She was fucking beautiful. Long dark hair and palest crystal-blue eyes with smooth, caramel skin all over. Then there were those lips. Those fucking lips I wanted wrapped around my cock again. And her body. Tits that filled my hands, although they’d become smaller since she’d been in here, her belly concave, her hips losing some of their curve. Couldn’t let that happen. I liked watching her ass tremble when I slapped it too much. But now that she knew she’d be fed whether it was by her hand or not, I figured that problem was resolved.
Suds slid down over her thighs, all creamy skin making my cock hard again. Reaching into the cabinet, I handed her the disposable razor I’d bought for just this.
“Shave your pussy, Elle.”
She stopped to meet my gaze. The bathroom wasn’t large, but it also wasn’t miniscule. It was, however, basic. She showered in one corner while I stood in another. No curtain, no doors, no privacy. I’d watched her when she used the toilet, too. She was mine. She would learn that if she didn’t know it already.
“I don’t like it shaved. I get it waxed.”
I laughed. “Well, princess, unless you want me to wax it for you, you’ll use that razor. Now. I want your pussy bare.”
She breathed in a deep breath. “Do you have shaving cream at least?”
“Use soap.”
“Jerk.”
“That’s not what you called me when I had my cock up your ass making you come.”
She shifted her gaze to mine, and, even though she tried to glare, a pale hue of pink crept up along her neck and she ignored my comment.
Visiting Alex had been a good idea. She’d helped me get my head back in the right place.
“Satisfied?” she asked once she’d shaved the area.
I nodded, my voice caught in my chest as I looked at the little slit of her pussy all glistening wet and bare.
She switched off the water and reached out for the towel I held. Instead of handing it to her, I wrapped her in it myself, rubbing her arms to warm her up. I’d stopped work on the building before installing the heating system, and it was cold down here. Maybe I’d bring in a space heater. See, I wasn’t a monster. Fuck her for suggesting it.
“You said you’d let me have my computer if I ate.”
“I also said you’d take your next punishment the next time I came.”
Trepidation darkened her eyes.
“What’s happening between us? What is this?”
“This is me fucking you. Taking my pleasure from you. Owning you.” Nothing more. If she thought otherwise, well, she was a fool.
Something inside me twitched. Something weak.
She’s not the fool.
My jaw tightened. Focusing on the pain of my whipping, I banished that voice. I would no longer listen to it. It had fucked with me long enough.
She studied me and I kept my gaze impassive. After a moment, she nodded and went toward her cell without having to be told. Taken aback, I stared. She sat down on the cot and wrapped my duvet around herself.
“It’s so cold in here.” She shivered, tucking her knees beneath herself after pulling on a pair of the socks I’d brought her. See, more proof I wasn’t a monster.
“I’ll bring you something warm to wear tomorrow if you’ll eat again.”
She nodded.
I moved to lock the cell door, feeling that little crack in my exterior, the one allowing mercy to steal its way inside me.
“Adam?” she called out as I put my coat on.
I turned. She sat there, so small, so…vulnerable.
“What’s going to happen to me?”
She didn’t try to hide her fear. Wasn’t that what I wanted? So why, watching her helpless and so fucking deflated, did I feel like shit all of a sudden? I rubbed my forehead then ran my hands through my hair.
“I’ll be back with something warm for you tomorrow.” I walked out the door before she could say anything because I couldn’t hear one more thing. I couldn’t take the chance it would undo what Alex had done.
Once back at the penthouse, I stripped, taking off the bandages covering my shoulders and back. I saw how effective Alex was with a whip, how necessary. Switching on the water as hot as I could stand it, I climbed into the shower, fisting my hands against the wall as the heat punished me again, burning every open wound, reminding me of my mission, of what I needed to do and, most importantly, why.
