by Sansa Rayne
Giving Pierce my best infuriated grunt, I step up onto the Lincoln’s back bumper and carefully lower myself inside the trunk.
Since I met Pierce, my awareness of just how fucked up I am has risen to heights I’ve never imagined. Case in point, my first concern when the trunk slams shut is, Did Pierce install a night vision camera in here? I’d hate to waste a perfectly good kidnapping by not getting it on video. The ache between my thighs calls for me to reach as best I can into my leggings and relieve the pressure, but I don’t. For Pierce, I’ll be good.
—
It’s always hard to tell time when one is tied up and forced to wait. I’m not sure how long Pierce drives me around, or where he’s taking me. He has so many locations he can use, and for all I know, he’s just been driving around so I can enjoy the anticipation. I’d probably know if he merely circled my block, but he’s thrown in enough turns that I’ve lost my sense of direction.
At last, the car slows to a stop and the engine quiets. For a tense few seconds, I wonder if Pierce has the gall to simply park the car somewhere, leave me in it and walk away. He could go to a diner across the street, where he might get a coffee and watch through the window. Maybe he brought us to a long-term parking garage, where I could bang on the trunk door for hours, maybe days, without being heard. Each new idea causes a surge of fear and arousal; inside the trunk I writhe around, trying to resist the call to pleasure myself.
I’m saved from temptation when Pierce opens the trunk, sweeping away my perverted fantasies.
For now…
Moving quickly, he lifts me out of the trunk by my bound arms, which ache from the stringent position, and forces me to march.
Outside the car, I see we’re at the warehouse, bringing a salacious smile to my face. Pierce fondles my ass, urging me forward, so I move. I’m eager to get inside, but don’t want to make it too easy. He’s happy to oblige, slapping my ass harder each time I resist. By the time we get in the door, my bottom burns, and every step I take exacerbates the pain.
Pierce’s dungeon seems somewhat bare tonight: in front of the cameras and monitors, all I see are a pair of chains hanging from the ceiling. They’ll do, I remind myself, but I can’t help wishing he might have brought out a bed for us to rest on, even if I have to be bound and gagged.
I stop struggling when Pierce finishes dragging me to the chains. He uncuffs my hands, but only long enough to bind them in the heavy shackles at the end of the hanging chains. I tug at them, but there’s no possibility I could break out. Pierce takes the handcuffs and snaps them shut around my ankles, hobbling me. Then, to my great delight, he turns on all the cameras.
The chains holding me aloft are positioned right next to each other, forcing my arms close together, forming a tight triangle. With an amused grunt, Pierce takes off my baseball cap and throws it like a Frisbee across the room. Then he reaches for his belt, and the weapon holster; that’s when I notice his gun is missing — instead, it’s holding a small switchblade, which he extends.
Oh, God.
Carefully, Pierce cuts through the neck of my top, sawing until he makes an incision. Once it’s several inches long, he grabs the garment from both sides of the cut and tears the shirt in half, spilling my bare breasts.
Damn it, Pierce. I liked that top.
In my head, I hear what he’d reply: Then you shouldn’t have worn it here.
He’d better buy me a new one.
The leggings go next — he doesn’t even use the knife. He gathers the cloth in his hands and pulls, resulting in a terrifying rip. He starts to pull down my panties, but stops, leaving them be.
“Mmm!” I whine, thrusting my hips toward him, desperate to be touched. He must have felt how damp my panties are, how much I need release.
Pierce tsk-tsks at me, backing away so he can watch me struggle. After a minute, he steps aside and recedes into the bowels of the warehouse.
Where are you going, asshole? Get back here and fuck me!
I don’t have long to wait before a horrendous scraping sound reverberates from somewhere not far enough away. Wishing I could cover my ears, I hum to myself, trying to drown out the noise; yet, the knife-on-bone sound keeps getting closer.
It doesn’t end until Pierce comes back, pushing a long table with his big, black duffel bag on top. From the bag he takes out a variety of toys: canes, floggers, gags, vibrators, rope, tape and more chains.
