by Jane Henry
The water hits mid-calf. I'm frozen.
“Get in the fucking raft or I'm leaving.”
“And have another death on your hands?” I snap.
His black eyes narrow. “You're right. I wouldn't leave you. If you don't get in, I'll drag you in by your fucking hair, and once we get to shore I'll whip your ass. Your call.”
He will. He fucking will.
“Three seconds,” he says. “One.”
He’s given me no choice, but I'm no wallflower. I'll go with him but he's not gonna be the one in charge.
“Two.” I'm the girl who leapt ten feet to catch him.
He lifts the paddles. “Three.”
I fall into the tiny rescue raft. My knees hit his back and I circle my arms around his waist. My pulse is hammering, my breath ragged and uneven.
“Hold on,” he orders. I am holding on. I don't understand his command until he starts pushing the paddles, water splashing hard. It isn't until we're five feet from the shore I see ripples in the water behind us, visible only under the light of the moon. Sharks?
The front of the raft scrapes along the sand. He throws the paddles on shore. “Go!”
I scramble out of the boat, ignoring the radiating pain in my leg. He follows behind me, dragging the boat. A smack hits my back, and the next thing I know I'm sprawling on the sand facedown. He fucking pushed me.
Before I can recover he's pushing my head down, sand scraping my left cheek. His hand holds my head in place, the calloused palm scratching along my cheek. I try to scream but sand fills my mouth.
His mouth comes to my ear. “How does it feel?” he asks. “You like being the one under me? Get used to it.”
The familiar sound of metal on metal makes me freeze.
Shit.
He twists my arms so the tops of my hands are together just above my ass. With a cooperative prisoner we allow palms together. It's the uncooperative assholes who get cuffed like this, in a way that makes pain spike along my shoulders and neck. The cuffs click into place.
“My, how the tables have turned,” he says with a mirthless chuckle. “On your feet.”
He yanks me to my feet by the cuffs, sand cascading down my body. I stifle a scream. I won't give him the satisfaction.
I swallow sand, gagging from the gritty taste between my teeth.
“Don't like that taste, sweetheart? I'll give you something better to taste when you pay me back.”
The pictures of the dead woman come to mind once more. The marks from the rope. Welts. Bruises.
He'll rape me. Whip me.
I wish I'd died along with the rest of them.
Chapter Four
Adrian
I drag her with me, enjoying the way she clenches her teeth and refuses to scream in pain.
I’ll break her before we’re through.
It’s dark, but the full moon shines down on us, and I managed to find a small but powerful flashlight in the first aid kit. I hit the button and a beam shines out like a beacon, lighting our way. Something scuttles in the brush behind us, something heavy by the sound of it. She takes a step closer to me, then looks up at me, startled, as if she surprised herself. I’m her captor, after all. But I like the feel of her close to me like this.
She doesn’t know it yet, but tonight she’ll warm my bed.
She owes me.
If she wasn’t so damn high and mighty, I’d find the girl pretty. She’s a little younger than I am, with blonde hair, a thin, aristocratic nose, a full mouth with cherry red lips, and bright eyes rimmed in long, thick lashes. Her body is lithe and fit like a gymnast’s, petite yet solid. I’ve taken my time checking her out thoroughly. She’s a little on the small side—I like my women sturdy, able to withstand the way I like to fuck, long and hard—but she’s gorgeous.
She’s wearing nothing but a bra and pants, and I see her top has been fastened around her leg like a tourniquet.
It’s really too bad she’s a goddamned bitch.
I suppose I should cut her some slack. After all, she likely believes she was doing society a favor, tracking down a wanted criminal like me.
But she doesn’t know everything there is to know.
“There were no other survivors,” I say to her, as we draw near the entrance to the small house.
“No shit,” she mutters.
Without thinking, I crack my palm against her ass so hard she stumbles forward, but my hold on her cuffs prevents her from falling all the way. She whips her head to look at me, but I don’t bother meeting her eyes. She’ll learn to watch her mouth, and the sooner she learns that, the better. That’s only a taste of what she’s got coming.
