“I can’t even thread the needle, Sir. I’m going to hurt you.” I showed him my hand, which was holding the needle and shaking.
“I’d do it myself, but it’s a little difficult with one hand. Besides, you are the one who did this to me. And I assure you, I’ve been hurt a lot worse than what you can do with that needle.”
“Is that where the scars came from, Master?”
“Excuse me?” He lifted his gaze from the wound and caught my scared gaze.
“You’ve been hurt worse… Do you mean those scars?” I motioned to the long gash on his side.
He gave his head a shake and looked back down at his arm. “It’s not something I want to talk about right now.”
I finally got the needle threaded and let out a sigh of relief.
“It’s going to be fine.”
I must really be fucked up. Have to be. I should be running, I should be happy to have hurt him, but I’m not. “Can I ask you something, Sir, in exchange for stitching you up?”
When he didn’t answer, I looked up from his arm to stare at him. To hell with it, I’d just ask the question I’d previously been told not to ask. What could he do to me anyhow? Lots, I supposed, but I didn’t think he would. He surprised me from time to time, but I was beginning to learn my boundaries and the consequences. “What’s going on with my parents? And my sister? I mean…I don’t want to call them, just curious how they are.”
“This isn’t a topic we’re supposed to be discussing. It’s one of the rules.”
“I know, but in exchange for sewing you up, Sir.”
He laughed. “All right. Fine. If you really want to know. Your picture has been all over the news. Your father, mother, sister have been on the news asking for your kidnapper to return you. I’m not really sure what to tell you, Emily. Basic missing-persons stuff. If it makes you feel better, there seem to be lot of people upset and looking for you.”
“How is that supposed to make me feel better?” I wanted to jab him with the needle right in the heart, but I suspected he didn’t have one. Of course, literally he had one, but…
“Then why did you ask?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Sir.”
“Let them go, Emily. Let them go and move on.”
I stabbed him with the needle, but instead of offering an “ouch,” he just laughed. “What was that for?”
“For being you.”
“That’s hurtful.” I looked up at him and saw the playful twinkle in his dark eyes that I’d seen that night at the club. “Have I been that bad? You stabbed me and I didn’t do a thing about it. I would think most men would be rather upset with being stabbed.” He motioned to his forearm and then to his chest. “Twice, in fact. And if you don’t get to stitching, I’m going to bleed out on the kitchen floor.”
I looked down at the floor, at the front of his shirt covering me and then at his bare chest. Blood. Blood everywhere. “If you hadn’t said what you did about my sister I wouldn’t have stabbed you, Master.”
“Fair enough. Can we please get this over with? I’m fucking tired, sweetie.”
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Call me sweetie, and darling and love and all those endearments when you don’t really mean them. Those terms are meant for people you care for. Do you do that with all the others?”
“No.”
“Then why me?”
“’Cause you’re mine. I’m keeping you, Emily. And I’m going to redden your ass if I have to remind you how to address me one more time.”
Our stares locked and I could see in his eyes that he expected me to be exuberant over his declaration. I wasn’t sure what to think. Did he expect me to just stand around and watch as he brought in new women, broke and sold them? I didn’t think I could handle that. I’d go crazy – crazier than this situation had already made me.
“If you’re keeping me, then I don’t want you taking any more women, Master. Whatever it is that you need, get from me. You don’t need any others. I’ll do whatever you want, anything. Please, Sir, let Victoria go.”
“No. Victoria is going to be sold in a few days. That isn’t up for negotiation, love. But I am willing to make Victoria the last as long as you’re here.”
“I need to start this, Master.” His arm looked like something out of a horror show, a thin layer of blood covering his forearm. Putting the needle down, I grabbed a cloth and wiped his arm and disinfected the wound. “What do I need to do?”
“Start at the top, and make the stitches a quarter of an inch from each other and away from the edge of the skin.” Grabbing the bottle of whiskey he’d brought out for this particular occasion, he opened the top and took a long drink. “Let’s get this over with.”