I stayed as long as I could stand, and when I finished, I moved like an old man into the living room, taking the bottle of whiskey out and pouring myself a generous cupful. I drank it down at once and padded naked back to the bedroom where I’d switched off the heating a few days earlier. I pulled out the box containing the things I needed for Elle’s next punishment. I looked at it, at the archaic iron. I’d ordered one matching the mark Alessandra bore on her skin. I placed it back into its box and lay down on my bed naked and without covers, suffering along with Elle, along with how Alessandra had suffered. I slept badly that night, anxious to get back to Elle, hearing her pathetic words, her cries haunting me in my sleep. She was cold. I’d made her cold. I’d made her alone. I’d made her vulnerable. Sad. I’d taken this bright, happy girl and twisted her.
I’d broken her, like I’d intended to.
I should be happy.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this next part, Adam?” Acosta asked late in the morning the following day. He’d met me at a local diner where I handed him a bag containing warm clothes for Elle. I knew seeing her yesterday had made him uneasy.
I’d known my uncle, Jaime Acosta, all my life. He was my father’s half-brother. Same mother, different father. He’d helped my family when we’d first come to America. He’d suffered with us when Alessandra had disappeared. When she’d been found, he’d seen her professionally, trying to heal her. But her wounds went so much deeper than flesh, too deep to truly heal. When she’d died, and I’d raged, he’d tried to help me. He hadn’t been able to, but he’d tried. He knew of Manuel Vega. The night he’d come to the house to treat Elle, he’d known who she was. We’d had a long conversation the next day, and he’d told me to be careful. Told me I played with fire and one death in the family was enough. I’m not sure I would have told him about my plan with Elle if she hadn’t lacerated her hand so badly she’d needed stitches. I trusted him to keep my secret, but I also knew he didn’t like it.
“Once you do this, you’re done,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“I think I’m already done, don’t you?”
He studied me, and I held his gaze. Acosta feared Vega, feared what he could do, and perhaps assumed I did, too. But I wasn’t afraid of Manuel Vega, of what he would do to me. My uncle didn’t know I didn’t care if I lived or died. I wasn’t even sure I’d want to live once I finished with Elle.
For years, vengeance ruled my world. It had become the thing that made it possible for me to breathe. Hate had taken over every cell of my body, every ounce of my being. It fueled me. I’d never been able to let go of the past, of Alessandra’s death. I’d never tried. The ghostlike emptiness in her eyes when she’d come back haunted me still. Those black eyes, once so vital, so full of life and love and laughter, they’d been dead. Just as she’d been a few weeks later. And that was all I saw. All I needed to see. My life was about vengeance, my purpose to destroy the man who had destroyed her, destroyed my family.
Hurting Elle, it didn’t make me happy. I hadn’t expected it to, not really, but I guess I’d expected some sort of satisfaction. It didn’t come though. Maybe that was why I’d gone to Alex, too, to feel the hurt I’d caused a hundred times amplified. It didn’t relieve the guilt I felt when I left my mind unguarded. Too far gone into darkness, even glimpsing light seemed out of reach.
I cleared my throat, the silence having dragged out long enough to become weighted.
“I only need you to make this one delivery. Then you can walk away.”
He shook his head. “You know I can’t. I have to be there when you do it
. Things can go wrong, Adam.”
I knew that. Knew I needed him there in case they did go wrong. I hadn’t actually given thought to the physical act of branding Elle. I’d planned it and prepared for it, but to heat the brand through then sear her perfect flesh with it? To hear her screams? No, that was someplace even my warped mind couldn’t take me. Her screams would deafen me; they already smothered me in my sleep. This was why I needed him to make the delivery. When it came time to collect Elle, to take her to the place where it would be done, I’d need to be focused. Even the smallest measure of mercy would destroy my resolve, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.
Acosta leaned forward. “You can stop this now.”
“And then what? What would happen then? Let her go back to her life while I disappear?”
“Why not, Adam? You have your life ahead of you.” He shook his head again, pursing his lips. “Your sister is gone. Avenging her death won’t heal you. It won’t bring her back. It won’t take away the pain of her loss.”
“I don’t need it to take away my pain!” Heads turned and I cast my gaze out the window, breathing hard. “I don’t want it to,” I said through clenched teeth.
