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•~Rhyna and kidnapper~•

As the room filled with tension, he couldn't help but be captivated by the sight of her waking up, her eyes fluttering open. Rhyna's body strained against the restraints that held her, her movements limited and controlled.

He observed her closely, his gaze lingering on her injured arm. The shock and realization that it had been operated on were evident on her face. With a calculated smile, he made his way toward her, knowing his presence would rouse her curiosity.

"How does your arm feel?" he asked, intentionally provoking her. Rising from his corner, he sauntered toward her, a sly smile playing upon his lips, knowing well it would irk her.

 Surprisingly, she remained composed. 

"Better now. It wasn't my first encounter with a bullet," she retorted, her smile tight and determined.

Choosing not to engage further, he held his tongue. While she slumbered, he had allowed his mind to wander, contemplating the various ways in which he could coax the truth from her lips. Intriguingly, his thoughts ventured into the realm of the sensual, envisioning the possibilities that lay beyond mere interrogation.

The potential outcomes grew more enticing with every passing moment. He could obtain the answers he sought while indulging in a little amusement.

"Why have you restrained me?" she inquired, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "I am already at your mercy. You possess the weapons, whereas I am defenseless."

"What's your real name, Rhyna?" he questioned, locking his gaze with hers.

She averted her eyes almost immediately, a clear sign that there was indeed another name she hid from him. Her unwavering stare, however, tried to mask the truth.

"What do you mean? You've stalked me enough to know that my real name is Rhyna," she declared, her gaze unwavering, challenging him.

Impressive, he mused to himself, admiring her ability to deceive with such confidence. Clearly, she had been well-trained in the art of secrecy, bound by an unspoken oath. Now, his doubts were vanquished; she had taken the solemn vow.

"I won't ask again, Rhyna. You're well aware of what I'm capable of. You're restrained, and I possess the means to make you reconsider," he said, tilting his head, his gaze unwavering.

Her body flinched ever so slightly, a nearly imperceptible motion. If he hadn't been studying her so intently, he might have missed it. But he didn't miss it this time. She was lying.

"I don't know what you want from me. My real name is Rhyna Arnolds. I thought you were a skilled stalker, but now I have my doubts," she smirked, her words laced with defiance.

Returning the smirk, he replied, "So, you didn't take the oath, Rhyna?"

Her face paled instantly, fear flooding her eyes. It was a sudden shift that almost amused him. She had indeed taken the oath. He had no reason to doubt it anymore, not after witnessing her reaction.

"What oath are you talking about?" she feigned innocence, her ability to lie with confidence both astonished and intrigued him.

"Enough of your bullshit, Rhyna. If you refuse to play by my rules, this game will take a darker turn," he warned, drawing closer to her. Retrieving her gun, he aimed it at her face, relishing in her visible recoil.

Satisfied by her reaction, he realized that breaking her would be a simpler task than anticipated. A wicked chuckle escaped him, catching her attention and forcing her eyes open wide.

"I have numerous methods to extract the truth, some more... pleasurable than others," he declared, maintaining a poker face as he locked eyes with her.

"All you can do is shoot a bullet, so go ahead! Aim right for my chest!" Her defiance and the resurgence of her adrenaline amused him, but he had far more enticing plans in store.

"Are we seeking death, Rhyna? Far from it," he responded with a sly grin. "I prefer a more... torturous approach. And I have innovative ways to make you talk."

"Give it your best shot. You won't get anything out of me," she retorted, growing bolder with each passing moment. Oh, how exhilarating it would be to break her spirit.

"Perhaps I'll start by ripping your nails every time you lie. That would give us twenty turns, providing ample opportunity for reflection. What do you think?" he proposed, seizing her hand and holding her wrist in a firm grip, relishing the fear etched on her face.

"Or," he continued, his voice dripping with sadistic glee, "I could utilize this exquisite body of yours for my own amusement. That would be far more humiliating, don't you agree?" 

His merry laughter filled the room, eliciting a mixture of anger and arousal from his captive.

"Don't you dare touch me!" she sneered, her feistiness undeniably alluring, even in her restrained state.

Slowly, he trailed his fingers from the front of her dress, teasingly tracing the contours of her cleavage, relishing in her struggles. Just as he was about to explore further, she spat at his face, testing his patience once more.

Ah, how he enjoyed testing the limits of his patience. 

In a split second, he met her defiant gaze with a dark expression, and with a swift motion, tore her dress, exposing her cleavage and tempting him with her almond-colored skin.

"Now, Rhyna, I believe it's time for you to start talking. Let's begin with your true name, shall we?" he urged, studying her closely as she struggled, her breath heavy but her tears held at bay. She was undeniably resilient, and he admired her for it.

He took a long look at her, her silky black bra framing her perfect breasts, the desire to possess her consuming him. Yet, he resisted, focusing on the game they were playing. He stared at her, waiting for her to surrender, to give him what he desired. 

"My patience wears thin, and you've already spat on me. Shall I return the favor?" he warned, maintaining a dark expression, his desire to break her intensifying.

Her breath grew heavy, her tearful eyes locked with his, pleading for mercy. "Please, don't do this," she implored, her vulnerability tugging at something deep within him.

"You should have considered that before spitting on me," he declared, his expression unyielding. With a menacing aura, he offered her one final chance. "What's your name?"

"Vanessa. Vanessa Smith," she murmured, a solitary tear slipping down her cheek.

He hadn't expected such a quick surrender, yet her admission ignited a spark of curiosity within him. "And did you take the oath?" he pressed, his gaze piercing into her soul.

Approaching her, he snatched away her torn bra, revealing her pert breasts adorned with chocolate-brown nipples that hardened in response to the cool air. 

Her almond-colored skin beckoned him, tempting him to explore its depths. But for now, he withheld his desires, focusing on the truth she held.

"Yes," she confessed, her voice barely audible.

Well, well. The game had changed indeed. A wicked smile adorned his face.

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Hey love,

Updated, as promised.

With love,
Ethan