Her eyes flipped open.
Right in front of her face . . . there was a pattern of wires. But that couldn’t be right . . . ?
It took some deep breaths before things focused properly and she discovered that what she thought she was seeing was correct—and also wrong. The thin ridges pressing into her were a weave of black coated wires.
She was in a cage. Like a dog cage.
“You’re reminding me of someone.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Mae moved her eyes, not her head. Through the pattern of crosshatches, she looked across an open space . . .
Wait . . . was this a department store? There were racks and racks of clothes . . . a display of designer purses and shoes . . . a makeup table. But there was also an exposed kitchen that ran down one wall and a bathroom without walls or a door. A king-sized bed.
“I’m over here, dummy.”
Mae tracked the sound to the center of the whatever-it-was. Sitting on a white leather sofa, with her legs crossed like a lady, the brunette had changed her clothes and done her hair over. Now she was in a white skirt suit, the top formfitting to her tiny waist, the bottom with a slit that went to mid-thigh. The stilettos were black and white, and there were pearls, lots of pearls.
But that wasn’t all.
She had a spectacular white hat on, a derby hat, with a brim that carouseled around her beautiful face and her graceful neck, lower in some places, higher in others.
“Do you like it?” the brunette murmured as her blood-red-tipped fingers hovered around the delicate black piping on the bill.
Mae pushed herself up and banged her head on the top of the cage.
“Oh, sorry. It’s for dogs.” The brunette smiled. “Big dogs are not as big as grown females, though, are they.”
Shuffling her feet around, Mae sat up as much as she could, her head at an awkward angle. With a better look at the area they were in, she saw four thousand square feet with a low ceiling held up by thick, featureless supports. No windows. And a single door.
So that was where she needed to get to.
“Alexis Carrington Colby.” The brunette swept a hand down her smooth legs. “This is her outfit. From the season-two first episode. And not a copy, this is the actual suit. I bought it off the wardrobe guy. Or, rather, I let him fuck me for it. He was small, by the way, and size does matter. But this suit—with the hat? So worth it. Besides, I was so much hotter than the shit he usually got that he lasted a minute and a half.”
Mae blinked.
“Okay, fine. It was two minutes, tops.” The brunette frowned. “Hold up, did you not watch it? How could anyone not watch Dynasty? Although, considering your sartorial choices . . .”
The dog cage had a latch right in front, and also one on the short side. Both were locked with a padlock. The wire was steel. Not exactly mesh, and if she had been calm, she would have been able to exit the cage safely. But she was in pain and terrified.
The brunette seemed piqued by a lack of fawning. “You know, I dressed up for you. You could show some appreciation.” When Mae didn’t respond, there was an elegant shrug. “Fine, you’ve been out for a while now. How’s your head? Hm?”
The cage was made up of panels that were collapsible, the hard corners of right angles held in place by virtue of the two short sides having been pushed up to hold the top.
“You don’t say much.” The brunette flashed her hand. “Do you see this diamond? Twenty-five carats. Do you like it?”
Mae knew her only hope was to kick at the sides and bend the metal hooks until the structural integrity of the panels failed.
“It’s glass.” The brunette put her hand out to herself and moved the huge stone from side to side. “You know, some would say that pear shapes are not classic, not like rounds or emeralds are. They’re supposedly like marquise cuts—or that fucking princess-cut shit. But see, this is the ring that Joan Collins wore. I got it at an auction like three years ago. I would have paid more—”
Mae shifted around and planted her boots on the cage’s short side. Cramming herself against the other end, she started to put her strength into it—
“What are you doing.” The brunette lifted a stenciled brow. “Honestly, you think that is going to work?”
Straining, Mae felt the wires bite into her shoulders and the back of her neck, her head. The injuries from the car accident—her bad shoulder from where the seat belt had tightened on it, her face from landing on the dirt, her temple from God only knew what—began to hum louder and throb. Especially as she started to kick.