by Jaye Peaches
Truth. Tell him the truth. Her only option for digging herself out of the mess she’d made.
Her lips trembled. “I want to help Emily. I….I…can’t stand the thought of her being with that woman. A criminal….” Any semblance of self-control seemed to crumble away. The pathetic excuse tumbled out of her dry mouth.
Jason closed his eyes and shook his head, grimacing in disgust. “What was the one thing I asked you do? This whole blackmail business…what did you have to do?” He accentuated the last sentence through gritted teeth.
“Leave you to deal with it,” she muttered, looking at her feet. She couldn’t look at him. The sight of his immaculate, extortionately priced suit, which signified his executive powers and the piercing blue eyes, which always burrowed past her weaknesses, was too much for her to bear. His tone cut like a knife through her heart as he reminded her of what she had agreed and how they lived their life.
“I am in control of your life, not the other way round! Trust! You were supposed to trust me absolutely with your safety, your protection. You obviously don’t,” he spat at her, impaling her with words she never thought he’d say.
She staggered backwards. She did trust him. How could he think she didn’t? It had never been her intention. The idea repulsed her. Did he believe she’d deliberately done her own investigation to circumvent his and Martinson’s, to go over his head and make him look foolish? No. She’d not done that, but was it how he saw things?
Her legs turned to jelly. What had she done! She’d imprinted her own fears so successfully on Emily, she’d lost sight of her faith in Jason, her Master. Too empathetic! The vision of an oppressed Emily, caged and held to emotional ransom, while carrying out Raven’s wishes, had been Gemma’s creation. She’d built Emily into a sacrificial lamb. A terrified woman who needed rescuing. It wasn’t really Emily she saw in her head. It was herself.
A deeply disappointed Jason stood unbending before her. If she ignored his primary rules for her safety and well-being, then all his efforts to have her trust him, to control her, and to have her obedience were for nothing. She’d done it again. Pulled the rug from underneath him. His frustrations permeated the air, suffocating the space between them.
She had to make him understand. He’d never been truly afraid. Never been petrified nor left with the inability to escape a nightmare situation.
Gemma clenched her fists as the nausea built, wave upon wave of despairing angst and terror.
He is my beloved husband. I must not fear him!
He told me never to fear him.
Too late. He crept out of the dark recesses of her mind, a hateful figure, and she superimposed him over Jason. The man who’d re-created hell in a locked garage and left her haunted, traumatised. He re-materialised, red-faced with rage, and dragged her into his chosen torture chamber, snarling in her ear, “I’m going to cut you to shreds, whore. Bleed you dry.”
The unseen bedroom spun about her. Black, obscure, and airless. She couldn’t breathe. The need to run somewhere unbearably strong. A blanket of nothingness descended over her.
Jason vanished.
***
“Gemma! No, you don’t. You stay with me, Gemma!”
A different voice. She recognised it. Familiar. Worried.
Gemma opened her eyes. The ceiling. The moulded plasterwork of an ornate white ceiling. She lay on the bed. How she came to be there was a mystery to her. A heavy arm draped over her belly, a hand clutched her shoulder, and a face was buried in her hair. Jason, breathed heavily, blowing moist air into her ear.
Some time must have passed, but she couldn’t recall what she had been doing. It had all gotten muddled up somewhere.
“Did I faint?” she croaked.
“No, babe.” His voice sounded unusually pained and troubled.
Now, she understood. Memories crept back. A panic attack. Her self-inflicted protective cocoon, where loss of awareness became paramount. There, in her mental sanctuary, things happened without her realising, leaving her very vulnerable, devouring her senses, and taking her to a place she couldn’t recall or describe.
“We have to find her, Emily. She reminded me of myself so much. That haunted look on her face. It made me think of my own kind of terror. It consumes me. You don’t know what it is like to be truly afraid, Jason. Terrifying, life-threatening fear.”
Jason moved his arm, and she turned onto her side, curling up into a ball, and he spooned his body around her. The tips of his fingers ran through her hair, stroking her like a beloved pet. The silence returned as both waited for their pounding heartbeats to settle into a natural resting rhythm.
Finally, he sighed. “Johnson followed this Raven character to a house. Not her house. She rang the doorbell, and a man let her in. According to the last update, she’s still there.”
The timings didn’t make sense. “But, my e-mails?”
“Smartphones, Gemma.”
“Damn,” she muttered. She’d forgotten. Typing e-mails on a small keyboard would be tedious, which explained their brevity. “Emily?”
“Lost again. She caught a bus, this time, and jumped off unexpectedly. I suspect she knew she might be followed after Gibson spoke to her.”
“So you didn’t find the house?”
“Not so far. You were too impatient as usual, impetuous.” He stirred, unwrapping her from his clutches. “I need to phone Martinson. Warn him that you’ve contacted her by e-mail. That was his next plan, if the blackmailer didn’t head home tonight.”
Plans would have to be changed. Her actions had consequences. “We know her address now. Can’t we go there before Raven returns? Check to see if Emily is there?”
Jason snorted. “Assuming they live together. I doubt Emily would leave the house.”
