Black Heart

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  She woke to daylight and stretched like a cat, feeling tendons pop and muscles flex with the delicious ache that came after greedy, abandoned sex. She was forced to abort the movement when the chain around her wrist brought her arm to a halt. She looked down at the cuff and the chain pooled under the sheet with her.

  She didn’t remember him replacing it. She didn’t remember anything beyond her exhausted slide into sleep, even as his hand stroked the sensitive flesh over her hip, keeping her nerves twitching until sleep claimed her properly.

  She quickly rolled over to check the other side of the bed. It was empty. But the sound of running water and the closed bathroom door told her where he was. The water shut off as she listened and her heart pattered harder.

  She scrambled out of the bed and gathered up the hateful chain in her hand. She tried the door handle and it turned without resistance.

  The door was ripped aside, tearing the handle from her hand. He stood before her, fully naked except for the patch over his eye. “You dare interrupt me without permission!” he roared and shoved her hard, back into the bedroom.

  She almost tripped over the chain and scrambled backward to keep her footing as he came after her, shrugging into a bathrobe he pulled from behind the door. Without the cane he limped heavily.

  He must be Zalaya now, she reminded herself. “I just wanted—” she began, but could think of nothing to add. Her surprise had stolen her ability to think.

  “You do not get to satisfy your wants here!” He grabbed the trailing chain and yanked it so that she was pulled, stumbling, toward him. He looped the chain around her wrists so they were caught together in the metal tangle and tugged her toward the bed. “You need to learn who is in charge.”

  He pushed her until her pelvis pressed against the high side of the bed. His hand pushed on her back and the other pulled down on the chain, forcing her to bend her chest to the crumpled coverlet, her hands over her head. A weight settled on her hands, holding them down. His foot kicked at her ankles, spreading her legs.

  She realized that this was how Zalaya would do it. He would take her, right now, bent over in this demeaning position. She recalled the camera in the corner of the room and moaned into the mattress. Of course, Zalaya would do it for the camera. For his own private collection and for whoever else would be watching.

  She had to do the same. She had to be the Minnie she would be if this really was Zalaya. Their lives depended on it. What would Zalaya’s Minnie have done?

  Well, she wouldn’t just lie there and take it.

  Minnie shoved back as hard as she could, but her strength was diminished in this position and Duardo—Zalaya—was a strong man. She could only jerk on the chains that bound her hands and her butt rammed into him. It barely moved him.

  “You fucking asshole,” she muttered. “You think this makes you a man?”

  “No, but this does.”

  The head of his cock pushed between her cheeks, seeking her entrance and she could feel the fluids of last night supplying lubrication. He slid into her and grunted his satisfaction against her back.

  She bit her lip. She knew she must keep up the act but there was an odd sensation of doubling—it was Zalaya sliding in and out of her, but it was also Duardo who held her down and took his pleasure and suddenly, out of nowhere, she felt a touch of excitement. Arousal.

  “I’ve seen dogs do the same,” she husked, maintaining the act. But the huskiness in her voice was real.

  All her life, Minnie had been the one to hold the power over men. Even with Duardo, who was almost old-fashioned in his beliefs about a man’s role in a relationship, she had still been utterly sure of her power over him.

  Now, he held the control. Physical control, and she was forced to submit.

  It was novel, and it was arousing her in a way she had never experienced before. To be completely at his mercy....

  She moaned into the mattress and pressed her hips back into him, opening herself up to the invasion.

  His free hand reached beneath her and cupped her breast. “Yes, you understand your role here,” he told her and the double meaning was clear to her. Zalaya was confirming her role as a slave. Duardo was agreeing that the role she was playing for the camera was correct.

  His fingers played with her nipple, tweaking and rolling it. Her arousal quickened. His hand gripped her hip and his cock probed deeper and faster, as if he had read her response and it was feeding his own.

  Minnie forgot about the camera, forgot that this was supposed to be Zalaya bending her to his will. She sunk deep into the pool of new sensations Duardo provoked in her. Her climax gathered and grew.

  Zalaya came with a guttural groan and the hand holding her wrists momentarily grew heavier as he sagged. Then he straightened and pulled out of her. Her wrists were pulled into the air as he hauled on the chain.

  She straightened up stiffly but was spun around to face the bathroom door. His hand pushed on her shoulder again. “Clean yourself,” he ordered.

  She moved into the bathroom, unraveling loops of chain from around her wrists as she went.

  “Leave the door open,” he told her, when she tried to shut it. “I will not have you slashing your wrists while my back is turned.”

  She looked over her shoulder and saw that he had pulled over the straight-backed chair from the dressing table and had lined it up with the bathroom door. He was settling himself in it, his arms crossed. He intended to watch her shower.

  Ah, yes, Zalaya would do that. He would demean his victims in some cold, calculating way that took away their will to live and fight back. She applauded Duardo’s role-playing. Duardo knew, as Zalaya would not, that any attempt to tell her what to do, to control or direct her, would deliver the opposite.

  She must respond in character.

  She turned to face him fully, her shoulders squared, heated fury boiling in her chest. “Slash my wrists over you?” she asked, pouring all her derision into the last word. “You’ve got the wrong girl for that, asshole.”

