by Zoe Blake
Rebecca dropped her head back and clenched her eyes tight, refusing to answer. Why was he even talking to her like he thought she was a person? He’d made it more than clear what he thought of her. Nothing more than a tool to use as he pleased.
Despite her silence, he continued in that strangely calm monotone. “It’s long. Must have taken a long time to get it down to your hips like that.”
“Why the fuck do you care?” she snapped.
He spanked her inner thigh, the fiery shock making her hips lift involuntarily. “You will speak respectfully or you will be gagged. Understand?”
When she stayed silent, he pinched the delicate skin again and twisted, sharpening the pain to a pinpoint of lightning. Her yelp made her gasp before she clenched her teeth tight. “Fine! Yes!”
“Good girl.” The man smoothed his hand over the sore spot, petting her like she was an animal, and she hated that some level of her found it soothing. “So, have you ever cut it?”
“Of course I have.” Rebecca forced the words through gritted teeth, and he tilted his head as he started to trace his fingers up to her lower belly, down across her waist, and then over her hip to return to her thigh.
“Just the ends, or—”
“I had a few inches cut off last year, my hair just grows fast. Okay?” With a jerk at the cuffs, she muttered curses under her breath. The dull ache in her wrists reminded her that she wasn’t healed, and that this momentarily calm behavior was nothing more than a fleeting respite.
“Like Rapunzel,” he mused.
“Yes.”
“And you’re a natural blonde.” His fingers stroked up until he brushed the trim curls at the apex of her thighs, and she pulled hard at the cuffs binding her ankles in an effort to close her legs.
“Yes,” she hissed, digging her nails into her palms.
“Like Rapunzel.” There was a dreamy quality to his voice, something strange inside it that belied the anger she’d normally heard from him.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Rebecca swallowed hard when he raised his eyes to her, the only expressive part he allowed with the rest of his features covered in that thin cloth.
“Because he calls you that.”
“My father?”
“Yes, that asshole.” His hand stilled on her skin, ceasing the endless circles he’d been making.
“Why do you hate him, us, so much?”
A low chuckle left his lips and he lifted his touch from her completely, giving her his back as he turned away. “You have no idea.”
“Why? Tell me what I don’t know.” She rattled the chains at her hands and feet. “It’s not like I can do anything, so why not just tell me what the hell we’ve done to deserve this before you decide to torture me again?”
“Oh, Rapunzel, Rapunzel…” For a moment she couldn’t tell if he was quoting the witch or the prince, and when he twisted to look at her again, the hunger in his eyes seemed to be a mix of both. “You don’t want to know what I know.”
“Don’t tell me what I want or don’t want, because trust me you don’t know.” Their gazes locked for a moment, and she didn’t budge, didn’t back down, even when he faced her and slid his palm up her leg to cup her mound.
“I think I know what you want more than you want to admit, and you have no idea what you’re asking for, princess.”
“Try me.”
He shook his head slowly, one finger dipping between her lips to tease the liquid heat that seemed to be a constant companion. “Did daddy dearest ever touch you, Rapunzel? Is that why he’s kept you with him in The Tower all these years?”
“No!” The recoil from his words was immediate, but when she struggled, he just pushed inside her. Teasing her with torturously tender touches.
“Are you sure? Not once?” He shifted until he was looking down at her, his hand still buried between her thighs, a crook of his finger sending a tremor through her muscles. “He never snuck into your room to have a taste?”
“You’re sick!” she screamed at him, but he just rolled his eyes and pulled away from her, leaving the stoked heat at her core untended.
“And you’re blind, princess, but that’s why you’re chained to the floor while he walks free, isn’t it?” There was a poisonous edge to his tone as he stared at her. Her lips parted to respond, but her mind froze. It was something in his eyes, those tawny pools filled with some kind of knowledge, and for a flash there was no anger—just pity.
For himself? For her?