I cringed as I poked his skin with the needle. His body tensed but he didn’t make a sound. The stitches became easier to make as I continued my way down the wound. I could feel his eyes burning into the top of my head as I worked, but refused to look up. Ten minutes later I was done and knotting it up.
Surveying my handiwork, I had to admit I was rather proud of myself. “Not bad, Master, right?” When I looked up into his smiling face I returned the smile. “Right?”
“It’s good.” He leaned back in the kitchen chair. “Now my chest and you’re done.”
I let out a ragged breath. His chest wound wasn’t nearly as deep or long; at least it would go quickly. And it did. A little over five minutes later I was done, but there was still the issue of the blood. I looked down at my stolen shirt, coated in his blood; it was nice to be wearing clothes for a change, but I’d have to get rid of it.
“I’ll give you another shirt.”
I don’t think I’ve smiled so wide in my life – over a shirt, no less. “You will?”
“Yeah. On one condition.”
I nodded. “Anything, Master, anything.”
“Get this kitchen cleaned up – there’s blood everywhere. I’m going to go check on Victoria one last time before bed.” He got up and the fact that he wobbled on his legs when he got up wasn’t lost on me. He made his way to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of orange juice and drank down the contents. Tossing the container into the garbage, he rummaged in a drawer by the fridge and grabbed a set of handcuffs; these ones had a long chain between them. “Give me your arm.”
I obliged, offering up my wrist. He placed the cuff on and cuffed the other end to a pipe under the sink. “I’ll be back. The cleaning supplies are in the closet over there.” He nodded his head toward the closet a few feet to my left.
Tanner
I’d lost a fucking lot of blood. I was lucky Emily hadn’t sliced an artery or I’d already be dead. If she attempted escape right now, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to stop her – but I’d never let her know that. All I could do was bank on the fact that she was willing to martyr herself for her family and any potential women I might choose from in the future.
One thing was certain. I needed Victoria gone ASAP. Victoria was becoming a liability as far as Emily was concerned. I could control her with threats to her family and future women, but Emily wanted Victoria freed. She might get the idea in her head that it was worth the risk to her and her family to save Victoria’s life. Little did she know, Victoria was already lost. It would take years of therapy to get Victoria even halfway “normal” again. And there was a good chance she’d never be “normal,” that she’d spend the rest of her life in an asylum somewhere.
Making my way down the stairs to the basement, I took care not to go too fast, otherwise I’d be tumbling down the stairs and breaking my fucking neck. We wouldn’t want that. I should just put a fucking bullet in the bitch’s head and get it over with, but the auction was in a few days and people were flying in from all over to view her and Emily. Not that I had any intention of selling Emily. She was mine. Period. But it wouldn’t be professional to let them down, nor would it be smart to give up on the money Victoria would bring in.
Victoria was simply a
n inconvenience for a few more days – that was all.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I made my way to Victoria’s room and unlocked it. As expected she was already asleep, curled into a little ball on the mattress. I hadn’t told this to Emily, but Victoria was having it better with me than she had before I picked her up. Yes, she’d endured a lot at my hands during her training, but she’d been a hooker and addict on the streets before I came along.
The fact that the blood tests had come up clean of STDs and other diseases and that she was not dead already had been a miracle, considering she’d been a heroin addict when I picked her up. Normally I shied away from women like her, for obvious reasons, but I could see her beauty beneath the surface. Now that the track marks on her arms had faded and she was clean, her beauty was once more shining through. Her detox had been a bitch on her, worse than anything I could have done to her. Most people would argue that point with me, but it was my feeling I’d done her a favour.
Satisfied she was fine, I exited the room and locked the door behind me. At the foot of the stairs that took me to the main floor of the house, I groaned. There were twenty stairs, but it looked like it was a couple hundred. With a sigh, I began my climb. At the top of the stairs I took a moment to catch my breath; the room was spinning slightly. I couldn’t let Emily see the weakness in me, – she could never see there was a weakness.