  He studied her for a long, silent minute. Then he smiled. “It seems I may not tire of you as easily as the others, after all.”

  She spared a thought for the women—and possibly the men—who had been the real Zalaya’s victims and felt deep pity along with the hope that they had not succumbed to the shit Zalaya handed out.

  “Wash yourself,” he commanded.

  She stepped into the shower and turned on the water.

  “Leave the curtain aside,” he added as she reached for it.

  She shrugged and enjoyed the spray of hot water, hampered somewhat by the chain dangling from her wrist. She didn’t concern herself with the water trickling down the length of chain to pool on the floor outside the cubicle. Zalaya’s Minnie wouldn’t.

  It reminded her to keep the role-play alive and that gave her an idea on how to get answers to some of the many questions she wished she could openly ask Duardo.

  “The scar on your back,” she said. “Is that why you use a cane?”

  “I ask the questions,” he snapped.

  “What, I’m supposed to shut up unless spoken to?” she shot back. She kept her gaze on her feet, to keep the challenge less confrontational. “You like fucking mechanical dolls so much?”

  Silence.

  She resisted the need to look around to see what his reaction was. Instead, she concentrated on the soap in her hands and lathering it across her stomach. The silence stretched on and she realized that he would not answer her question directly. It would be an admission that she was right.

  She rinsed the soap off. “I figure someone shot you in the back,” she prompted. “So, do you know who made you a gimp?”

  “There are many of us with scars on our backs,” Zalaya answered dryly. “Which proves the lack of honor in the Vistarian army. But for me, that is an old scar. That is not why I must use a cane.”

  She looked at him then. “I didn’t see any other scars,” she said. Challenge, always challenge, she re
minded herself. “I got a pretty good look at you buck-naked a while ago.”

  “You were not looking closely enough then.” He turned his knee out and lifted the edge of the robe. At that angle, she was able to see the hamstring muscle on the back of his right leg. A thick, viciously red, almost writhing scar ran for eight inches down the length of it. It was recent. The flesh around it was colorless and delicate. “A sniper shot me—also from behind,” he explained with a humorless smile. “It tore the tendon from the bone, shredded the muscle and shattered the femur. It also nicked the great artery. They replaced my blood three times over before they could control the wound.” He replaced the robe and folded his arms again. “They told me I would not ever again be able to use the leg—that I would be a cripple. I told them....” He grinned. “I told them I always get my way.”

  Her heart jumped and cold touched her. How did Duardo get that scar? Her mind raced as she forced herself to casually bathe.

  Duardo could not fake such a scar over the long term. Somehow, he had been shot a second time. But he had been taken into the infirmary and then possibly to the city hospital....

  Yet he was playing Zalaya, so this wound had to be Zalaya’s.

  It fell into place with almost an audible click. Zalaya had been wounded and sent to hospital. Duardo had been in the same hospital. That was where the deception had begun. That was where, somehow, Duardo had become Zalaya.

  She shut off the water with a snap of her wrist, making the chain rattle, and reached for a towel. She glanced at the mirror. More words were there.

  You must find a way to leave. I will help you. For now, play the part. D.

  Minnie stared at the words, her heart hammering. She could not reach the mirror to leave her own message for the chain was not long enough. It meant she had no way to protest.

  She had no intention of leaving without him.

  She heard him moving. The scrape of the chair over the thick carpet. A drawer opening. Small sounds.

  When she finally stepped out of the bathroom, she found him fully dressed in the black trousers and simple shirt. He tossed the paper bag from the previous evening onto the bed.

  “Wear that,” he said shortly and picked up the cane where it leaned against the bed. He pointed to the door that opened onto the security control room. “I have a meeting in my office in ten minutes. You will serve coffee.”

  He left without waiting for her answer.

  Aware that she was within camera range again and that someone might be staring at the monitors in the next room, she kept her face neutral, tipped the contents of the bag onto the bed and inspected them. A pair of high stiletto shoes. A baby-doll nightgown. Delicate organza roses decorated the triangles that would cover her breasts, the rest of the tiny garment was sheer pink chiffon, with satin bows over the shoulders. She held up the tiny panties. They were also sheer pink chiffon. She would be more naked than if she poured coffee, well, buck-naked. This would call attention to her body.

  Play the part, Duardo said. She fingered the chiffon, the chain clinking softly. So be it. If Zalaya wanted to parade her in front of his men, he’d get a parade and damn his eyes.

  She got dressed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He came for her after fifteen minutes.

  Minnie leaned against the foot of the bed, her arms crossed, with a bored expression. He unlocked the cuff secured to the foot of the bed without comment and made no attempt to catch her gaze with his own.

  From the other side of the partly open door she could hear the murmur of male voices. Fast Spanish interspersed with low chuckles.

  Zalaya carried the cuff through to his office, drawing the chain with him. The chain tugged her into motion and she strolled through the doorway, trying to make her stance and her bearing as careless as possible. It was difficult to pull off because she was shaking and her adrenaline was surging in sickly waves. With Duardo as Zalaya, she knew that no matter what Zalaya demanded of her, Duardo would find a way to protect her from the worst of it. He was already risking much by keeping her in his room. The other insurrectos had been disappointed that he didn’t place her directly into the bordello, which meant keeping her had been a break with custom. Breaks in custom could breed suspicion, but he had taken the chance anyway.