He broke their gaze then, facing the wall he’d pinned her against before. The memories were bitter fire, twisting and winding their way through her. Urging her to fight, to scream, to demand he answer her. But then, without another word, he stood and walked to the door. Leaving before she could rally her thoughts enough to respond. When the door clanged shut, she let out a frustrated scream, bucking against the chains as if they’d suddenly decide to free her.
“You don’t know anything! Not about him, and not about ME! This is just some sick game you’re playing, you asshole! You bastard!” Her throat ached with how loud she shouted the words, her vocal cords straining.
He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know a goddamned thing about me.
He’s a liar, a monster.
When she dropped back to the thin mattress, she hated how much warmer she felt on top of it, hated how her body seemed to urge her to sleep since, for the first time in what seemed like days, she wasn’t curled up on a cold, hard floor. The lights dimmed a bit, but they didn’t go out, and despite her racing heart and bubbling anger at his twisted accusations—she was grateful he kept the soft glow in the ceiling.
As much as she wanted to nurse her hatred, her anger, the exhaustion was winning. It didn’t care about the twinge in her shoulder, or the pulse between her thighs, or the terrible things he’d said. There were only the eight glowing eyes blinking to life as sleep swallowed her whole.
Chapter Five
Adam slammed his fist down on the desk, leaning forward to glare at the screen, grabbing the mouse in a grip hard enough to make the plastic creak. The timer had gone off over ten minutes ago, but he was still sitting in the chair watching his email and waiting for the confirmation that Sinclair had sold the companies.
Are you really going to test me you son of a bitch?
With a growl, he grabbed the bottle of rum, tilting it up to take another harsh swallow. The fire burned its way into his belly, joining the bitter rage that had been a constant companion for years, but not even the alcohol could calm him right now. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of this was how it was supposed to go. She wasn’t supposed to be so delicate, so pretty when she cried, so sweet as she pleaded—no, she was supposed to be vicious and biting. Catty and cruel. Like every one of those rich bitches who filled the rooms of the city’s elite.
And Daniel Sinclair was supposed to be falling all over himself to get her back.
Setting the dark liquor back on the desk, he flipped over to his tracking program, checking his work for the tenth time—but he hadn’t made a mistake. All of the files had been opened.
Every single one.
Sinclair knew exactly what he was doing to her, to his only offspring, but he wasn’t responding.
Was she not the key? Did the bastard even have a weakness?
Adam growled and kicked the CPU under his desk as he pushed himself away from the set up. He was surrounded by evidence. Filing cabinets full of things that damned the asshole and verified that the blonde was the crux of whatever was left of Daniel Sinclair’s soul. She had been pampered since birth, protected, sheltered in that Tower the man had built to worship himself. To keep his sweet little Rapunzel high above the dirt of the earth.
Pristine.
Ignorant.
Perfect.
“Spoiled little bitch.” The rage, a warm and welcome old friend, purred in his chest. Erasing the visions of her biting down on her pretty pink lips, her blue eyes searching his for a mercy she
wouldn’t find. She was Sinclair’s heir, his pride and joy, and he was going to tear her down off her pedestal. He traced the long line of her naked body on the screen. “You’re not safe anymore, princess, and Daddy is about to see just how serious I am.”
The idea formed in his mind like oil spilling into water. Corrupting and dark.
No more hollow threats, no more countdowns, no more half-measures. Daniel Sinclair was going to fall in line or he was going to watch the pretty blonde break.
It only took a few minutes before he was dressed, the stifling mask over his face, and all of the tools he would need gathered together. Leaning back over to the computer he sent an encrypted email through the server and then took another long drink of the rum. Sweet and burning, all the way down.
“Let’s see how long you hold out, bastard.” Spitting the words at the unresponsive screen, he left the room and walked a short way down the hall. He paused at the heavy door, taking a steadying breath so he could cool the fiery hate rushing under his skin.
Don’t kill her, just make her scream.
