Ruin: Slay Two

by Laurelin Paige

  “Could I really stay away from my wife this weekend? It’s our first Valentine’s Day together. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Valentine’s Day. Time lost all meaning on Amelie. I barely knew it was Friday let alone that there was a holiday tomorrow.

  Especially when the holiday wasn’t important.

  Valentine’s Day wasn’t why Edward was here.

  This was for show, as was the bouquet of calla lilies and roses that he presented from behind his back, but the flowers and the tender kiss on the lips did something to me. Dazed me. Made it hard to think.

  I swallowed, running my sweaty palms along the front of my dress in a pretense of smoothing my skirt. Tom was already up and taking care of the flowers, finding them a vase, and Mateo had another chair and place set before I could get my wits together.

  Edward sat, taking my hand in his so I sat as well. His attention, though, was on those around him, listening and smiling as his staff brought him up to speed on island life.

  I picked at my food after that, sipped anxiously at my wine. My stomach was in knots and the press of Edward’s fingers laced through mine was distracting. The tug of an unanswered question swirled through my mind, wanting resolution.

  When the group was preoccupied with an unimportant family debate, I couldn’t take it anymore. I leaned toward him, keeping my voice quiet. “What happens now?”

  “We finish dinner.” Letting go of my hand and stretching his arm around my chair—a natural move for a husband who’d missed his bride—he bent into me, the warm air of his breath tickling my ear. “Then, tonight, we begin.”

  When Edward had been on the island before, the socializing had gone on long after the meal was over. This night, as though everyone had been given orders I wasn’t aware of, the group departed as soon as the table was cleared.

  Edward must have slipped away during the goodbyes because, immediately after our guests had left, he instructed me. “I’ve laid out clothes for you on your bed. Wear them and nothing else. Meet me in the library when you’re finished.”

  With tingling fingers and toes, I nodded and left for my room. I hadn’t decided if I meant to make this easy for him or not. I was still angry with him—outrageously angry—but two and a half months had made me more comfortable with that anger. It no longer spewed from me. I was able now to hold it, to wait.

  Wait for what, I wasn’t sure. I’d know when the time was right to draw it out.

  Curiosity now dominated my emotions. And nervousness. What would Edward do to me? Would it hurt too much? Would it not hurt enough?

  I was beyond ready to know.

  On my bed, I found the items he’d set out. They hadn’t been with the clothes he’d sent me, so he must have brought it. I would have tossed them out otherwise. The underwear were plain white cotton briefs. The matching bra had no wire and did nothing in the way of support. The white dress—smock was a better term for it—had no shape. It hung past my knees, accentuating absolutely nothing about my body. White ballet flats accompanied the outfit. The best thing I could say about them was that they fit.

  I lingered in front of my bathroom mirror for almost a full minute. I’d given up doing my makeup since I’d been on the island, and, while my body had developed a nice tan, sunscreen had kept my face blotchy and uneven. Edward hadn’t specified anything about cosmetics, but he seemed to be going for plain, a look that I didn’t wear comfortably.

  Some foundation and a bit of rouge would make me feel better. I had a feeling that was the reason he wouldn’t want me applying them.

  I settled for freshening my lipgloss, leaving my lips a natural pink, then headed to the library to find my husband.

  “This isn’t sexy,” I said when I arrived.

  He glanced up at me from behind his computer. “I know.”

  Ouch.

  But now I had to wonder—was this plain Jane appearance meant to throw me off balance or keep him from losing his?

  The possibility that it was the latter felt warm in my belly.

  A few taps of keys and the printer behind Edward woke up, shooting out several pages. “These are for you,” he said, gathering the items and handing them to me.

  I could feel the crease in my brow as I looked them over. Right away I noticed something very startling—the pages were emails.

  “You just printed these. How are you on the internet? The Wi-Fi has never worked.” I’d tried an unbelievable amount of times to connect with no success. There was only one server option. No password required. It wasn’t like that was the reason I’d been locked out.

  “Because I’ve had the server disconnected. I had it turned back on when I arrived.”

  “There’s been a working server here the whole time?” I didn’t know how he continued to surprise me.

  He looked at me like I was ridiculous. “How else would I be able to work while I’m here? And don’t get any ideas. It’s password protected.”

  Password protected and disconnected server—the man really didn’t trust me.

  I considered lashing out about it and quickly decided not to. I’d already been confined to the island with no contact with the outside world. It wasn’t like this was a new horror, even if it was new to discover the details around it.

  With a sigh, I turned my focus back to the papers in my hand. They’d been printed from my email account. I scanned the top, my eyes rushing lower when I realized the top section was in reply to something below. I recognized the words there. They were my words. For the most part. They’d been edited to exclude the main point, which was that my husband had taken me captive, but the little that was left were the words I’d written to my parents in my first letter.

  I shot daggers at him, again contemplating giving him my wrath, but really. What had I expected? I’d never really believed that those letters would get through, that he’d let me talk freely to my parents.

  It was a pointless argument.