“So that’s your plan,” she mutters, clearly not subdued by the smack I just gave her. “I’ll act like a little puppet, and if I don’t, you’ll smack me around? Brilliant.” She purses her lips and rolls her eyes.
“Actually, it’s a lot more entertaining if you fight me,” I say, kneeling down in front of the lock. “And no,” I say in a bored voice as she makes a step toward me. “You will not smack me with your cuffed hands and try to get away. I’m not a dumbass, you won’t escape, and then I’d have to punish you tonight instead of waiting for the morning. And frankly, I’m a little tired.”
She doesn’t say anything but doesn’t step any closer.
“It’s an easy enough lock,” she says. “One hair pin will do it.”
Problem is, I don’t have a hairpin.
I turn and look at her. She rolls her eyes to her hairline, and I realize her hair is tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck. It’s not uncommon for female officers to wear this type of hairstyle. If her hair swung free or in a ponytail, an assailant could grab it, and gain the upper hand.
“Convenient,” I say. “Since you need to lose the bun anyway.”
I stand, then walk to her. She’s about as tall as my shoulders, and when I stand behind her like this, she’s small and vulnerable, like a cornered mouse.
Perfect.
I reach for her bun, and when my fingers touch her hair, she freezes, her body tensing, muscles contracted. I almost feel sorry for her. It’s a fuck of a lot harder to submit when you’re wound up this tight. But then I remind myself she doesn’t deserve my sympathy. She deserves nothing but retribution.
“Hard to grab a bun, isn’t it, sweetheart?” I ask, wrapping my fingers around the thick golden coil. I tug, and her whole head lurches back, but it’s not as satisfying as a really fucking good hair pull. Still, I like the way she whimpers a little, and I love the feel of the golden silk between my fingers.
“How do you take this goddamned thing out?” I mutter.
She breathes out an exasperated sigh. “You pull the pins,” she says. “They’re tucked into the bun. I use six of them, every time. Just pull them out, one at a time.”
I slide a finger under the bun until I feel the hard pin. The bun stays tight when I pull the first pin out, then wobbles a little with the second. With the third, it tumbles over my hand like gold, the fragrance of lilacs stirring my cock to life.
Forget the blow job I was gonna make her give me. I’ll wrap this hair around my cock while I fist myself off.
I have fetishes aplenty. Apparently, I now have a hair one.
With a handful of pins, I go back to the lock. “Stay there,” I order. I don’t want her anywhere near me while I work.
“I could do this for you,” she says. I don’t bother to answer.
I kneel in front of the lock and wiggle the pin in, but this particular lock must have been fashioned differently than the ones I’ve picked in the past. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter, but I can’t trigger the damn release.
“Let me do it,” she says behind me.
I ignore her until I’m panting from the exertion and cursing the motherfucking lock to kingdom come. Then finally, I turn to her.
“Fine. You’ll get a shot. Obviously, I’ll have to uncuff you, but it goes without saying that if you pull any tricks, you’ll wish y
ou hadn’t.”
She rolls her eyes.
I cannot wait to train this woman into obedience.
But right now, we need to get inside.
I pull the key out of my pocket, slide it into the cuffs, and release her. She swings her arms free but doesn’t make a move toward me, just takes the pins from my hand and walks to the door.
She eyes the lock, frowning, then opens the pin and slides it in. Within seconds, I hear a faint pop. She stands with a satisfied smirk on her face and turns the knob. The door swings inward, and she walks inside. I follow, keeping an eye on her.
“Careful,” I tell her. “This place hasn’t been inhabited for what looks like years. You have no idea who or what could be inside.”
“Whatever,” she says with another eye roll. My palm literally twitches.
“Come here.” I take her by the wrist and tug her close, pull her wrists behind her back again while she groans, and cuff her once more.
“For fuck’s sake,” she says. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. Do you really have to cuff me?”
I don’t bother responding. Waste of breath.
I swing my flashlight around, until the beam lands on a light switch. I flick it, expecting nothing to happen, but bright fluorescent light immediately floods the entire room. We both blink in surprise, stunned at the blinding light for a moment. I shield my eyes, and shut the door, then turn to scan our surroundings.
