I met his eyes as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes dark, his cock squarely in my sight when he stood. I reached for him, but he sat down beside me instead, smiling at me. “Not yet,” he said, drawing me belly down over his lap, caressing my bottom as he adjusted my position, my hands and feet on the ground. I knew what he’d do. He’d spank me. It still made me gasp when the first smack fell. He held me easily in place and spanked one buttock then the other, short, hard smacks, ten in total before he paused to dip his fingers between my legs and caress my pussy, making me moan and lift my ass up to him, wanting more. But each time, when orgasm neared, he’d spank me again, gripping me harder as I struggled harder, my cries not made up of words but only sound. I don’t know how long he did this, or why, but he kept me on the edge of orgasm, the stinging pain a sharp contrast to the pleasure, each one needing the other, neither complete alone.
“That’s it, Elle, relax into it,” he said, as if sensing this revelation. “Take the pain,” he said, spanking one buttock hard several times then repeating on the other cheek. This differed from punishment, it was conditioning. Training me to link the two? But when I’d start to give myself over to it, I’d catch myself, twisting away — or trying to.
The next time he stopped to caress me, he didn’t spank again. Instead, he stroked the length of me, touching my clit lightly before trailing back over the lips of my sex and up to my anus. “Pain,” he said again. “Without it, the pleasure isn’t as intense.” Two fingers circled my clit, bringing me to the edge of another orgasm, but then he slowed and dragged one finger up along my pussy and to my asshole, pressing there, smearing the moisture from my sex around the tight little hole.
The hand holding me moved to spread my bottom cheeks. I glanced back to find him looking at me, at my most private places. My face heated as he circled a finger around my anus while holding my gaze. He didn’t speak, but watched me, making it impossible for me to turn away, as, while manipulating my clit with one hand, he pressed a finger against my ass until it gave.
I sucked in a breath, coming as he drove his finger deeper, the slight pain of the intrusion combining with the intense pleasure at my clit and the heat of my spanked ass making me cry out and clench around him, taking my pleasure before falling limp over his knee while he held me, rubbing my back until I rolled off and sat on the floor between his knees. He watched me, his eyes still dark, still hungry.
I felt soft, the release emptying me so I became ravenous again. Kneeling up, I reached for his belt, wondering if it had been the one to cause me such pain before. I undid it then his pants, taking out his cock. Adam’s hand closed over the back of my head as he leaned against the wall, eyes still on me. With a grip in my hair, he twisted my face upward as, with his other hand, he guided his thick cock to my ready mouth. I took him, knowing he would fuck me with it, would fuck my face as roughly now as he had so tenderly made me come. And I wanted it. I wanted him to make it hurt as he tugged me along his length, filling me, drawing back, doing it again, working slowly at first. I tasted him, liking the sounds he made, the softening of his face, the power I held as I gave him pleasure. Opening wider, I tried to relax, his cock thrusting deeper, almost choking me. His face tensed, his eyes fused on mine, a softness to the dark blue as he stilled, gripping my hair tighter, burying his cock deep in my throat. My face pressed against him, making it a struggle to get air into my lungs. He held tight to me, though, and came inside my mouth, spurts of cum sliding down my throat, choking me, seeping out from the corners of my lips and around his cock as I tried to pull back, desperate for breath.
I moaned, pushing against his thighs, and when I thought I’d suffocate, he softened his grip, and I sucked in air. He pulled out of me, no hint of apology in his eyes. He rearranged his pants and laid my head on his lap, caressing my hair. I closed my eyes, resting into him, a single tear sliding out of the corner of my eye onto his pants. But it ended too soon. He stood, and I watched, shivering, knowing he’d leave.
Knowing he would go and I would have to stay.
“Adam,” I begged from my place on the floor, my knees grinding against the hard surface. “Please take me with you. Please. I won’t say anything about this. Nothing. Please, Adam, before it’s too late.”
“Shh, Elle.”