Once I had gathered myself, I made my way into the kitchen. Emily was finished and standing by the sink waiting for me. “I’m done, Master.”
“I see that,” I replied, surveying her handiwork. The kitchen – or at least the parts she could reach while being cuffed – was spotless. “Good job.” Walking over to her, I uncuffed her and tossed the cuffs back into the drawer they’d come from. “Let’s go to bed.”
I extended my hand to her and she paused, looking at my outstretched hand as if it were some foreign entity.
“Well, come on.”
Taking my hand, she exited the kitchen behind me. Once we reached the staircase she stopped. When I gave her hand a tug she got such a peculiar look on her face that it made me laugh. “Where are you taking me, Master?”
A grin remained on my face. “To bed.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it shut, following me into my room. “I’m staying with you, in here?” Her eyes scanned the bedroom. “But Sir, isn’t this your room?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you scared I’ll run?”
“Nope.” Dropping her hand, I crossed the room and grabbed a pair of handcuffs from the top drawer of my dresser and then dangled them in front of her.
Her brow furrowed. “Do you have handcuffs all over the house, Sir?”
“Pretty much.” I gave her a cocky grin that normally had women swooning at my feet. It didn’t seem to work on her – her expression remained in a state of confusion. “You never know when you might need some.”
Tossing the handcuffs on the top of the dresser, I made my way back over to her and began to undo the buttons on the shirt she was wearing. She didn’t cringe or shy away from my touch like she had in the beginning; instead she stepped in to me and laid her head on my shoulder. It surprised me, and I’ll be honest, it threw me off balance. A little over an hour before she’d been attempting to kill me and now she was holding on to me for comfort?
With the buttons undone, I slipped the shirt off her shoulders, leaving her naked before me. She wrapped her arms around my waist and I did the same, pulling her to me and brushing my lips along her temple. Tears dripped onto my shoulder and a part of me wished I could feel some sympathy or remorse for what I’d done. If I did, neither one of us would be in this situation, but I wasn’t capable of those emotions. I wouldn’t know what it felt like to feel guilty or regretful or have tears fill my eyes over some sort of loss.
I waited for her to gather herself, even though I was beginning to sway on my feet; exhaustion and loss of blood were getting to me. I’d play the good-guy role, though; she had stitched me up and not let me bleed out on the floor, so I couldn’t begrudge her the little bit of comfort she needed… “Go get a new shirt out of my closet, Emily.”
She nodded and sniffed, pulling out of my arms and walking over to the closet she’d ambushed me from earlier as I stripped, tossing my clothing into the hamper in the corner of the room. After a moment of rummaging through my clothing, she picked out a black cotton button-down shirt and slipped it on. I watched her put on the shirt. She looked cute.
“Come to bed.” I grabbed the handcuffs from the dresser and waited for her to get onto the bed. “Which arm do you want cuffed?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, Master.” Grabbing the wrist that was on the inside of the bed, I cuffed her wrist and then the rail above her head and then pulled the comforter up to her chin, tucking her in like she was as fragile as a porcelain sculpture. She would be comfortable enough for the night.
“Good?”
“It’s good, Sir.” She forced a smile onto her face.
The keys to the cuffs were also in the dresser drawer, so there was no chance she’d get to them. The bed was made of solid oak, so she’d never be able to break free – this was just as good as her being downstairs, without my having to fear her getting some stupid idea in her head of hurting herself. It had been such an up and down emotional day for her I had no intentions of taking a chance with her.
That was my excuse anyhow, but there was a part of me that wanted her near me. My desire for human contact was minimal, aside from the intense drive for sexual release, but that wasn’t really human contact in an intimate way. It was simply a release of primal urges. For some reason I was desiring something more intimate with her, and given the way she’d held on to me a moment prior, I suspected she wanted and needed the same.