Acosta sat back, nodding, his argument apparently ended.
“Okay, here’s your order of soup.” The waitress stopped at our table, her voice cheerful, oblivious to the tension. “And some bread and two fudge brownies.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking out my wallet and handing her a bill.
“Be right back with your change, hon.”
“Keep it.” She walked away, and I stood. “Thank you,” I said to Acosta.
Acosta nodded stiffly, but I didn’t care. I knew he’d drop off the food and clothes and tonight, when it was time, he’d be there, too, in the shadows, waiting. Hopefully, his services wouldn’t be needed, but it gave me some relief to know he’d be there.
DR. ACOSTA DELIVERED WARM soup and clothes then left. He barely acknowledged me, but I could see concern in his eyes. I didn’t try to convince him to let me go. He wouldn’t. On his way out, he told me Adam would be here later. Strangely, I found myself looking forward to Adam’s visits. Even though he hurt me, I needed him to come. I knew ultimately he held the key to my freedom, but it was more than that. I needed him to be around me. Almost as though his presence gave me some smidgen of hope, as stupid as it sounded, considering.
As soon as Acosta left, I put on the wool sweater and jogging pants, feeling human again. I then took the lid off the soup. Tomato with meatballs. My mouth watered at the smell, and I scooped up the first spoonful, closing my eyes as still-hot liquid coated my tongue. I ate a meatball then some of the Saltines and bread. I found two brownies in the bag and smiled, feeling happy. Happy. For soup and brownies. I shook my head but ate, finishing every drop of soup and savoring each meatball. As soon as I’d drunk half the bottle of water, I tore into the first brownie and devoured it then sat back, feeling too sick to eat the second one. For some reason, I stuck it under my pillow to save it. Strange. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t feed me, but I did it anyway.
Dr. Acosta had also brought me a book. I sat back and opened it, feeling warm, my belly full. Today was a good day. He was giving me back things he’d taken away. Maybe today he’d let me go. Maybe he’d finally come to his senses and let me go.
I was halfway through the book when the key slid into the lock of the heavy door. My heart thudded against my chest and I sat up, running a hand through my hair, eyes glued to the door. I smiled, I actually smiled when Adam walked in. It took me a moment to see the pensive expression on his face, making that smile waver.
Without quite meeting my gaze, he took off his jacket and hung it up before unlocking the cell door.
I stiffened. Something was wrong.
“Elle,” he said, taking in the empty container and nodding. “I’m glad to see you ate.”
He smelled of fire, like he’d been standing in the smoke of one for a while.
“It tasted good. Thank you. And the clothes and the book, too, thank you, Adam.” The hair on the back of my neck stood on end when he came closer. I pushed my back against the wall and clutched the comforter closer.
He only nodded, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark, distracted. Guilty?
“Stand up, Elle.”
My heart fell to my belly, and cold swept through me. It was time for my next punishment. I knew it. And this one would be bad — worse than what he’d done to me so far. I knew I had to resist.
I shook my head, pressing farther back into the wall, wanting it to swallow me.
He reached into his pocket and took something out. I couldn’t see what it was. He had it fisted in his hand.
“I need you to stand up and strip off your clothes.”
Tears warmed my face. That’s how I realized I’d started crying again. “Why?” I asked, my voice so small, so afraid.
His eyes had reddened, too. I could see it, but would that tiny hint of emotion save me from whatever he thought he had to do?
“You know why.”
I sat there, unable to move, and watched as he dangled the thing he held. I’d seen these before; I knew what it was. A ball gag. Not so bad, right? No, not so bad.
“Elle.”
I simply stared, tears coming faster as I tried to get the blanket around myself.
“Stand up and strip. Don’t make me do it for you. Don’t make me regret having given you warm clothes. Don’t make me take them away.”
I nodded, my mouth moving to say yes, okay, that I would do as he asked, if only he wouldn’t hurt me. Everything shook, my legs weak as I rose, grudgingly letting go of the blanket, my eyes moving to the gag, my mind trying to convince the rest of me it wasn’t that bad. Just a gag.