Tears streaked my cheeks. It seemed to happen all the time now.
He picked up his bag.
“Be good.”
I shook my head.
“Shh, be good now. I’ll leave the light on for you to have a look at the pictures I brought.”
“Pictures?”
It suddenly registered.
Ice gripped my heart as I glanced at the folder on the floor beside me. The tears stopped, and I climbed back up onto the cot, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. Adam walked out of the cell, placing a bottle of water inside it before locking it, collecting his coat, and leaving.
I understood then. Feeling more alone and afraid than I had since he’d brought me here, I knew my ordeal wasn’t over, not by a long shot. I knew for all the tenderness he showed me, he also meant to deliver more pain. And whatever lay inside that folder would tell me how he meant to extract it. His hate toward my father ran deep, a lifetime old. He had planned this, set out to meet me, to make me trust him, only to bring me here, to punish me for sins not belonging to me. But did they belong to my father? Had he truly hurt Adam’s sister? Others like her?
Reaching for the folder, I set it on my lap. For a long moment, I simply sat there, contemplating opening it, afraid of what I’d find, forcing myself, finally, to look.
These photos were very different from what he’d shown me the last time. A man I didn’t recognize stood tall. From the photograph alone, I shuddered, knowing if he’d ever been walking toward me on a dark night, I’d cross to the other side of the street.
But then, there was someone else.
My eyes warmed with tears because I knew this man. I knew him well.
It was my father.
The scary one stood talking to him in several of the photographs. My father’s face seemed tense, but he wore sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes. From the angle of the photos, I knew whoever had taken them photographed from a distant spot. So many shots, all of the same conversation.
It didn’t matter, though. These proved nothing.
Then I got to the pictures of his sister. The pretty, carefree, young girl — young woman — didn’t smile at me from these though. No, this was a different person — same girl but different. Her face had changed. No, not that. It was her eyes that had changed. They’d emptied. Died. And in the following photos, I saw what he meant to do to me. How he meant to extract that pain he so badly wanted.
Monster.
He could do that to me?
Shuddering, vision blurred by tears, I pushed the files off my lap and hugged the blanket to my shoulders.
The girl, Alessandra, the photographs showed her hunched over, every inch of her from the tops of her shoulders to her lower back covered in thin, silvery scars.
She’d been whipped.
I took a slow breath, forcing myself to look.
I would be whipped. Not only could he do that to me, but he would do that to me.
I knew the belt he’d used on my ass would be nothing in comparison to what I had coming.
And what could I do but wait? Anticipate his return, all the while thinking about why? Wondering if Adam was right, if it could have been my father who’d done this to his sister, or made it possible for it to happen to her in the first place.
No.
Although far from perfect, Manuel Vega wasn’t a monster. It would take a monster to do that to another human being. He ran a business with my uncle, Eduardo. I didn’t know much about my uncle; my father had shielded me from him for reasons he never explained and I never questioned. My dad was all I had growing up. Nannies raised me, but for a single father, that made sense. He loved me. I couldn’t conceive of the man
I knew being capable of what Adam accused him of.
We had money, a lot of money. Too much for the type of business he ran? Was it foolish of me — selfish — not to ask more questions about everything? To take a monthly allowance and turn the other way?
I wept, squeezing my eyes shut, begging for sleep to come and steal me away.
ELLE.
Hot water splashed off my skin while I fisted my cock, thrusting into my palm, eyes closed, images of her face when she’d come bringing my morning jerk-off session close to being over too soon. How obediently she’d pulled her legs up when I’d asked. How sweetly she’d shown me her pretty little cunt. I hoped I would never forget the taste of her. I wanted her on my tongue even now, just imagining her pussy spread and open and wet for me. And when the memory of her eyes when she’d knelt before me to suck me off came, so did I, leaning into the shower wall for support as I sprayed streams of cum against the door, imagining my hand to be her mouth, her cunt. Thinking if she were here instead of there, I’d make her lick it off the doors, make her eat it, not waste a drop. And she would. I had no doubt.
