“I have never wished death upon anyone,” Alyona said. “Until now.”
The fact that they hadn’t shot me up meant they knew I’d be awake anytime now. That didn’t give me much time to get the lay of things.
“Sometimes I think there is no hope,” she said, a sob in her voice. “No way to go back home and see my family. No hope at all.”
My own thought came back to me.
Hopelessness was something I would never accept into my life.
I wouldn’t. I would not accept it.
“Trust me.” I stroked her hair away from her face. “Don’t ever give up hope, Alyona. Ever. Things will get better. Everything will turn out all right. I promise you,” I said just as the door hinges squeaked.
A familiar chuckle crawled down my spine and I went completely still.
Benjamin Cabot stood in the doorway.
CHAPTER 27
Kristin
April 21
Sunday, present day
Tears burned the back of Kristin’s eyes and she bit her lip to keep from crying. The drug was wearing off again. God, how she didn’t want it to. Staying drugged was the only way she could mentally survive, because it kept her from thinking. Feeling.
The professor liked it when the drug wasn’t in her system anymore. He liked to hear her scream. Watch her cry. Hurt her. Listen to her beg for him to stop and to let her go.
If she tried to hold it in, he just hurt her more.
She tested the cuffs and the heavy chains—just in case—like she did every time the drug wore off. She wasn’t a quitter; she never had been. But this . . .
Kristin swallowed hard and barely kept from letting a sob out. After all this time, what good were tears?
The only time the professor let her off the bed was to use the adjoining bathroom. She had stopped being embarrassed when he watched her relieve herself on the toilet. What did it matter?
He chained her to the showerhead and washed her body himself. Usually he would get so turned on he’d take her in the shower while the water washed away her tears. He’d slap her backside especially hard because he liked the sound of his hand hitting her wet flesh.
The professor made her take the pill every day. He told her that by skipping the pseudo tablets for the week she was supposed to have her period, he would make her jump straight to next month’s pill. Then she would never have her period. She would never get pregnant.
And he could do whatever he wanted to with her. Anytime he wanted to. Day or night.
He didn’t even use a condom.
She suspected he took something like Viagra. An older man like him wasn’t likely to last several times a day, every day, was he?
Other than letting her use the bathroom and giving her a shower, he never let her far from the bed, much less out of the room. He kept her naked and cuffed. Always. Both wrists.
The links between the cuffs were so short that she couldn’t reach for anything. All she could do was ease off the bed sometimes and kneel on the soft carpet to change positions, or curl up in a ball on the mattress and hug a thick wooden bedpost. Unless her ankles were cuffed, too.
He wouldn’t even let her feed herself. He insisted on making her eat from his hands like a dog. If she refused, he slapped her so hard her ears would ring and she would cry out for him to stop.
The two-inch-wide cuffs were lined with sheepskin, which kept the metal from biting into her wrists. Still, they made her skin sore and red. In his more “kindly” moments the professor put balm on her irritated skin. That was the only time she would have a free wrist. But he always made sure her ankles were cuffed along with her other wrist before switching.
Kristin sighed. It wasn’t like she had a black belt or something. Although she could scratch the professor’s eyeballs out and kick him in his groin.
If only she’d taken those self-defense classes like her brother, Nick, had tried to get her to go to. Or listened to him when he wanted to teach her moves that would help her if she was ever in a dangerous situation. She pictured the last time he’d talked about her learning how to defend herself.
“Damnit, Kristin,” Nick had said, his blue eyes serious and concerned. “You’re on a college campus. Some guy could rape you.”
She’d flinched at the word “rape,” but still she said, “I always stay in public places with someone with me.” She’d kissed him on his cheek. “I’ll be okay, Nick. Don’t worry so much.”
Her brother hugged her tight. “I love you, kiddo. I couldn’t bear anything happening to you.”
She’d hugged him back. “I love you, too.”
She was such an idiot.
Oh, yeah, she’d been in a public place with friends. Didn’t end up mattering, did it?
Her heart ached when she thought of Nick. Would she ever see him again? She squeezed her eyes tight.
Mother. Father.
If they were still alive they would have paid for not just one PI but a hundred to search for her. They could have afforded it.
But Nick would still have been the one to find her. He would find her. She knew it with all her heart, and that was what kept her going. Day to day.
Nick would find her.
Had it already been four weeks since she’d found herself strapped to Professor Michaels’s bed?
The days ticked off in Kristin’s head automatically. Having a photographic memory and a calculator in her head made forgetting so difficult. Even after being drugged her mind would come fully awake once the drug wore completely off.
Tick. Another day. Tick. Another day.
But she wanted to forget. Everything.
The doorknob squeaked and Kristin’s body went rigid.
Professor Michaels smiled as he let the door swing open. This time he didn’t close it behind him.
She couldn’t stop the trembling in her body as he came toward the bed. His bald head gleamed in the low lighting from the stained-glass lamp on the nightstand. It was too far to reach or she would have kicked it over just so she didn’t have to look at his pale, round face or his excited blue eyes. Eyes that showed his eagerness to take her and abuse her.
“Did you rest well, slut?” he asked when he reached the side of her bed.