Okay, now we’re talking.
My toes curl inside my worn sneakers, and I gaze at the collection longingly, wondering which he’ll use first. Panties fully drenched, I bat my eyes at Pierce submissively, moaning into my gag, but Pierce is all business, not reacting except inside his pants.
He slinks up to me and holds my chin, ensuring I’m looking at him. Peering into his eyes, I’m suddenly shaken by fear. Bottomless and overwhelming, I’m rocked by the knowledge that something is utterly, disastrously wrong.
Then Chase takes off the mask, not Pierce.
I scream. I howl and wail like I’ve seen the visage of death, the devil incarnate, a hellhound frothing through rows of fangs.
He lets me get it all out of my system. And why not? We’re the only ones here. He waits while I exhaust myself, trying to escape his restraints. I know it’s pointless, but I try and try until sweat rolls down my sides and the muscles in my arms burn like acid.
All of this I do with my eyes closed — for the first time, I don’t want to see myself on camera in Pierce’s dungeon. For the first time, I wish the cameras weren’t there.
When I can’t go on, Chase steps up and rips the tape off my face. I spit out the sodden cloth, wanting to scream for real, right in his face, but I’ve already raked my throat raw.
“What’s wrong, Sibel? I thought this is what you enjoyed.”
“Fuck you,” I croak.
Chase nods, stepping back and rolling the used tape into a ball. “I know this is fucked up, Sibel. I know this is wrong. I know I’m a bad person.”
Really?
“So let me go,” I beg. “I’ll ask Pierce to go easy on you — and we won’t press charges.”
He laughs, smiling genuinely. “You sound just like him. You and Pierce really were made for each other.”
Huh?
Chase shakes his head. “No, he’s probably going to kill me when he figures out what I’ve done. But, I don’t care anymore. I dream about this all the time, Sibel. It’s all I can think about.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I beg, tears springing from my eyes. “We’ll work it out.”
“No, we won’t. We can’t. This kills me, Sibel. It fucking kills me!” he shouts. “Pierce is my best friend, but he will never understand what it’s like. I can deny what I need for years, but it always comes back. Every. Goddamn. Time.”
In spite of everything, I almost feel bad for him. “I get it, Chase. Seriously. We can’t control who we are, only what we do. No matter what you may think or feel, you’re only a bad person if you hurt someone.”
Chase’s features shift from anger to a deep, deep sorrow. “So what am I supposed to do? How do I cure this need?”
I lower my head in defeat as I answer, “I don’t know.”
“Yeah, no one does. Look at me, Sibel.”
Chase taps his foot, waiting for me to meet his gaze. When I do, he grabs a thick, black ball gag from the table and forces it between my teeth.
“I’m sorry, Sibel. So, so damn sorry,” he says while buckling and tightening the gag. “But I’ve waited to do this my whole life, and if it’s going to cost me my only friend and possibly my life, I’m going to make it count.”
I shriek through the gag as loud as I can, shaking my head, begging with my eyes.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” he says over my screams. After one last look, he turns and goes.
I hit the snooze on my alarm three or four times before getting up. There’s no rush, really, and it feels good to get that extra rest. Better yet: I assume if the police
were coming to arrest me, they wouldn’t have let me sleep in.
Sibel’s in my thoughts the moment I’m fully awake. In the shower, I think about last night’s talk. Guilt saps away my smile — guilt and some shame, too. She worked up the courage to tell me about the single hardest part of her life. No one was forcing her to make such a confession — she could have hidden her secret shame, but she trusted me with it.
Wouldn’t that have been the right time to tell her about the night I bought a victim’s silence? I tell myself she was the one unloading her demons — it was her night to be free of her past, not mine. Maybe that’s true — but I could’ve asked Sibel if she wanted to hear mine then too.
Yet, realizing this, I start to see something good: I might be ashamed, but I’m not afraid. The next time we meet, I’ll tell Sibel about the incident with Tammy. She may get mad, but I don’t think she’ll stop loving me. I know she won’t, and that’s probably the most comforting feeling I’ve ever had.
