Chapter Four

Suffering and Solace

Ella

Darkness. Long hours of the black shroud swirled around her, splintered only by the occasional howl of what sounded like a wolf. Her pulse accelerated at the primal shrieks, although the noise brought distraction from her frustration and agony.

Agony?

Was that too strong a word?

Rolling her neck around between her shoulders as best she could manage with the hindrance of her clothing half obstructing her movement, Ella couldn't decide. She was definitely in pain. The ropes cutting into her wrists were no friend, and neither was the gag nor the position Tucker had left her in.

Asshole.

She swallowed as she thought of Tucker. His slow and rhythmic breathing had been coming from the nearby bale ever since he'd turned down the wick and extinguished the oil lamp. He'd done that. Even though she'd implored him for light in the first place, even though he must have realized she'd be scared. Still, he'd snuffed it out. He'd left her in the dark.

Just like he's snuffed out my freedom.

Her calves tensed at the thought of what else he could do.

"Fuck."

She muttered the word under her breath, conscious not to wake him, yet at the same time not giving a damn if she disturbed his beauty sleep.

How has this happened?

She'd asked the question at least a hundred times since she'd woken up in the woods, and still, her situation made no sense.

Had her father genuinely offered her to Tucker to pay his debt? Blinking into the shadows, she tried to reconcile what her captor had told her. She wouldn't put it past Alexander. He was hardly father of the century, but still… to sell her to Tucker in exchange for what he owed—was he truly that awful?

Probably.

Her tummy twisted at the insidious reality. Her father was that terrible, and she was derived from that same miserable source.

But to sell her—to offer her in exchange for money—that was dreadful even by Alexander's own low standards.

Straining her memory, she struggled to recall what Tucker had told her about her father when he'd found her in the forest, but her recollections were hazy at best. The day had been long and the night even longer. She couldn't say for sure.

One thing was for certain, though. Ella didn't belong to either of the men. She wasn't anyone's to offer. She was her own woman, and just as soon as she got herself out of this pit, she'd make sure they both paid for their decisions.

"Fuckers." She mouthed the word as best she could around the plastic ball between her teeth, exulting in the satisfaction of it on her lips. She still couldn't believe the prick had shoved the gag there or how much her jaw was aching as a consequence, but it was good to be able to articulate something of her vexation.

Men.

Her nails dug into her palms as the word resounded in her mind. Men were bastards. In fact, dangling from Tucker's blasted ropes, she struggled to think of a single man in her life who hadn't tried to fuck her over in one way or another. But her father—the one man who should have gifted her unconditional love and support—was undoubtedly the worst of them all.

How could he have done this?

Once more, her thoughts returned to the idea of Alexander's money and the alleged sum he owed to Tucker. How was that possible? Her dad had always flaunted his cash and never gave her any inkling that he was in financial trouble. How could she have woken up one day and found herself the solution to his arrears?

The ball of tension in her stomach furled at the hideous prospect. Somehow, she'd found herself a victim of the worst kind of people—one who happened to be her biological father and the other the oaf snoring in the hay.

Tucker.

Shifting on the balls of her feet, she tried not to let her thoughts linger on her predicament. Reiterating the fact both her breasts and ass were bared for the hundredth time wouldn't magic her binds away and enable her to rectify the problem.

Instead, she forced her focus back to the man holding her hostage—a man almost as morally bankrupt as Alexander.

If Tucker had so much money that he could loan it out to cretins like her father, then why was he living in a wood cabin in the middle of nowhere? Maybe he lived in virtual poverty because morons like her dad owed him money, but if that was true, why would he accept her as a down payment? She wouldn't fix the hole in his roof or build him a new condo. It was just another thing that didn't make sense.

Her brows knitted as she tried to think around the bewildering conundrum, but it didn't take long before the effort inspired the start of a headache. The long hours of dehydration and lack of rest were taking their toll. Despite her usual good health and fitness, she wasn't surprised. No one should have to be treated this way. Ella wouldn't even consider this behavior for an unruly animal.

A shiver passed through her body at the unnerving thought that was exactly how Tucker saw her—an animal to tie and ultimately tame. The chill wasn't from the cold, though. It was the high probability that her analysis of Tucker was spot on.

He must be as bad as Alexander if he thinks this is acceptable.

As if the fiend had heard her thoughts, his steady breaths suddenly halted, followed soon after by the sounds of him stirring. She held her breath as he moved on the hay, wondering if he was waking or was only about to go back for more of the sleep he'd denied her.

Her query was soon answered when she heard him exhale and shift from the bale.

He's awake!

Apprehension soared as she processed what that meant. Would he take pity on her or just torment her more? Her toes curled inside her boots at the possibility of the latter. After so long suspended in the rope, she was sure she wouldn't cope with much more, but what choice would she have?

Tucker had made the dynamic between them abundantly clear—he was in charge, and he wasn't interested in a negotiation. Whether she liked it or not—and she most assuredly did not—while she was stuck there with him. His word had become her law.