  Now he had to dangle her before this congregation of savages because that was also something that Zalaya would do. It was even more important that she keep up the façade when she was in the same room as these men.

  As she stepped through, Zalaya was closing the cuff around the drawer handle. There were five officers, all sitting around Zalaya’s desk. They looked up at her and eyes widened, a jaw dropped. Soto was there again and his slow smile was the worst, as his eyes crawled over her.

  There was a chuckle and a comment in Spanish. Minnie understood enough words to put together the intent of it. Is this the latest toy, Zalaya?

  Zalaya shrugged, sat at his desk and brought his leg up to rest the booted heel on the surface. “I’ve yet to decide if she is worth the trouble,” he said in Spanish. He pointed to the communications console on the other side of his desk. “The tray there. Pour coffee for everyone,” he said in English. “And don’t spill any on the console.”

  “She’s American?” one of the men said, sounding displeased.

  Minnie slid past the back of Zalaya’s tilted chair, heading for the wide console where the big silver tray sat, loaded with a huge coffeepot and stacks of crockery and condiments.

  “Australian,” Zalaya corrected. “Although we’re still confirming that.”

  Minnie realized that Zalaya’s Spanish was clear and easier to understand than the others’. He used none of the metaphors and slang that peppered the others’ talk.

  “Does she understand us?” came the cautious question.

  “Enough, I think,” Zalaya answered. “Do not trouble yourself about security, Correa. What she learns will never leave here.”

  A shudder rippled down Minnie’s spine. She understood that implication only too clearly. Zalaya was not bothering to hide anything from her because she would not survive to pass the information along.

  She shook her hand to get the cuff out of the way and picked up the first bowl of heavily spiced coffee. She placed it in front of the closest officer—an unshaven, grossly fat man with wobbling jowls and sharp eyes that ogled her breasts as she leaned over to place the bowl down. As she straightened up he grabbed her ass and squeezed painfully.

  She stepped back half a step and her spiked heel rammed down on his instep. As he grunted and grabbed at his boot, she turned away without comment and picked up the second cup. The officer she placed it in front of didn’t touch her, but he chuckled as she turned away and so did the others. She saw in one of the monitors on the console that he was holding his hands up as if he were weighing a pair of melons in each hand. He was silently describing her breasts to the rest of them, who were chuckling their appreciation.

  She gritted her teeth harder and brought the third cup over to Soto. He was not laughing. Nor did he smile. There was sweat at his temple as he watched Minnie with the intensity of a cat watching a mouse.

  She put the cup down carefully, just as Soto’s hand rammed its way between her thighs. His thick fingers bunched and curled, trying to find their way past the thin barrier of her panties, to find a way inside.

  She jerked back, looking for his shoe with her heel and unable to find it. His other hand grabbed her breast and the rest of the men in the room chuckled, including Zalaya.

  Soto’s fingers pushed at the chiffon. They were rough, scratching the flesh at the top of her thighs. His grip on her breast was painful.

  She tried to take another step back and this time the results were immediate and spectacular, for the chain around her wrist had somehow looped itself around Soto’s bowl of coffee. Her step backward jerked the entire bowl into Soto’s lap.

  Soto clutched at his crotch and screamed. He pulled at the steaming, sodden fabric of his pa
nts, squirming on the chair.

  “Idiot!” Zalaya cried. He pulled on the chain to bring her around the table to his side then grabbed her arm and pushed her into the bedroom. Duardo was getting her out of the snake pit.

  She turned in time to see him unlock the cuff from his desk with jerky, furious movements. His face was red with anger. How did he do that? He looked certifiable. He slapped the cuff back around the bed frame.

  “You are utterly useless,” he told her in Spanish, which meant he wanted the men behind him to hear. The door behind him was wide open and everyone but Soto was leaning to see into the room, their heads bobbing as they moved to see around Zalaya’s back.

  The name of the game was humiliation, Minnie reminded herself.

  He went back into the office, his cane thumping. The sound of the lock turning on the office door was another thud.

  Minnie stared at the closed door. It wasn’t really closed. There was a whole bank of monitors out there at his command. His view of her out there was as clear as the view he’d had of her when he had sat upon the chair watching her shower that morning. His men could see her just as easily on the monitors.

  So Minnie made herself stretch like a cat, long and luxuriously. She ruffled her hair to portray total indifference as she thought swiftly. She would not give them a second’s more entertainment than possible and if they were watching the monitors, she knew they would be ogling her again and making crude comments to each other.

  So she gave another yawn, climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over herself. Let them watch a shapeless mound under the blankets instead.

  But beneath the blankets she could smell Duardo and the faintest hint of sex, reminding her of the night of abandoned, greedily selfish entertainment she had indulged in. It brought images and sense impressions zinging back into her memory; his hand on her breast, the hot, moist touch of his tongue everywhere.

  She shivered and curled into a ball under the blanket and let the mindless peace of sleep take her.