  Taking another deep breath, I read through my mother’s replies. Each were cordial and succinct. My mother preferred conversing on the phone, and she said as much in one of the emails, It’s too bad you don’t have service there so you can call.

  Beyond that, there was nothing overtly warm. Nothing that expressed concern for me or my new marriage beyond the stock We miss you at the bottom of each message.

  I tossed them down on Edward’s desk, dismissively. “Can we start now?”

  “They did send you a Christmas gift,” he said gesturing to a Tiffany box on the corner of his desk that I’d overlooked. A bracelet, judging from the size. Probably diamonds. Not the most expensive item in the inventory but not the least either.

  I didn’t need to see it to know almost exactly what it was.

  It was devastating that the gift that Edward sent, the books that currently surrounded me, were of more value to me than what my parents had sent.

  Not wanting to give any of that away, I simply shrugged. “I’ll look at it later, if you don’t mind. When I’m alone.”

  “We gave them tickets to the symphony, by the way. Box seats.”

  I half chuckled because the gift was so exactly what I would have selected that they wouldn’t have thought for a moment that I hadn’t. “You’re good,” I said, flatly. “I have to give you that.”

  He nodded once as though he already knew. “Then let’s go, shall we?”

  My curiosity was killing me, but I managed to remain silent while Edward led me out the front doors and across the driveway to the path that ran the circumference of the island. Since I’d only ever walked it at night, I hadn’t realized that the way was lit. They were possibly even lights that didn’t come on with a timer and that Edward had turned them on tonight so I may have never noticed them. But the lights weren’t the interesting thing about our journey.

  The interesting thing was that I’d been this way enough in the daylight to know that there was nothing along the path for us to go to. The staff quarters were in the opposite direct
ion, and, unless Edward enjoyed a romp out in the jungle, the only reason I could imagine he would take me this way was to lead me to the cliffs that bordered the west side of the island.

  Nervousness turned into fear.

  “Where are you taking me?” I couldn’t manage to keep the apprehension out of my voice.

  Edward, who’d been a step ahead the whole time, turned back so he could walk alongside me, his hand pressed at my lower back.

  It wasn’t more comforting, if that’s what he’d intended.

  “We have a destination,” he said, not sounding at all like a man who was about to kill his wife, but what did a man in that position sound like? “Not too much farther.”

  “It’s not the journey there that concerns me. I’m concerned that I might not be making the journey back.”

  The walkway was lit only at our feet, but I could still see the hint of a smirk on his lips. “While it would be awfully fun to let that doubt remain, that isn’t what tonight is about. Yes, you will be making the journey back.”

  I was only somewhat mollified. “What is tonight about, exactly?”

  “Trust.”

  Any tension he’d relieved from his answer before returned with bravado. There were a hundred ways he could test my trust, ways I was certain not to like, and I wasn’t entirely sure the cliffs weren’t part of that, but I kept my mouth clamped shut and focused on holding onto my courage rather than what my courage might be used for.

  Five minutes later, Edward directed me off the path toward the fence that bordered the island’s edge. Beyond, the rock dropped off to the ocean one hundred feet below. I hadn’t wandered over to this particular spot, but I’d pressed my body against the wood barrier at a place farther along the path and smiled over the dramatic expanse of sea beneath me.

  My heart sped up to double its speed as we approached.

  Once at the fence, he flipped a latch I hadn’t known was there, and a portion of it swung out, opening to let us onto a stairway that I’d never known was there, pressed into the side of the mountain, kept hidden from other viewpoints. One flight down, and I could finally see where we were headed—a small, one-story bungalow with its own private beach.

  “Is this your dungeon?” I asked at the door as Edward unlocked the front door with a key from his pocket.

  He chuckled, a sound that I’d forgotten made my thighs draw up and tighten. “Nothing that nefarious.”

  “Your playroom?”

  “Something like that.” The door open, he reached in to flick on a light switch, then stepped aside to let me in.

  I walked in and paused to survey my surroundings—the stone tile floor, the bamboo ceiling, the oriental-style windows, the wrap-around white couch with alternating black and gray and brown pillows, the matching love seat across from it, the square mocha coffee table that anchored the room.

  Edward stood beside me, the heat of him radiating toward me. “I’ve brought women to the island before. I prefer to keep them out of the space I share with my children.”

  I finished where that thought led. “So you bring them here.”

  “So I’ve brought them here. Yes.”

  That felt heavy inside me and light at the same time. I didn’t like the idea that I was in a space that he’d shared with others, but, in bringing me here, he’d inadvertently told me that he didn’t bring women to the main house. And he’d taken me there first.

  It was clever, really. A cozy place he could fill with all sorts of sex toys without being afraid of his children stumbling upon them. Not that there were any obvious toys in sight, but there appeared to be at least one bedroom where he could hide away his whips and chains and fetish equipment.

  I walked in farther to draw attention away from the shudder that ran through me at the thought. Even after all the time I’d spent preparing myself for whatever tortures he had in store for me, physical pain was still more a turn-off than a turn-on.

  Well, severe physical pain, anyway. I’d really liked the hard spanking he’d given me, as much as I hated admitting it.