“Aren’t you scared I’ll wait until you’re asleep and then smother you with your pillow, Sir?” Her eyes followed me as I rounded the bed and slipped into the other side. She turned onto her side and propped her head on her cuffed hand, awaiting my response.
Turning to face her, I reached over and traced her jawline with my thumb. My beautiful, virgin church girl. And she was mine. After Victoria was sold I’d make her mine completely, letting my cock indulge in her pure, unclaimed pussy. The thought made my dick jerk alive and I found myself thankful for my exhausted state.
“Well?” she urged.
I smiled. “No, because if you killed me you’d still be stuck chained to the bed lying beside a dead body. I promise you, several days sleeping next to a decaying corpse will make you pray for your own death.” I tapped her on the tip of the nose. “So do yourself a favour, and if you’re going to try to kill me make sure you can get away first.”
She crinkled her nose up at me. “So you’ve seen lots of dead bodies, Master?”
“More than most people. Unless, of course, you’re a mortician.”
“Did you kill them all?”
“Some, not all.” I shook my head, my mind skipping back to the last time I’d killed someone, well over six months ago, closer to eight. Her name was Mia, a stunning Asian woman whom The Organization had held as one of roughly a dozen captives. She couldn’t be trained. She’d snapped and gone completely insane, painting the walls of her cell with her feces and decorating with toilet paper. Slitting her throat at that point had been more of an act of mercy than murder, although many would argue me on that.
She seemed to consider my words, although her expression was unreadable. I wondered what was going through her mind…disgust, surprise, fear. Maybe, but I suspected the past nearly two weeks with me were causing her to adjust to the horror that came with being with me.
“What makes you decide who to kill and who to let live? How do you decide what girls you want to take?”
I frowned, not sure where that question had come from; perhaps she was attempting to figure me out and put some order into my thoughts. “How about we discuss this some other time, baby?” I flipped onto my ba
ck and closed my eyes.
Sleep. Wonderful, blissful sleep. My mind would be clear in the morning.
My body froze in shock as she moved closer to me, cuddling tight to my side, placing her head on my shoulder. Once the surprise of her seeking me out wore off, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her a little tighter.
“Good night, Master.”
“Sweet dreams, love.” When I’d abducted her a couple of weeks before, I certainly hadn’t expected to have her falling to sleep in my bed, cuddled next to me. But this was the plan; my variation of Lance’s technique in the works. I fell asleep thinking about how fucked-up this was right now and fearing the attachment I was beginning to grow toward her.
Chapter 11
Emily
“Mmm.” A smile formed on my lips as I pressed myself against the hard warmth beside me. I was just about to drift back to sleep when the realization of what the warmth was dawned on me. My body tensed and my eyes flew open and I surveyed my surroundings. My head was resting on Tanner’s chest, his uninjured side – and his arm was wrapped around my shoulders, holding me tight to him.
I had no clue what to do. He was sound asleep, snoring softly. I didn’t want to wake him, but I couldn’t go back to sleep – not when my body was pressed against his, my bare leg draped over his thighs inches from his semi-erect shaft. Sometime during the night Tanner had pushed his side of the blankets down, exposing himself from the mid-thigh up.
Shifting positions, I propped my head up on my hand, the chain connecting the cuff around my wrist and the bed post going taut, and I decided to take some time to look at him. Stupid, I know, but this was the first time I’d actually had a chance to really look at him without being scared or on edge. And it wasn’t like I could do much else tethered to the bed anyhow.
My eyes started at his thick, muscular thighs and moved up to his penis, where I paused. I was about to reach out and touch him, stroke his semi-erect shaft, but snatched my hand back. Really stupid idea THAT was – it had been more of an instinctual reaction than anything else. My eyes drifted up to his abdominals; he actually had an eight pack. This time I did reach out, my fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle. The muscle flexed under my fingertips and for a moment I was scared I’d wake him, but to my relief he remained asleep.
Faith (A Dark Romance Novel) Page 9