Flipping the lock, he shoved the door open and she twitched on the mattress. Her long limbs trying to contract against the chains, and the metallic rattle was music to his ears. Rebecca had been asleep, he’d been watching her on the screen for almost an hour, but now he needed her pain. Her pale blue eyes widened as she lifted her head, and he couldn’t help but smile at the open fear on her face.
“Seems like Daddy doesn’t want to save you, princess,” he cooed, keeping his voice low and quiet. With careful, measured steps, he approached her. The way she shivered was beautiful, her nipples had hardened to points in the cool air of the room, and he wondered if it was the chill or his presence that made her muscles quake like that. “It’s time for you to suffer.”
“No, no, wait. I’ll get him to do what you want. I’ll talk to him again, I swear. Just let me talk to him!” Her pleas were desperate as he paused beside her, staring down at the terrified form. It sent a thrill through his blood. That blonde hair was a pillowed nest under her head, flowing behind her back to fan out at her waist. A river of gold that he had an urge to push his hands through, pull until her lips parted so he could—
Stop. Fucking, focus.
“I don’t want you to talk to him anymore, Rapunzel, I want you to scream for him.” Lifting the ball gag in his hands, he smiled underneath the mask when she shook her head hard, panic making her flail at the chains.
“Please! Just let me talk to him again, please, tell me what you want and I’ll convince him! I swear! I’ll do it!” As she begged, he knelt down beside her, taking a moment to trace one finger over the soft skin of her arm. She felt so pure, so good, and how someone like her had come from someone so evil he couldn’t figure out—but none of that mattered. All he needed was her pain.
“Open up.” He held the gag in front of her face, offering her the easy way, but she clenched her teeth tight just like he’d expected. Somehow the girl was simultaneously terrified of him, and still defiant. Where was her sense of self-preservation? Why wasn’t she submitting to him fully in an attempt to make him lenient?
Not like it would work.
Wrapping his hand under her chin, he dug his fingers into the muscles of her jaw, slowly forcing her mouth wide as she whimpered. As soon as there was enough space, he forced the ball gag between her teeth, and then pressed his hand down to keep it there. “Tsk, tsk. I wasn’t asking, Rapunzel, and when you disobey you just make me angry.”
A sharp, incomprehensible shout escaped her lips, so he locked the gag a notch too tight, leaving her groaning as her jaw strained.
“You’re such a stupid girl. You believe everything he’s told you.” Reaching for his belt, Adam stood and slowly undid the buckle, the soft metal sound of it competing with the sudden ruckus of her struggling against the cuffs and the chains. Sweet music.
Her voice climbed in volume as she whimpered, pleaded, and he pulled the belt free of his pants, the whisper of leather another instrument joining the symphony.
“All right, princess, time to scream.” With a snap of his wrist, the belt landed across the bruising crop marks on the tops of her thighs. She bowed up on the mattress, her body arching prettily as she cried out in pain.
This was what he needed to calm the rage.
Another lash landed and it wrapped to her inner thigh, her legs jerking in a useless effort to close them. Her pleas were stuttered with the earliest sobs of pain, but he just soaked it all in. There was something about the way she writhed, trying so hard to avoid the next snap of the belt even though there was nowhere to go.
Again, and again, and again.
The sharp crack of leather meeting skin, the yelp of pain, followed by another round of sob-filled babbling. Even through the gag her voice was soprano sweet, undulating in agony, and his cock twitched behind his zipper in response.
The rage flickered in his chest and then returned with force.
Red lines bloomed across her pale skin, and for a moment he wished he had chained her so he could flip her over. Paint the back with stripes to match the front. Perhaps the next time her father didn’t take his threats seriously.
Son of a bitch.
The girl was pleading through the muffling effect of the gag, her voice bouncing off the walls as she wailed, screamed, sobbed. He ignored her, reaching into his pocket to ensure he hadn’t missed a call.
Nothing.