Guilt. Always guilt after jerking off to thoughts of Elle. Thoughts of fucking her. Of hurting her. Making her submit to me. I turned the temperature up and stood under scalding water, my own punishment. But the heat only made me think of her again, of what I had planned for her.
Yesterday, she’d wanted it, wanted me. She’d come on my tongue. She’d pulled me tight to her, laid her head on my lap. Why didn’t I repel her? She feared me but wanted me in equal measure. Strange. If she hated me, it would be easier. It would be what I expected, what I could handle.
I switched from hot to cold and sucked in a breath when the water hit, freezing me. I stood under it for a full minute. I deserved so much worse than this, but now was not the time. Cutting off the water, I grabbed a towel and dried off before wrapping it around my hips and climbing out of the shower.
At the sink, I shaved my short beard off. I splashed aftershave on my face, absently regarding my reflection, refusing to meet my gaze in the mirror. After combing my hair, I went back into the bedroom to dress, all the while feeling like some sort of executioner.
I struggled.
When I’d left Elle yesterday, I’d set a folder on her cot, knowing she’d look at it. Inside lay evidence of what would come. Of how she’d pay today. Of how I’d take a little piece more of her today. Not once in the years I’d planned this had the thought of what I would feel come up. Not once had I considered I would be anything but victorious. Reality taught me otherwise. What I’d done up until today was redeemable. Almost. But breaking skin and taking blood, which is what I needed to do, what I would do, was that something I could come back from?
I shook my head.
I would be crossing a line, a point from which there might not be a return. And if this punishment didn’t obliterate the already rickety bridge, well, the next one would. The next one would seal both our fates.
My cell phone rang. I checked my watch. Barely 8:00 a.m. Too early for anything good, but when I saw Clay’s name, I answered.
“Adam. I’m glad you picked up.”
“What’s up, Clay?” I asked, although, I had an idea of the reason for his call.
“I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
I buttoned my jeans and sat down to slip on my boots. “Go on.”
“My boys haven’t seen Elle Vega come or go from her apartment for a few days.”
“Is that so?” I asked, sliding the other boot on. Clay knew me, and I knew Clay. They had men on Elle, but I didn’t realize they watched so closely.
“Her father will have men searching for her if he thinks she’s gone missing.”
A pause.
“I imagine he would.” Not really. I would make sure to text him often enough from Elle’s phone so he’d have no reason to worry. “But perhaps she’s taken a vacation?”
“And parked her car in an alley in Jersey?”
Crap. I’d counted on more time.
“I’m going to have to look for her if she doesn’t turn up soon.” Another pause. He was fishing.
“Anyone know about the car?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep it that way.”
Silence for a moment. “Just remembered something about it actually,” he said. “It had been vandalized. VIN unreadable.”
I didn’t reply, meeting my reflection once I’d put my jacket on. I didn’t recognize the man staring back at me. He’d gone hard. Dark. The thought of myself as executioner came back to me again, but Clay spoke, interrupting.
“A few days at most then before I start looking, Adam.”
“Let me know how the investigation proceeds.”
“Will do.”
I ended the call and picked my keys up from the counter as well as the package Dr. Acosta had prepared for me on my way out, reminding myself to focus. Time was not on my side, but I didn’t need time. Once we got through today, I could proceed with the next part quickly and finish it. I just had to steel myself, to remember. Clay wouldn’t interfere, not yet. He’d turn the other way. And, in return, I would deliver Manuel Vega to him. At least a shadow of the man.
In the garage, I climbed on my Harley and drove out, noting the empty space where Elle’s VW bug used to be. I knew exactly the neighborhood in Jersey Clay referred to. Knew the coordinates of the alley.
Rain pelted me as I rode hard to SafeHouse, anxious to see her. To get this done. Today would be a trial, but the next punishment would be torture.
