Strings and Schemes

Chapter 3

The interrogator introduces herself, as if I could forget her face; drudging up the harshest and most embarrassing of secrets of mine last time. 

I will not break.

"You know how this works, Ms. Addams; you have information, and we want it." Agent West says, "but this time, it's not fake information. It's real information. We want you to tell us everything you know about Louis Tomlinson."

My eyes go wide. Great. I can withstand anything to protect him, let's see who fucks up first.

Louis, to his credit, picks up on my heightened state; on how turned on I am by the idea of being caught, and lifts me around his waste, making out with me and walking me to the cold balcony door. The sudden change in temperature doing something to me. I stifle a moan as he grinds into me, nipping my lip with his teeth, pulling back to look me in the eyes and taking in the sight of me, untethered.

"Fuck you, admiring your work," I up the anti. He laughs, a primal laugh, as he replies, "you've seen nothing yet, Ms. Addams."

"Do your worst,"

"Do your worst," I say, tempting Agent West.

Louis laughs at me, "you're really going to regret saying that."

Or is it Agent West who said that?

Louis pulls my sweatpants off in one fell swoop, exposing me to the elements; he pulls my sweater off and takes a moment to look down and admire my body. To truly see me. I feel vulnerable in a way I've never felt with him before.

"Choose a number, any number, Raina," he says with his hand on his chin, staring at my body like he's imagining everything he's going to do to me.

"7," I say, tempting fate.

Louis laughs, "you always did like to tempt fate, love."

He pulls his own shirt off, and approaches me, pulling me to the living room couch and I start kissing his neck, distracting him from his own plans as he shutters beneath my lips, the power I feel in this moment is unlike anything else. I lower myself in front of him, pulling his pants down, and exposing him to me. He's already ready to go. I smirk at him, as his head rolls back. So much for his plans.

I count the taps on the table that I've been strapped to for the past 7 hours, in the most uncomfortable of positions, trying to make me break. Trying to torture me in any legal way possible in the UK - thank god we're on British soil for this - when Agent West comes back in.

"You haven't broke yet..." she says, impressed if not only for the fact that it means she's doing an awful job at making me break. We both have our own missions here, my mission is to shut the fuck up, and hers is to make me sing like a canary.

"If this won't work, I think I know exactly what will." She hums to herself, almost proud of her cruelty.

She unhooks me from the metal rungs in the middle of the table, my back creaking as I stand up straight for the first time in 7 hours; when suddenly a black burlap sack is thrown over my head and I am led out of the room, hearing the door slam shut behind me and lock. I am turned to the right, walking 10 steps before turning left and down another hallway, only to be brought into another room.