Once I’m up and dressed, I realize there’s someone else I really want to talk to right now. I look around for my phone, not finding it on the kitchen counter where I thought I left it; I spot it on the coffee table in front of the TV.
“Birch Hill Village, how can I help you?”
“Could you put me through to Cynthia Blake’s room?” I ask the receptionist at my mother’s assisted living home.
“One moment please.”
The receptionist puts me on hold, and after a minute, the line picks up.
“Hello?” The TV in Mom’s private room is on overly loud in the background, but then I hear its volume fading out.
“Hi, Mom. It’s Justin.”
“Hi, dear. How are you, is everything okay?”
Sprawling out on my couch, I smile. “Pretty much. What about you, are you alright? The home treating you good?”
It’s an expensive facility — and a non-profit organization. Their care is supposed to be top-notch.
“Oh, I’m fine, honey. Don’t worry about me. They’re taking us to an escape room this afternoon. You ever hear of these things? They’re supposed to be fun.”
I grin, imagining Mom and a group of seniors solving the puzzles. Good for them.
“That sounds great. You’ll have to tell me about it.”
“I will. What about you, Justin? What’s new?”
I sit up, my heart racing as I realize, this is a conversation I never thought I’d have. “Mom, I’ve been seeing someone for a few months. Her name’s Sibel.”
“Honey, that’s great! I’d worried a little, you know? Tell me about her! How did you meet?”
Chuckling, I try not to think too much about Galleria Carnale. “It’s complicated, Ma. She’s a talented artist, and I became a fan of her work.”
“An artist? Oh boy. Dare I ask what kind?”
That’s about the reaction I expected. “I wouldn’t.”
She laughs. “As long as you like her, I’m sure she’s wonderful.”
Riding a surge of pride, I take a deep breath, and say, “I love her, Mom. I think she’s the one.”
She doesn’t reply right away, but I can hear her. “Oh, Justin. That’s…” Her voice cracks a bit. “That makes me very happy. I can’t tell you how much. I just want you to be happy too.”
“I am,” I say. “Very much. I can’t wait for you to meet Sibel. You’re going to love her too. She’s smart, talented… she’s been through a lot. She’s so strong.”
“And pretty, too?”
I can picture the grin on her face. “Stunning, Mom.”
“You’re so handsome, Justin. I’m sure she’s beautiful. Thank you for calling to tell me. This is really… I’m so happy right now. Have you told your brothers?”
Fuck. I guess I should.
“Not yet. I will soon,” I say, though I wish I didn’t. I’d rather superglue my dick to my truck’s tailpipe than talk to my brothers, but I’ll do as she asks.
“Good, I’m glad. Justin, thank you for calling — I have to go, it’s almost time for Zumba.”
I hope I’m half as active as she is in my senior years. “Sure, Mom. I’ll bring Sibel by so you can meet her; we can all go out for dinner.”
“That would be great. Okay. Love you, honey.”
“Love you too,” I say. I wait for her to hang up, and then do too.
Feeling impossibly content, I get up and knock on Chase’s door to tell him I’m making breakfast. I’m not sure if I hear him stir, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll eat his breakfast too if he doesn’t come out — I’m starving.
Cracking half a dozen eggs into the skillet, I think about the day last week when I imprisoned Sibel. Though I’d never try to dissuade her from challenging authority, I can’t help hoping she’s gotten breaking the law out of her system. Is it the years I’ve got on her that make me feel this way, or is that just how one thinks when they’re in love? What if I did ask her not to break the law, for the sake of us? Or, if I put it hypothetically, how would she react?
I’ll worry about it later, I guess.
After the eggs, the bacon’s next in the pan. Beside it, the kettle starts to steam.
“Chase! Wake up!” I call, flipping the crackling strips. “I will eat all of this! I’ll-”
I stop, hearing the front door to the apartment. Chase strides in with two coffees, a doughnut box and today’s paper. The bags under his eyes have gotten worse, and he shakes a little, like he’s had too much coffee already.
“You went out?” I ask, in mild disbelief.