Slowly releasing the air she'd held, she waited. Suddenly, there was stillness, as though he'd woken and abruptly fallen back to sleep, but she knew that wasn't true. She could tell he was awake and sensed the weight of his stare in the gloom. She imagined him in the dark, enjoying the thought of her there at his mercy.

"Fuc-ker." She mouthed the word around the gag again, her heart pounding at the power he held over her.

The atmosphere in the musty barn had definitely shifted in the last few moments, an air of expectancy swelling until she was forced to pull in another breath.

"Ella?" His voice was hushed as the sound of a match striking broke the strained silence.

Gasping, she turned toward the flame, unable to focus on anything else as he used it to ignite the oil lamp. Fleetingly, she wondered at the matches when he'd used stones to spark the fire in the cabin, but the thought disbanded. Who cared why Tucker acted as he did? There was light, at least, and within seconds, its patchy illumination lit the space around him.

"Good morning." He offered a smile as he climbed to his feet, glancing toward the doorway. "Although I don't think the sun will be with us for a few hours yet."

Good morning? Was he joking? She'd been strung up there for goodness knows how many hours. What was so good about that?

"How are you?"

His lips twitched as he looked back and strode toward her. That same lustful look swam in his gaze, but this time as he reached for her, it was only to pull her damp tee shirt and sweater back from their impromptu home behind her neck and tug them back into place in front of her. Wandering to her side, he eased her joggers back to her middle and covered her cold and exposed backside.

Thank God.

Relief flooded her system as the protection of her clothing enveloped her. Even soggy, she'd never been more grateful for basic attire.

"I'm going to remove this now." Raising one finger, he jabbed lightly at the ball between her teeth. "And I don't want a mouthful of abuse."

She stared into his eyes, wondering how on earth he had the balls to stand there and make such a demand. But she was no one's fool. If that's what she needed to acquiesce to for the damn gag to be gone, then so be it.

She marveled how she might agree to anything in order to be able to stretch her mouth and speak again.

"Got it?" His gaze hardened as he waited for her to respond, and duly, she offered him a small nod. "Good."

He walked from her view before she felt a sharp tug at the strap behind her head. Seconds later, the fastenings fell free from the side of her face, leaving her holding the ball between her teeth.

"Here." Striding from her side, his hand appeared below her chin. "Drop it."

She spat the tormentor into his palm—her gaze narrowing as she saw the evil black plastic—but the resentment was fast overwhelmed by overarching relief. Finally, her jaw was freed. She could have cried at the liberation, but of course, she didn't. There was no way she was going to give Tucker the thrill.

"Did you get any sleep?" He examined the black ball briefly before pushing it into one of his pockets.

"No." Her voice was so husky that she barely recognized it.

She wasn't entirely sure if her answer was the truth but concluded it hardly mattered. Perhaps she had snatched a few minutes of shut-eye against her shoulder, or maybe she hadn't. Even if she had, it had been the least comfortable rest of her life.

"I'm sorry." He sounded genuine enough as he glanced up above her to the rafters. "I'd hoped you could rest."

"Apparently not."

She had no desire to debate it with him. What she wanted was to be released and get the hell away from him and his crazy cabin, though she admitted in the short term, she'd accept a warm fire, a hot meal, and a good night's sleep.

"That's not good." A line appeared in his brow. "It's not my intention to mistreat you, Ella."

Had she had any energy remaining to conjure the comedic response, she'd have laughed at his response. He didn't want to mistreat her, yet he'd tied her to his rafters, gagged her, and left her to suffer?

Well, that made perfect sense—if you were insane.

"I'm going to cut you down and take you inside the cabin." Reaching into his pocket, he produced the same blade he'd used to create fire next door, his gaze darting to the rope above her head. "You might find it difficult to stand, so if you need to, hang onto me."

Hang onto him?She rolled her eyes, thankful his current position meant he didn't notice the gesture. The last thing she needed was another dose of his so-called punishment, but who was he trying to kid? Ella couldn't think of anyone she wanted to hang onto less than Tucker. He was the man who'd inflicted the hurt on her in the first place. He could scarcely be the remedy for it.

"Ready?" He moved closer, snaking an unwelcome arm around her middle, but she noticed that at least he didn't try to grope her.

"I'm ready." She was starting to find her voice again, her pulse quickening at the prospect of freedom—or the closest approximation of it she'd known for several hours.

"Okay."

Holding her breath, she craned her neck just in time to see his blade slice through the rope. He slipped his knife away, his grip on her never easing as she wriggled her fingers. Freed from their stretched stance, she expected her arms to fall between them, but time played its strange game again, elongating reality as they hovered in thin air. Then, as though someone had hit play on the movie of her life, her arms plummeted as if they were made of lead.

Without the rope's support, her legs buckled, and she realized that had it not been for his body, she'd have doubtless collapsed to her knees.

"I've got you." His voice sounded distant, even though he was right there in front of her.

"What?" She couldn't make sense of what was happening.

Was her head spinning, or was the barn moving around her? It took a moment for her to accept that neither of those scenarios was playing out. Instead, Tucker seemed to have swept her into his arms and was carrying her toward the barn door.