Referring to her only as slut was just one more degrading thing on a list of things that he did to her that her mind continued to check off.
The tears were already starting to come as she forced herself to nod and say, “Y-yes, Professor.”
She barely kept from crying out as he pinched, then twisted her nipple with his thick fingers. “I have something very special for you, slut.”
Again she had to speak or he would slap her. “W—what do you have for me, Professor?”
“I’m going to have extremely important company shortly.” He leaned close and she shuddered as he licked the inside of her ear. “Company that enjoys certain kinds of entertainment. Company that likes to share.”
Kristin’s heart pounded as horror rushed through her like needles pricking her entire body. “No.” She shook her head. “Please, no.”
He rose and held his hand high, his palm facing her. “You keep forgetting your place, slut.”
“Professor Michaels.” She found herself already wincing as she called him by the only thing he would accept. Fear continued to stab at every organ in her body. He was serious. Oh, God. It was in his eyes. The way he looked at her. The sound of his voice. “Please, Professor. No.”
Images rushed through her mind of one man after another taking her, using her.
Kristin had always believed violence didn’t solve problems. But now, more than anything, she wanted this man to die. She wanted Nick to come and blow the professor away like he’d probably had to do to men when he was a SEAL.
Her whole body trembled so hard the mattress shook.
She’d never even believed in the death penalty.
Until now.
“Please, no,” she said again as tears rolled down the sides of her temples an
d nameless, blank faces started appearing in her mind. Faces of men ready to sexually abuse her. “Please, please, Professor. I’ll do anything. Anything for you. Anything you want me to.”
“Don’t worry, my darling Kristin.” The professor smiled and lowered his hand. “You’ll enjoy it.” He reached into the pocket of his tan slacks. Steel blade after steel blade of terror jabbed Kristin’s belly as he drew out a syringe of green liquid. “You’ll want it, slut. And you’ll beg for it.”
CHAPTER 28
The devil wears Armani
April 21
Sunday evening, I think, but I’m not sure I care.
Cabot’s smile was cold enough to ice my veins. “I would have to say you are in no position to promise anything to anyone, Alexi Adams. If that is your real name.”
I narrowed my eyes and scowled at him.
The small wave of fear that sent a shiver through me made me want to hit something. I did feel some satisfaction that he had fading bruises on his face, too.
Alyona flinched as Cabot opened the door wider. “Why don’t you join me, Alexi?”
My dark thoughts turned like crows circling in my mind as I shut my eyes and search for options. Any option.
“You don’t have a choice.” Cabot echoed what the crows cawed in my head. I opened my eyes and stared at him again. How could anyone think Cabot was handsome? All it took was one searching look into his eyes and the truth was there. “Would you prefer to have Danny drag you by your hair again?”
My scalp twinged at the thought and I held back a wince. No, thank you. That left me with getting out of the room in a hurry before he called the big dick, Danny.
Cabot stared at my breasts as I held the threadbare blanket tight against me with the hand that wasn’t in a cast. Sleazebag.
Last thing I wanted to do right now was leave this room commando-style. The only things covering any part of my body were the bandages around my ribs and the cast on my arm. I gathered the blanket around me. The old, rough carpeting scraped my bare feet.
Cabot shook his head. “You can’t have clothing or the blanket to cover yourself.”
Heat rushed to my face. He wanted me to feel as vulnerable as possible. I bet he wanted me to beg, too.
I’d faced far worse things than walking around naked in front of an enemy, and I could deal with this. I let go of the blanket and stood.
When I got to the door, I saw the back of Cabot’s hand flying toward my face just before he backhanded me.
Ah, Christ.
Pain sent stars shooting through my head when it hit the wall. The crows that had fled my mind returned and spun like I was whirling in a cloud of the wicked birds. My skull throbbed.
Cabot’s hands eased up from my elbows to my upper arms, his palms and fingers cold, smooth, with no calluses. His muscles strained along his jaw as he dug his fingers into my skin. My neck whiplashed as he jerked me hard and shook me. Once, twice. Three times.
“You’re going to enjoy this.” His too-white teeth flashed as he smiled. “And I’ll have every answer I need.”
My hazy thoughts focused on what he’d said and my feet didn’t want to move when he pulled me beside him and forced me out of the room and into a dim hallway. Enjoy . . .?
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit.
Every answer he needed . . . Cabot was going to interrogate me, and no doubt torture me if I didn’t give him any answers. There wasn’t a question in my mind.
Did he have drugs, too? Truth-inducing drugs as good as the ones RED used?
I had been trained to withstand torture and I had a high tolerance against these kinds of drugs—but what if he had something I couldn’t fight?
The plaster cast felt rough against my belly as I held my broken arm close. A wave of dizziness made me stumble again.
Cabot’s voice was cold, hard. “I kept you unconscious most of the time and only allowed you to wake long enough to take care of necessities.”
Aren’t you the prince.
“I let you heal just enough,” he added close to my ear. “You’d already blacked out, and I couldn’t have you not enjoying the pain.” Chills rolled over my skin and the memory of the pain made my existing pain worse. “When I get what I need from you, I’ll let you heal completely and put you up for a private auction.”