He nods. “Thought I’d surprise you.”
“It worked. Thanks for the coffee,” I say, turning off the light under the kettle.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, taking his cup.
I reach for mine and the paper. Sibel’s made the front cover; she must be pretty stoked, if she’s seen it. While waiting for the bacon, I drink my coffee and give it a quick read, impressed by the coverage: it accurately depicts the scene, explains the context of Sibel’s past work and provides commentary from numerous spectators. Only one photo makes it in, but it might well be the first time a picture of her has been in a newspaper — normally her appearances don’t lend themselves to newsprint.
My involvement is mentioned in the article, of course; luckily, I’m referred to as “an unidentified male accomplice.” They don’t even pretend to guess at my identity, which is fine by me.
“How’s it feel to make the front page?” Chase asks with a chuckle.
I grin. “I can think of worse ways it could’ve happened.”
“Been a long time since we went legit. This take you back?”
I shrug, remembering what it used to be like. Making money for the first time, that was nice — constantly worrying about getting busted, or ripped off — that part I don’t miss. Back when we lived like kings in Atlantic City, it felt like we had it all, at least at the time. Now I see it a lot differently. I didn’t have the love of someone like Sibel.
“Maybe a little,” I offer. “Being an outlaw is a lot more romantic when you’ve got nothing to lose.”
Chase nods. “Yeah, sure.”
“Thinking that I’m going to get away with it is fun,” I admit. “I can trust that Sibel’s not going to crack. That makes me feel pretty good.”
I take out plates and split up the eggs and bacon. Chase’s doughnut box is full of crullers and apple fritters; feeling ravenous, I take one of each.
“What about you?” I ask Chase, sitting down at the kitchen table. “What are you up to today?”
“Going out later,” he says, staring out the window, even though all that’s out there is the next building’s wall.
“Really?” Twice in one day, on a non-work day? “What for?” I ask, reaching for a piece of bacon. I stop, though. My hunger’s gone, replaced by a sharp cramp in my stomach.
Chase takes his coffee to the sink and pours it down the drain. “Pierce, I want you to know how sorry I am.”
“What are you talking
about?” I swallow hard, forcing down a surge of acid. For a second I feel better, but then shiver as a cold snap snakes its way up into my skull.
“I feel like fucking shit. Not just about yesterday, but everything. The day we met, I should have kicked your ass a little and sent you home. You wouldn’t have fucked up your whole life for me. None of this would be happening.”
“None of what?” I mumble, gripping the table to steady myself, to fight the cold and darkness creeping through my body. Did the room just spin for a second? With the last of my energy, I rush to the sink, pushing my way past Chase. As soon as I’m there, I vomit, retching hard.
“I’ve felt guilty as shit for years, Pierce. All that time keeping me out of jail, was bad enough. Now I really fucked it up.”
“How?” I spit. Wracked with chills, I gasp for breath. “Fucked… what?”
“I told you that it wouldn’t work,” he says. “I tried to warn you.”
He comes to me and sits down at the table. “I used to think my dad made me the way I am, with what he did to my mom. So that night at the hotel, I thought if I beat him, then the part of me that came from him would be beaten, and I wouldn’t want… what I want. It was perfect: I’d go to jail and do my time. Then I’d be free. Guess what I found out?”
Chase brings over one of the kitchen chairs so I can sit. My gut feels like it’s going ten round with Ali, and if I hadn’t already puked out half my insides, I’d still be coughing out more.
“I learned that I was wrong,” he continues. “Nothing is going to change me, I’m stuck with who I am. We don’t get to choose. I’m like an addict, you know? Only I’m addicted to something I’ve never done before. Isn’t that fucked? You could have been the best sponsor in the world, I was still gonna relapse someday. So this isn’t your fault. I don’t care what anyone says, this isn’t on you.”
As he speaks, Chase drags me and the chair into the living room and toward the couch.
“You… drugged me?” My voice comes out a whisper as the truth dawns on me. His words are echoing in my head, and I remember just a minute ago, him pouring out the coffee.