The floors and walls are constructed of bare wood, as if the entire structure was put up quickly but no one could be bothered to finish it. The bulbs that hang from the ceiling are bare, wiring still showing in various places. It was a slapdash job, no doubt done by people who were on a mission or had limited resources to spare.
“Come with me,” I say to her, taking her by the arm and marching her around the small interior. There’s an office, with a chair and a desk and some type of computer equipment. I frown. If she can find a way to communicate with anyone using this, I could be fucked. I have literally no intention of ever trying to get rescued on this island. Why would I want to? So I could go back to a life of captivity?
I’ll have to be sure that computer is disabled. We’ll need to see how there’s an energy source, though.
Just a few paces past the office is a small bathroom. I peek in. Everything is sparse stainless steel, with a prison-style metal toilet, tiny shower, and sink. I run the tap, but nothing happens when I turn it. I’ll look into that.
“I wonder who lived here,” she says softly, as if to herself. I look over at her, now basked in the glow of the vibrant overhead light and see she’s more injured than I realized in the dark. One eye is nearly swollen shut, blood stains her lips and cheek, and her clothes are torn. “And how the hell there’s light in the middle of nowhere.”
“Likely a solar-powered generator,” I grunt. I’m not sure how or why there’s evidence of civilization here, but I’m not fucking complaining.
I look her over and shake my head. “You’re a goddamn mess,” I mutter, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing I want to clean her up.
I’ll do more than that before I’m through with her.
She scowls at me and doesn’t deign to respond.
Behind her stands another open door. I head in that direction while she looks around us. Her lips thin, and she wears a grim expression on her face. The doorway opens to a bedroom. I feel along the wall until I find another switch, hit it, and a dimmer light floods this room. In here, there’s one twin-sized bed with nothing but a sheet on top and two pillows, what looks like blankets covered in plastic, one window, and a small bedside table. It’s not unlike the prison cell where I spent my time, except here one can roam free.
Looking at the bed, I’m suddenly overcome with exhaustion.
“Get in here,” I order. I’m tired and hungry and about to share the bed of the bitch that tried to ruin my life. I’m not in the most pleasant of moods. She doesn’t come, though. I inhale deeply, trying to calm myself. I’m going to train her. That will involve inflicting pain and punishment and seeing that she obeys my commands. But I want to be in control of myself when I do.
“I said,” I growl out, exiting the bedroom. “Get in here.”
But when I come to the main area, she’s frozen in place, staring at something in the corner with wide, terrified eyes. Her mouth hangs open, her body rigid with terror. I whip my head around to look where she’s staring and see a dark brown spider in the middle of a large web I somehow missed before.
“Get behind me,” I order. I hear the slightest scuffle. For once she’s actually doing what she’s told. I look around me, trying to locate something I could use to capture the thing when it scuttles quickly away from us. Her high pitched scream makes my pulse spike. I kick my foot out, catch one leg, and the spider spins wildly out of control, the legs flailing in fight, but I’m bigger and stronger. I hit it with another vicious kick, then another. It smears on the floor and wall and she whimpers like a little child. When it’s good and dead, I turn to her.
“Come here,” I say gruffly. I take her by the arm and lead her to the bedroom. “We’re calling it a night.”
“I’m not sleeping in here. Are you out your mind? And if you think I’m getting in bed with you, you’re sicker than I thought.”
“Oh, honey,” I say, shaking my head sadly as I draw her to the side of the bed. “You have no idea.”
She blinks and looks around the room, then shivers. It’s fairly warm in here, so I suspect she’s shivering for another reason.
I sit on the edge of the bed, grab her arm, and pull her between my legs. Her body tenses and her jaw tightens, but before she can react, I bark out an order.
“I’m inspecting your injuries. You stand still and let me.”
“Fuck you,” she hisses. I’ll teach her to watch that mouth, but not until I’ve inspected her to see she isn’t badly hurt. The others died. She won’t.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” I say in a low growl, the vision of her laid out stripped on the bed with her head thrown back as she comes flashing in my mind’s eye. I’m barely tempering the desire to whip her ass. “Get out of those fucking clothes,” I grit out, angry at her for manipulating me into the slightest thought of her pleasure. “Now it’s time to strip. I’ll remove your cuffs first.”