  Hopefully he’d start off slow.

  “Should we get to this?” I clapped my palms together, ignoring how damp they were.

  Looking both amused and smug, he gestured for me to sit on the sofa. “I can make you a drink if you think that will help.” He’d already crossed to the bar to make his own.

  Liquor was tempting. It would ease the tension in my shoulders, calm my nerves. Lessen my inhibitions.

  The last one was exactly the reason I decided to decline. Whatever was about to happen, whatever Edward was going to do to me, I needed my faculties present.

  “Very well then.” He took his tumbler of cognac and crossed to the love seat across from me, unbuttoning his jacket before he sat. He was wearing a suit, leading me to suspect he’d gone directly from work to the airport. He must be exhausted, but he didn’t seem the least bit tired. In fact, he seemed acutely alert. Like the predator he was.

  I waited.

  He waited.

  “This is an interesting setup,” I said, beyond the time when it felt something should be said by someone. “Me here. You over there. Do you break me down simply with the power of your mind?”

  He crossed one leg over the other and perched his hand holding the glass on his thigh. “This is how this will work,” he said, and I had to force myself not to lean forward. “We will sit here, and, when you’re ready, you will tell me about something in your life, something that affected you deeply. Something not pleasant. Something that required you to rebuild yourself in the aftermath.”

  That had not been at all what I’d been expecting.

  I repeated his words in my head before clarifying. “You want me to tell you a story?”

  He shook his head impatiently. “Definitely not a story, at least not in the fictional sense. It will be from your life, and it will be true. You will describe the event and all the relevant circumstances surrounding it in exact detail. I may ask questions as you proceed. I’ll expect answers. All of it, every single word that comes from your mouth, must be authentic.”

  Now I knew why he’d offered the drink.

  I crossed my legs, mirroring his position. Already my head was whirring with the tales I could spin, petty, plausible fables from a rich girl’s pretty life.

  This was the stuff I was good at. This was going to be cake.

  “I’ll know it’s not true, Celia,” he warned, reading my mind like he lived inside it.

  “How?” I challenged.

  “I just will.”

  “But how?”

  “Celia…” He gave me a stern stare that reminded me of the one my grandpa Werner used to terrify me with as a child whenever I was found doing something I wasn’t supposed to do. “I’ll know.”

  “What happens if you don’t believe me?”

  “If you’re telling the truth, I will believe you.”

  I debated pushing the issue further because, really. How would he know? Even if I was honest and drudged up some hurt from the past and shared it with him in excruciating detail, he could accuse me of lying.

  But just before I opened my mouth to say that, I looked at him again, really looked at him, and the sharp intensity of his gaze reminded me—he’d always seen me.

  He’d see me now too.

  There was something I was missing, though. None of the books about BDSM had covered anything like this. And I was pretty sure he was a sadist. Where did the pain come in?

  “And then what happens?” I asked, no longer caring that I looked desperate in my need to know.

  He looked at me plainly, as though the answer was obvious. “Then, depending on how you do, I’ll respond.”

  There it was. What I’d been looking for. Where the pain would come in. “You’ll take me to the bedroom, tie me up, and flog me until I’m screaming, you mean.”

  He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied me.

  I’d gotten something wrong. I tried to guess what. Per
haps the flogger wasn’t his instrument of choice. A cane then. Or maybe he was more inventive with his play. Or more hands-on. Choking, perhaps. Or he’d use his fists.

  My stomach lurched at the thought of fists.

  After what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “You seem to be under the impression that I beat women up.”

  “Don't you?” He was probably one of those guys who preferred to use words that didn’t make his violent side sound so violent.

  “Not typically.”

  I rolled my eyes, tired of this chasing around the bush. “Look, I know you do. Sasha said you did.”

  He lifted his chin inquisitively. “She did?”

  “Yes. She said…” I tried to remember exactly what the woman at The Open Door party had said about Edward. He’s really good...if you can take a beating. Which obviously meant that...

  Oh, God.

  It was a figure of speech.

  This was the type of beating he meant to give me, not with physical pain, not with implements that weighed down my nipples or made my ass vibrate, but with words. My own words. My own pain used against me.

  I swallowed, carefully. “So you just want me to pick some terrible thing that happened in my lifetime and tell you all about it like we’re best girlfriends who’ve had too much wine?”

  That smirk again. “I expect you to be vulnerable, yes.”

  If I hadn’t understood the point of the game before, I did now. And, in every way I couldn’t have imagined, this was worse than I’d prepared for.

  I really wished I’d taken that drink.

  Eight

  “Take all the time you need,” Edward said, stretching his arm across the sofa, settling in. His self-satisfied look told me what my own expression must have given away, and I remembered again why I hated him.

  “I have one already,” I said flippantly. “I met with this businessman on the pretense that he wanted to hire me. Oh, by the way, sorry I wasn’t around to finish your office. Something came up.” He’d never really intended for me to redesign his space, but I’d undertaken the task with sincerity. It pissed me off as much as anything else he’d done that I hadn’t been able to see it to completion.