Why ever not! “I could convince her. Take me there now and I will try.” She swung her legs around and sat up.
He stiffened, lifting himself up onto an elbow. The worried expression replaced by his sterner one. “No, Gemma. We simply don’t know enough.”
Her laptop beeped and she stared at it, perched rather precariously on the other side of the bed.
He flicked her cheek, catching her attention. “Did you read the blackmail note in the changing room?” He sidled across the bed towards the laptop.
She admitted her actions with a small nod. “I memorised the e-mail. I didn’t plan to use it at first. That idea came later. What does that note say?” She watched him read the latest e-mail.
“She wants a time. She gave you a place, but no time.”
She bit her lip. She remembered now. “I had to take a pee. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“What were you planning to do with the address? Plant it on me, somehow? Whisper it into my ears as I slept?” His humour was strangely unsettling. Underneath it, she sensed the undercurrent of his previous anger. His mouth hadn’t curled up as he spoke.
“I hadn’t thought that part through. Obviously my ill-conceived idea fell to pieces when I realised you would want to know how I came by the address.”
He smirked. “I came to that conclusion just before you went to pieces.” Jason rose. His silk suit was crumpled and shirt slightly untucked. Signs of his frantic actions when she’d been out of it. How could she make him understand her actions?
Gemma crawled over and knelt on the edge of the bed. “I do trust you, Master. Memories of fear consume me. My own terrors. I keep seeing Emily, and I see me back then. I can’t stop—”
His finger pressed against her lips. “Shh. I understand. I think rationally, you act irrationally. But I’m not the one haunted, you are and I can’t imagine what that feels like. Therefore, I’m going to be forgiving. You’ve got the address. Let’s draw a line under this and move on. Having you freaking out is enough trauma for one day.”
Reaching up, she looped her arms about his neck and threw herself into his opening arms, curling her legs around his waist while his hands slipped under her bottom, supporting her weight. She rained
kisses on his mouth and cheeks. “I love you. Trust you,” she said breathlessly, between smatterings. “Don’t let me fail you.” She eased back.
“I won’t,” he murmured.
She wondered if he would ravish her on the bed. His fingers squeezed her buttock cheeks then he removed them and took hold of her waist, dragging her off his torso. “I’m hungry.”
“Yes, of course, Master. Food, yes,” she blabbered, feet firmly on the floor, and she dashed over to the bedroom door. “Right on it.”
The relief didn’t last long. Standing in the kitchen, she paused with a hand on a cupboard handle. She berated herself—foolish sub. The bitter taste of disappointment lingered in her mouth. She had to show him her trust was solid. She would find a way to prove it to him. He had to understand he was everything to her.
While he telephoned Martinson, she cooked Jason a quick meal of Spanish omelette with crusty bread and butter. He’d taken her laptop and brought it down to the kitchen, placing it on the table. The food vanished as he carved the omelette into large bite-size pieces. She sat next to him, patiently waiting.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Martinson’s is secretly impressed with your tactics, but annoyed that you did it behind our backs. He can trace the Raven’s real name using the electoral roll and start to find out about her. I want you to reply to her last e-mail.”
“Emily—”
“Can wait a day. For all we know, she could have been with this woman for ages. Her choice, remember, Gemma. She obviously leaves the house without her. She’s not a prisoner.”
She couldn’t explain what hold the blackmailer might have over Emily, whether purely with terror or some other motivation, like blackmail itself. Perhaps Emily feared her companion so much she would do anything for her. Jason wouldn’t be pushed on the matter.
She quickly typed an e-mail, confirming she would arrive at the house at 8:00 p.m. The response came within minutes.
That e-mail took too long to come. Not good enough.
Don’t risk failing me.
Raven lacked patience. Gemma started to type a reply.
“Gemma, what are you writing?” His hand rested on her wrist, peering over her shoulder to see what she’d been writing.
“I don’t want to appear too easy. I need to sound like a victim because she thinks that’s what I am, and I’m not a willing accomplice in her uncovering. This needs to look natural—the price is too high if this is about more than a kinky pose. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, she’s a man, eh? Isn’t that what I would be thinking? Why would I think of her as a woman? We both assumed it was a man at the beginning.”
“I can’t seem to fault your reasoning. At last, Gemma, that excellent brain of yours isn’t being constrained by silly emotions.”
“I want to be useful.” She smiled and continued her missive.
Sorry for the delay. My roommates came home.
What are you going to do with me? I won’t do sex. You can do what you like with the photos if you think you’re going to get sex.
I’m not going to a strange house unless you give me assurances. I don’t know what you look like. Give me a password so that I know it’s you.
Then this stops. Yes?
“No sex. Gemma Marshall would never agree to a fuck. I’m meant to be respectable, not a whore,” she explained to Jason.
Jason nodded his approval before she hit the send button.
While they waited for a reply, Martinson rang, and Jason listened attentively with his fingers thrumming on the table and eyebrows furrowed.
“Find out as much as you can. I will check my contacts.” Jason hung up.
“Well?” She edged forward on her seat.
“Her name is Delia Rothesay. Mean anything to you?”
The name conjured up no memories. “No.”
