Ginni stirs against me, making a soft sound that’s half sigh, half purr. His eyes flutter open, focusing on my face with immediate awareness. No gradual awakening for my menace. He goes from sleep to complete alertness in seconds, a predator that never truly rests.
“Good morning, my love,” he says softly, the endearment falling from his lips with such natural affection that my chest tightens.
“Morning,” I reply, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Sleep well?”
“Perfectly.” He stretches like a cat, all fluid grace and unconscious sensuality. “Last night was...”
“Amazing,” I finish, because it was. Whatever else might be complicated about this situation, that part is a simple truth.
Ginni’s smile could power half of London. “I was going to say life-changing, but amazing works too.”
He starts to sit up, probably planning to begin his usual morning routine of coffee and elaborate breakfast preparation, when everything goes dark.
The projector dies. The gentle hum of the air conditioning stops. Even the small LED lights in the recesses go black. We’re plunged into complete darkness, the kind of absolute black you only get in windowless underground rooms.
“What...” Ginni’s voice is small, confused, already edged with panic.
I can hear his breathing change, becoming rapid and shallow. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, my confident, controlling captor has become a frightened boy in the dark.
“It’s just a power cut,” I say calmly, my voice loud in the silence. “Probably a blown fuse or a tripped circuit. Nothing serious.”
“But I didn’t... I don’t know how to...” Ginni’s voice cracks, and I can hear him moving in the darkness, probably wrapping his arms around himself. “I didn’t plan for this. I don’t know what to do.”
The desperation in his voice triggers every protective instinct I have. This isn’t the calculating mastermind who planned my abduction. This is a twenty-one-year-old boy who’s suddenly out of his depth, lost and scared and looking for someone to take charge.
“Ginni, listen to me,” I say firmly, injecting authority into my voice. “You’re going to be fine. We’re going to fix this together. Can you feel around for a candle? They are still all over the place from dinner.”
I hear rustling, movement in the darkness as he follows my instructions. “Yes, I’ve found one on the nightstand.”
“Good. Now the matches. They were on the nightstand too.”
More fumbling, then the blessed sound of a match striking. Light flares in the darkness, warm and golden and infinitely reassuring. Ginni’s face appears in the glow, pale and worried but no longer panicked.
“There,” I say approvingly. “Much better. Now we can see what we’re doing.”
“The power,” Ginni says, his voice still shaky. “How do we get it back?”
“Circuit breaker probably tripped. Do you know where the electrical panel is?”
He nods, then seems to realize I can’t see the gesture clearly. “In the utility room. But I don’t know how to... I’ve never...”
His voice trails off, and in the candlelight I can see his hands shaking. He’s completely out of his element, all his careful planning useless in the face of something as mundane as a blown fuse. The competent, dangerous boy who’s been managing every detail of my captivity has dissolved into someone who has been thrown out of their depth.
“That’s okay,” I tell him gently. “I do. But I’ll need my hands free to work on it.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with implication. We both know what I’m asking for. Freedom, even temporarily. The chance to fix this problem because he can’t.
Ginni looks at me for a long moment, fear and trust warring in his expression. Then he reaches under the bed with trembling fingers and produces the key to my restraints.
“Fix it,” he whispers, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Please. Fix everything.”
There’s so much more than electrical problems in that request. Fix the power, fix his fear, fix the mess that’s his life, fix the broken boy who has never been loved.
“I will,” I promise, and I mean it.
He unlocks the cuffs with careful precision, his hands still shaking slightly. The moment my wrists are free, I could overpower him. We both know it. He’s small, I’m trained in violence, and he’s holding nothing more threatening than a candle.
But I simply sit up and stretch my arms, working circulation back into my wrists with matter-of-fact efficiency.