Coward.
Torture. For the man holding the whip? I shook my head. The only one who had a right to use that word was Elle, the innocent who would take the punishment.
“No. Not innocent.” I growled into the rain, accelerating, angry.
Remember Alessandra. Remember all that blood. Remember her.
Turning a blind eye does not absolve you. It makes you an accomplice. That thought would give me the strength to do what needed to be done today.
Parking on the now-abandoned property, I climbed off the bike, soaked. The way I’d ridden today, it surprised me I’d made it here in one piece. But then, the devil isn’t interested in the evil ones. Their souls already belong to him. He covets innocence.
Elle’s face floated up before my eyes, and I forced it away, steeling myself, bringing an image of Alessandra, of her in the bathtub where she’d bled out, to blot over the image of Elle. It almost worked.
Heading downstairs, I unlocked the door and peered inside to find her eyes wide on me. I went in and closed the steel door behind me, peeling off my jacket, still wet through, but not caring. I then went to her, noticing how she leaned away from me, her bloodshot eyes never once leaving mine. Inside them, knowledge of what would come today.
“Good morning,” I managed, the words difficult to speak with my throat tight.
She didn’t reply, only stared at me, hugging the comforter tighter. I noticed she’d torn the cover off. It lay on the floor in a heap.
“I don’t want your smell on me,” she said when she noticed me eyeing it. “But I can’t get away from it. From you.” She wiped a tear away.
So maybe she was repulsed. Good. She should be. It would make everything so much easier.
“Get up, Elle. You need a shower.”
When she didn’t move, I kicked the duvet cover aside and went to get her.
“I know what you’re going to do to me,” she began, resisting as I hauled her to her feet. I relieved her of the blanket, refusing to meet her sunken eyes, wanting not to feel the misery in her words. “I know.” She broke into a sob as I dragged her toward the cell door. How did she have tears left to cry?
“Good. Saves me having to explain it.”
“Why?”
I opened the bathroom door and switched on the light. The room contained a toilet, sink, and a small shower.
“Bathroom, Elle, I don’t want you pissing yourself during your whipping.”
&nb
sp; She shoved away from me, sobbing loudly, beating her fists into my chest. “Why? I didn’t do anything to you. To anyone!”
I caught her wrists, her too-thin, too-fragile wrists, tears still spilling from her eyes.
“I didn’t do anything to her,” she said, her voice breaking as she hung her head to weep.
Fuck.
Shoving her away, I rubbed my hand across my face. “Two minutes. Get your shit together.”
I turned to walk out, but she followed, standing in the way of my closing the door.
“Once you do this, is it over?” Her hand shook when she gripped my arm. “Will it be finished then?”
I looked at it, at the hand coiled around my arm, desperately trying to hold on.
“No, Elle. It won’t.” She wouldn’t let this go. She waited for me to “finish.” She had no idea what that would mean for her, though.
She raged then, howling, trying to fight me but too weak, managing only to piss me off because all her fear did, all her pain did, was scream at me the fact I was a monster. Like him, like them. No better than the men who had stolen so much. I couldn’t deny the truth of it. I was breaking Elle as surely as they’d broken Alessandra.
“Fuck!” I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t listen to this. Couldn’t feel pity for this woman. I would not allow it. Gripping both wrists in one hand, I hauled her back toward the cell while she kicked and screamed, the sound fueling a rage stomping out any tenderness someone else would have felt. Someone not a monster.
In the cell, I shackled her to the chains hanging from the center of the room, high enough she had to stand on tiptoe. She screamed all along, and I wished I had a gag to stuff into her mouth because I couldn’t take any more. Her anguish made my heart bleed, yet if I didn’t do this, if I stopped, called an end to things, wouldn’t I be forsaking Alessandra? Wouldn’t I be betraying her? Choosing the daughter of the monster over my defenseless, dead sister?
Retribution Page 9