I tried to jerk away but he held my left upper arm tight. And jeez did it hurt when I tried that little maneuver.
He shook his head and laughed. “If you don’t talk or I don’t think you’ve told me the truth, I’ll shoot you up with the designer drug Lascivious, and you’ll be begging to screw every man within five feet of you. I’ll give you to a whore-house. You’ll just become another slut with all those johns who’d love to fuck a cop.”
“I—I’m not a cop.” Well, I wasn’t.
He squeezed my arm tighter and his tone became more vicious as we walked. “You work for someone. And you, little bitch, are going to tell me everything.”
Flashes of Donovan came to me and my heart squeezed. That night they’d wounded him, but hadn’t killed him. Because they wanted information.
But I was sure I’d heard the word “Police!” before the slamming and locking of metal doors. He was okay. He had to be okay. He’d probably managed to notify RED with his leather wrist cuffs before having real cuffs put on him.
Images came in waves. Time I’d spent with Donovan over the two weeks we worked together. His determination to find his sister. His fierce anger at whoever was auctioning the women and the men who had killed Randolph.
The way Donovan cooked; the way he cleaned everything until it was spotless, nothing ever out of place. And how I think he secretly liked that prima donna cat.
How he’d tried to fight off a roomful of men to get to me.
The great sex—that had only been a piece of the package that was Nick Donovan.
The last image my mind settled on was when he held me in bed, cuddling me close after the second club. Telling me how he didn’t want me to go through more humiliation. And that he had a bad feeling about this op.
He’d been so right.
As Cabot and I reached a door, whistles, catcalls, shouts of laughter, and vulgar suggestions came from the four men in the room. My body flamed and I wanted the chance to take them on one at a time when I was well again.
No matter how big the men were, I bet none of them could hurt me when I was at my best, unless they had two men holding me still. Like Cabot had the night he kidnapped me.
“You may get your chance with her,” Cabot said to them. “Depends on whether or not she cooperates.”
It was in Cabot’s eyes. His expression. If I didn’t talk, he planned to let these men rape me as many times as they wanted.
Cabot jerked my arm and I barely held back a cry as we headed to a door. “We have business to attend to. And I don’t plan to wait any longer.”
Why didn’t I snap his neck when I first went after him? So what if the guys had killed me? I would have taken Benjamin Cabot along for the ride.
But now, with my ribs broken and my arm in a cast, it was going to be a lot harder to defend myself or do anything to hurt him. The bruises, the wounds, the sore shoulder, the probability of a concussion—none of that mattered. I couldn’t let Cabot do it. And at the same time I couldn’t tell him anything about RED.
Had to hold on. Had to figure out how to get out of this.
He pushed me through another door and down a long, black hallway that smelled of fresh paint. If he wanted to depress everyone he brought to this place, he was doing a good job of it.
All hopes faded of seeing anything I might recognize. No windows to show me familiar landscape—if there was anything familiar here. What if he’d sent me to a foreign country? The Ukraine. Korea even. But he’d held the other auction in Boston, so likely we were still in the US. Alyona had been taken in Boston, too—I’d seen the vid.
Only fluorescent bulbs lit the hallway, and they were too high to reach. If I was l
ucky, he’d take me to an office in this building. I’d been fully trained in the use of common, everyday items as weapons. There were any number of things I could think of that would maim or kill.
Cabot pushed open a door at the end of the hallway and immediately the smells of leather, fresh paint, and antiseptic washed over me. He shoved me into a black room, also with a fluorescent light. I blinked and stared at everything in that room. It was a sadomasochist’s dream.
Traditional BDSM equipment like a St. Andrew’s cross, stretching bars, a cage, a hook dangling from the ceiling, and much more lined the walls of the enormous room—more BDSM equipment put together than everything I’d seen at the nightclubs. There was even a full-body metal cage like one I’d seen on the Internet. It was in the shape of a man and had a panel in the back where the man or woman could be taken in the ass while being kept entirely immobile.
Please not a body cage. Dear God.
Was there nothing out in the open that I could use to defend myself or hurt Cabot?
A row of metal cabinets lined one wall, and each cabinet had been secured with large padlocks.
But all of that—that wasn’t really what held my attention. No, my attention was riveted on where the pain would really come from.
“I’m certain much of this is familiar to you.” Cabot was leaving bruises on my arm as he dug his fingers in, but I really didn’t care. He brought me to a stop in front of a heavy wooden chair that an elephant could sit on and not break. Thick leather cuffs made to secure a gorilla were attached to the armrests, chair legs, and even the back of the seat. An equally heavy-looking table was up against the chair.
“You wanted to be in the BDSM clubs, so now’s your chance to get the most of it.” He smiled. “Yes, this is where I have the most fun.”
Black stained the chair all over. Dried blood.
This was so not BDSM. BDSM was sexual play, enjoyable to everyone involved. It was an equal exchange of power.
This—
What this sick fuck had in mind was sadistic torture.
God, just get me out of here before he can hurt me more and I promise to start going to church again with Mammy and Daddy. Really. Promise.
Cheyenne McCray - [Lexi Steele 01] Page 23