The urge to destroy her resurfaced and he adjusted his grip on the belt, evening out the ends so it was perfectly doubled over—and then he started to land the belt in quick succession. As the minutes passed, he watched Rebecca’s expression contort with a kind of detached fascination, the leather peppering her front with bright red lines from nipples to knees. Every strike was followed by a yelp or a cry or a sob, her cheeks shining with tears. Those baby blue eyes sparkled when they were open, but she was mostly keeping them clenched tight—trying her best to be strong.
So strong for such a tiny thing.
Just as she started to hiccup, the sobs making her entire body shake in ways that had his cock uncomfortably hard against the pressure of his zipper, the little phone in his pocket rang. A sweet tone that chimed and stuttered her hysterical panting, her eyes opening wide. “Looks like Daddy got the message, princess.”
Pressing the button on the phone, he faced one of the cameras and stayed silent as the arguing from the other end of the line slowed. “Are you there, asshole?”
Adam raised his hand slowly and gave a single wave to the main camera, refusing to answer. While the video stream had a filter on the sound to distort their voices, the little cell phone did not.
“I signed your fucking paperwork! Now let her go! Let Rebecca go immediately!” The command made him want to snarl, and he walked back over to the soft, shuddering form of the girl.
Slowly crouching down beside her, he laid the belt across her stomach. She held her breath, but her pulse made her skin twitch anyway, the flicker of her heartbeat visible in her throat. Laying the phone down between her breasts, he tapped the speakerphone function.
As if on cue, Rebecca started to plead wordlessly, shaking her head through a mess of unintelligible, feminine sounds.
“Rebecca?!” Sinclair’s voice pumped out of the tinny little speaker, and she started to sob and shout even louder, ripping at the cuffs that bound her wrists and ankles, likely bruising them worse than they already were. Silently, Adam traced the welts on one thigh. She whined, pleading softly through the gag, and Daniel Sinclair started to shout. “DO NOT TOUCH HER! I signed your fucking contracts! I sent them back! Check with your people, it’s done, now let her go.”
Adam lifted his gaze to the camera and tilted his head. Sinclair was trying to command him? Was he really so used to being obeyed by all the lemmings around him that he didn’t even think about who was really in charge in this situation? The silence reigned between them, the anger a low boil in his blood as he slowly moved his han
d between her thighs.
Wet. So fucking wet.
What the fuck?
She wasn’t just wet, she was slippery as he slid two fingers between her lips, spreading her wide. Glistening, pink skin that surprised him and made his cock ache, and his pants feel even tighter. Her hips bucked as he stroked, her cries increasing again as she likely begged him to stop.
“You said you would let her go!” Sinclair lied, and Adam looked up at the camera and shook his head slowly. Making sure the man saw it before he forced three fingers inside the girl. The wail that burst from behind the gag was unmistakable, and the series of curses that followed from the speaker confirmed that the self-proclaimed king of Monarch Systems was watching every glorious moment.
Hot, silken wetness clenched around his fingers as she kicked at the chains, arching her back prettily, and before he’d thought about it, he had started to stroke that bundle of nerves deep inside. She tried to twist away, to escape his touch, but he held her in place with one hand on her hip so his other could work. His thumb found her clit, rolling until she eventually went silent, shaking her head, but he could feel the steady squeezing as she fought the pleasure. Rebecca was swallowing, the beginnings of moans cut short in her throat, and he thought back to the way her body had gone rigid underneath him on the couch, her pussy milking him as she came—he wanted it again.
“Stop this. I sold the fucking companies, what else do you want?” Daniel Sinclair’s voice almost sounded concerned. Perhaps the glorious, squirming form under his hands was the man’s weakness, the only chink in the bastard’s armor.
Adam put a little more pressure on her clit, increasing the intensity, and she bowed beautifully for him. The phone slid up her chest, catching by her neck and he picked it up to rest it back between her breasts. Her eyes opened, blue eyes locking onto his, pleading wordlessly as a flush raced into her cheeks.