To muffle my screams.
I would vomit if I didn’t stop. I couldn’t do this.
Adam watched while I undressed, the effort taking me three times longer than it should have as my hands trembled. I took off the sweater, the pants, the socks. They’d been so warm. I’d felt so good earlier, but now, now…
“Adam?”
I was cold again. So cold.
“Braid your hair, Elle.”
I sat back down, unable to stand any longer. My eyes stayed on his as I did what he asked, taking the length of my hair over one shoulder, splitting it into three thick chunks and braiding it, weaving one section into another then another and then another until it hung like a dark, heavy warning, telling of something terrible to come.
“Good. Now stand up.”
I stood as he approached. “What are you going to do to me?”
His eyes gave him away. He was torn in two, battling, my fate hanging in the balance.
“Open your mouth. I’m going to take you outside, and I need to be sure you won’t scream.”
“I won’t. I promise, I won’t. You don’t have to gag me.”
“Open your mouth. I won’t ask again.”
Desperate, I knew I had moments to talk him out of whatever he had planned. I spoke fast, words stumbling over one another. “Whatever it is you think you have to do, you don’t, Adam. You can let me go. Please, just let me go home. I won’t tell anyone. My father thinks I’m away. He’ll never have to find out —”
One hand gripped my jaw so hard, I screamed, opening my mouth wide enough for him to slide the ball inside, holding me still to bind it. I reached immediately to take it off, and he caught my wrists in his hands and squeezed, forcing me to stop, to see him, see his angry, pained eyes.
“Stop. Just stop. You won’t win. I don’t want to bind you, but I will. Please. Stop.”
I nodded fast, tears streaming down my face as I stared up at him, terrified.
“Fuck,” he said, moving my wrists into one of his hands and digging for something in his pocket, a strip of black cloth. “Don’t look at me. I can’t have you look at me.” He let go of me to bind my eyes, cutting off my sight. I howled against the gag in my mouth, trying to fight off his hands bu
t failing as he tied the blindfold tight at the back of my head before taking my wrists again and marching me out of the cell.
I resisted, digging in my heels. I wailed, the sound muffled, my pleas unformed, falling on deaf ears. I stumbled, my feet and knees scraping the stairs as he hauled me up one flight, two, three. I lost track, conscious of the cold, so afraid. Sweat covered me while adrenaline burned me from the inside. Adam didn’t speak, his body a mass of anxious power beside me, his scent around me, the tension rolling off him nauseating.
I knew we’d reached our destination when I heard the crackling of wood in a fire. This was what he smelled of, what he had been doing. He’d been building a fire. Terrified and unable to see, I lost my footing as he dragged me near the warmth of the flames. Was he going to throw me into it? Could he be capable of that? To what lengths would he go to avenge his sister’s death?
But then we were farther from the heat, and he stretched my arms out over my head, wrapping cold, heavy chains around and around my wrists. Not through yet, he took one leg and pulled it out, binding my ankle tight to whatever he’d attached me to. He then moved to the other side to secure the other ankle. The fire crackled, and I wept. I needed my sight, desperate to see, to know what would happen, what was to come.
Once I was bound, he stepped away. I felt it, felt his loss, and wasn’t sure if I was grateful or more afraid. I quieted, listening to the fire, knowing he stoked it from the sounds, hearing traffic in the distance but too focused on what was happening here, in my blind world, to pay attention to that.
My breathing came heavy, and I blinked behind the blindfold, waiting, listening, trying to hear. Was he going to whip me again? God, I couldn’t take that. Maybe he’d finish those strokes. Maybe he’d changed his mind and he’d give me those four he’d not yet delivered. Maybe he’d take that number up to thirty-six after all.
But then he spoke, and I stood stock-still, not even breathing, to hear him.
“When Alessandra came home, you know what she had on the side of her hip?”
Retribution Page 12