Her jaw drops, and she stares at me, dumbfounded.
I’ve had enough of this.
With a swipe of my hand, I grab her hair, fist it in my hand, and yank her head back, my other hand as secure as the cuffs around her wrists. “You will learn that when I tell you to do something you’ll fucking obey. Now I told you to strip.”
My reason is twofold: I want to inspect her body for injuries, to make sure there’s nothing pressing I need to tend to before morning, and secondly, I want to humiliate her.
The added bonus will be sleeping in bed with her naked. She’s bruised and bloodied, but my dick doesn’t fucking care.
“If you rape me,” she hisses out, “I’ll find a way to murder you. Just so we’re clear. If that’s the end game, you might as well kill me now.”
I huff out a laugh. “And end the cat and mouse game so soon? I don’t think so, sweetheart. I need to toy with my little pet first.”
I have to hand it to the girl. I’ve got her by the hair, at my mercy, and all I’d have to do is twist her neck just so to snap the life right out of her, and she’s got the fucking audacity to threaten me.
I pull her close to me and sniff along her neck, letting my nose just graze the tender skin. Her breath hitches, her shoulders tighten, but she doesn’t let out a sound. I nearly cradle her but for the vise-grip I have on her hair. Slowly, wordlessly, I run my tongue along her collarbone, tasting salt and fear. I want to devour her, brand her, until her every thought is of me. I don’t give a fuck if those thoughts run to fear. She’s mine, my plaything, and she’ll pay for what she’s done. The faintest lingering scent of lemon clings to her skin. This morning, which may as
well have been years ago, she bathed in a feminine soap that clings to her still.
The reminder of this morning brings back the memory of my own brutal confinement in the hot, muggy holding cell they put me in. She bathed with luxury soaps while I crouched in the corner, watching the rats skitter in the shadows of the cell. My vision grows hazy with fury. I sink my teeth into her neck until she screams and writhes. I stop just before I draw blood.
I want her terrified, not injured. I keep myself aloof, pull back, and look into her eyes now wide with fear.
“You’ll strip now,” I whisper, letting the words drip on her skin like melted wax. “Or I’ll strip you myself. My way will be quicker. I won’t bother keeping your clothes intact. And then tomorrow, when I punish you, I’ll add more strokes of my belt for your defiance.”
She closes her eyes as if to block out her choices. As if I don’t see straight through her when she shuts me out. I can feel her trembling. I can see the dark pink mark of my teeth on her skin, pulsing with the heat of pain and her terror.
“Fine,” she finally whispers.
I release her and unlock the cuffs, then sit back. My body tenses. I’m prepared to defend myself should she be stupid enough to attack me again, but she isn’t. She glares at me with undisguised hatred as she reaches for her bra strap and pulls it off. Her breasts swing free, full and pale, enough for a good handful. I smile, slowly appraising her dusky pink nipples. They’re hard.
“Cold in here, sweetheart?” I ask, mocking her. She isn’t cold.
“I hate you,” she whispers.
“And doesn’t that make two of us. I’m getting a little tired of your mouth, though,” I say lazily. “No more talking. Talk again and I’ll gag you.” My voice cuts through the quiet like lighting. “Pants.”
First, she steps out of her shoes. They tumble at the foot of the bed. Next, she fumbles with the clasp at her waist, unfastens it, but then struggles when she goes to remove her tattered pants. She’s got a makeshift tourniquet on her leg. I look over and inspect her wound briefly, and in the dim light it looks superficial. I reach for the knife in my pocket. She freezes as I cut what remains of her pants, then I place her on her feet. “Take ‘em off.” She scowls at me, but unfastens then removes the remaining tatters of her pants. She wobbles on her feet, but stands before me now in nothing but a thin, bikini-style pair of black panties edged with tiny pink hearts. The delicacy of them seems incongruous with someone as tough as she is.