“She lives at that address alone. According to last year’s electoral roll. Whether Emily joined Rothesay later, after the registration date, we’ll find out when Martinson trawls for more information. I will find out if she is active as a Domme. I suspect she is purely online for making contacts and uses chat rooms, too. Doesn’t have to have a physical presence.”
The computer beeped.
The password will be pussycat.
No sex in the flesh, but I will expect that mouth of yours to say things, hot things for me. I want you blushing pink for me so I have a decent photograph of you.
Don’t be late.
If you’re a good girl. This is it.
“I don’t know if this is how it would really play out,” she mused. “I mean, me, years ago, would have told her to sling her hook and take the chance. But, I suppose, if I was a thrill-seeking sub, you know, one of those who gets off on this kind of blackmailing tripe….”
“Okay, we need to dangle your vulnerability a little. Make her think you’re going to be an easy target and this is secretly your thing. Write this.” Jason dictated a note.
I want more reassurance this will be the end of the matter. You’ve had your thrill with me. Please leave me alone. I can’t keep paying out. Please, please leave me be. I’m supposed to be with another, and he would be furious if he found out. He thinks I don’t do kinky stuff anymore. Just the once. Okay?
The reply came back with a few minutes.
Sweetie, don’t panic. We’ll have our little adventure, and then it’s done. No more, okay? I’m glad we’re going to meet. I think you’re going to enjoy being the centre of my attention. I’m not going to hurt you. This isn’t the kind of stuff you’ve done before.
“Wow,” said Jason, leaning back in his chair. “She does have an ego, doesn’t she? No concept of how she has manipulated you illegally. Perhaps you are right. She might have quite a hold over Emily. She still hasn’t told you she’s a woman, even after you’ve mentioned a boyfriend. Which is downright weird.”
“Sweetie. Kind of effeminate endearment. I wonder if she thinks because Emily knows me, that I’m bisexual, or maybe it’s nothing sexual. She just likes tormenting people.”
Jason pursed his lips. “Perhaps. She might just spring it on you. The thrill of seeing your reaction in the flesh. You like men, and you get this woman on the doorstep, wanting you to get your kit off and pose. Imagine your humiliation.”
“Yikes. I mean not the lesbian aspect, just the whole setup— person doing this illegal stuff for a kick. Surely, there has to be an easier way! Is she after sex?”
“Whether Rothesay intends to have sex with you is another matter. I doubt she will risk being accused of assault. If you went to the police, you’d have the evidence of blackmail. She wants to humiliate you and make money on the side.” Jason logged Gemma out of the e-mail account. “Once this is all dealt with, you delete this account.”
She nodded in agreement. “I better ring Clara. Ask her to look after Josh in the evening.”
She got halfway out of her seat before Jason’s hand gripped her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
“You’re not going. You’re not needed. We have the place, the time she is expecting you, and we know she will be there. That is it for you.” He spoke softly.
She must not defy that voice. It was imperative to be obedient and yet, she felt compelled to speak her mind.
“Emily—”
“What did I just tell you, Gemma?” He dragged her down, pinching his thumb tighter and forcing her on to her knees by his chair. She didn’t struggle, but she landed on the floor without grace. She didn’t want to kneel, she wanted to make him see her point of view. No, not hers, Emily’s.
“Please, Sir, she will see men bursting into the house, threatening and everything. She will see her, Raven, I mean, Rothesay, as her protector. That won’t make her cooperate. If I was there—”
He interjected. “No. Emily might not even be there. We don’t know she lives with Rothesay.”
“But what if she does?” She rested her hands on his lap and tried to appear meek. “Martinson, whoever can go into the house and if
she’s there let me take her out, or to another room. Speak, as one friend to another, make her feel safe. There must be a stash of photos somewhere. She would know. If you go in and she sees aggression.... Please don’t make her afraid, Jason.”
Tears pricked her eyes. She hadn’t intended to ramble pathetically. Too empathetic again! Her earlier encounter with her forgotten fears had left her emotionally inflamed, a festering sore had been re-opened, exposing her to more triggers. Jason relaxed his grip on her arm.
He sighed, shaking his head. “I hope I don’t regret this. Very well. You stay with me. You don’t speak to Rothesay, and you do as you’re told. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” She leant forward and kissed the back of his hand then caressed it with her cheek. She felt the soft blond hairs brush against her hot face. Her pulse slowed.
“I need to send e-mails, Gem.”
She stood up and collected his plate. Jason used her laptop. He spent several minutes firing off e-mails while she washed up and tidied the kitchen.
She heard the sound of the laptop lid closing as she wiped down the draining board with a damp cloth. Then his footsteps on the tiled floor. They came closer, until he stood right behind her. Her breasts rose and fell as she waited for his touch. She didn’t jump when his breath bloomed over her from his advantageous height.
He coiled his long fingers around her waist. “Were you afraid of me up there?” His teeth nibbled on her ear lobe.
Was she? His anger had shocked her, as it rarely put in an appearance to such a degree. Jason’s burst of ire had reminded her of the potential he had to cause her harm. However, he’d never struck her hard in a rage and made a point of keeping his distance from her until he calmed down.
