, just rested it there, heavy and warm. "We need to establish some ground rules."

"I don't want your rules."

"You don't have a choice." His fingers tightened, not quite painful. "First, you will answer my calls. Second, you will see me again. Third-" He paused, his thumb tracing small circles on her thigh through her jeans. "You will not see anyone else. No dates. No drinks. No letting other men touch what belongs to me."

"It doesn't belong to you-"

"It does." His voice was final. Absolute. "I was your first, Joanna. That means something. In some cultures, it would mean we're married. In others-" He leaned closer, his mouth near her ear. "It would mean I have the right to hunt you down and bring you back. Consider me civilized. I'm only asking for your time. Your attention. Your body, when I want it."

Joanna's breath came in short gasps. The words should have terrified her. They did terrify her. But beneath the terror was that same heat, that same response her body had to his presence, his voice, his touch.

"You're crazy," she whispered.

"Probably." He pulled back, his hand leaving her knee. The loss of contact felt like abandonment. "But I'm also the best thing that's ever happened to you. You'll see."

He pressed a button. The locks disengaged.

"Go inside. Rest. I'll call you tomorrow."

Joanna fumbled for the handle. Her fingers were shaking so badly she could barely grip it. She pushed the door open, stumbled out onto the sidewalk, and stood there for a moment, breathing hard, trying to remember how to be a person who made her own choices.

"Joanna."

She didn't turn around.

"The rules," he called after her. "Remember them. Or I'll have to remind you."

She ran. Up the stairs, into the building, not stopping until she was inside her apartment with the door locked and chained and deadbolted behind her.

Leah wasn't home. The silence was a blessing. Joanna slid down the door, wrapped her arms around her knees, and tried to convince herself that she was safe.

Her phone was still dead. She plugged it in, waited for the screen to flicker to life. One percent battery. Enough for one thing.

She opened her contacts. Scrolled to a name she hadn't thought about in months. Daniel Morrison. Her manager at the gallery. The man who found reasons to touch her shoulder, to lean too close, to suggest drinks after work that felt less like invitations and more like threats.

Her thumb hovered over the call button.

She needed to set a boundary. A clear, professional line he couldn't cross. She couldn't let his behavior slide, not now, not when another, more dangerous man was trying to claim her. She had to take back some control, somewhere.

She pressed call.

The phone rang twice before he answered. "Joanna? This is a surprise."

"Daniel." Her voice was steady. She was proud of that. "I was wondering-are you free for dinner tonight? There's something I need to talk to you about."