Her Dom's Secret Past

by Suzy Shearer

  I found a very sexy red bra and panties with a black lace overlay, then a sexy wine-lace bra with matching caged-back panties. As well, I discovered a navy-blue translucent set that should have him begging for more—or ripping them off, if that was possible. Delighted with my purchases, I headed back.

  I’d just crossed the road and was on the block with the boutique when suddenly someone grabbed me from behind, dragging me over the gutter. I dropped my shopping bag and my phone as I tried to tear myself away. I went to scream as a hand clamped over my mouth, and I was quickly bundled into a dark car. Lashing out with my hands and feet, screaming at the same time, I fought desperately to get away. Whoever it was tried hard to grab my arms, but I was just as determined not to let them. Before I had a chance to do any real damage to him, or her, a pad was held over my mouth and nose and that was the last I knew until I came to later with a terrible headache.

  As I woke, groaning at the awful pain in my head, I slowly let my eyes focus. I was on the filthy floor of some old building. There was rubbish and broken glass everywhere. I went to sit up, only to discover my hands were tied behind my back and my shoes were gone.

  Oh shit, this is for real.

  My heart started an attempt to break through my ribs as I tried to do a sort of shuffle to get myself upright, but I didn’t make it. The wall was nearby. I half-rolled, half-wriggled to reach it. At least I had something to lean against. I took stock. It was semi-dark.

  There were windows all along one wall but they were rather high up, frosted and most were barred. It was only the windows giving dappled light to the vast area. I noticed some of them were broken, but they were useless to me. With my hands tied, I doubted I could get through, and then there was the long drop to the ground—I’d probably kill myself.

  On the wall I was leaning against were two doors, and I could make out a big, wide door opposite, like a roller one underneath some of the windows. That was it. No furniture, no people, nothing. The room I was in was large, almost like a vast warehouse floor with a high catwalk around the edges. I wondered if I climbed up the steel stairs if I could get out through the one of the windows.

  I called out. “Help!”

  Silence.

  “Is anyone there? Help me?”

  Nothing.

  Maybe another hour or two went past before I finally heard voices. I was about to yell for help again and then wondered if maybe these were the men who had kidnapped me. One of the doors opened and light spilled out as two men came through. One was tall, scary-looking, and solid, and the other had a large, ugly, and jagged scar over his face. They walked over to me and one roughly dragged me to my feet. I was pulled through the doorway and forced onto a stool. The room was empty except for an old metal table and the stool I was perched upon.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Shut up, bitch. We ask the questions. Where’s Gordon Jennings?”

  “Who?” Confused, I had no idea who they were talking about. “I don’t know any Gordon.”

  Smash. One of the bastards, Scarface, backhanded me across the mouth. Oh fuck, it hurt! He wasn’t holding back.

  “I don’t,” I screamed in agony. “I don’t know anyone.”

  “Don’t fucking lie, bitch. We know you know him. Fucker killed my brother.”

  Desperately, I shouted in panic, “You’ve got the wrong person, I don’t know him! Honestly.”

  Another rough slap across the face, and I almost fell from the stool. I tasted blood and I realized these men were deadly serious, but how the hell could I get them to believe me? I honestly had no idea who this person they wanted was.

  One of them, not Scarface, the other scary one, pulled out a flick knife and held it at the top of my dress.

  Scarface growled at me. “Think again, lady. Where is he?”

  I started crying and screaming at the same time over and over, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  Scarface motioned to the other, who slid the sharp edge of the knife between my skin and my dress. With a swift stroke, he slit the top of my dress to the waist.

  “Once again. Where is Gordon Jennings?”

  Scarface sounded as if he were losing patience with me, but I truly had no idea who the hell he was talking about. I didn’t know how I could make him understand I was telling the truth.

  “Please,” I sobbed fearfully. “Please, I honestly don’t know him. You’ve got the wrong person. You’ve got to believe me!”

  My bra was next to face the knife. To say I was terrified would be an understatement. My heart was beating so fast I thought I’d have a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe properly. My skin was clammy and I was close to fainting as Scarface reached out and pinched my breast—hard. Hard enough to bring on a fresh round of tears, hard enough to keep me conscious. Mr. Knife held his knife against my cheek. I tried to flinch away, but Scarface grabbed my head and held it tight as he laughed at me.

  “You need to start remembering, lady, or maybe I’ll let my friend here play a little. He likes his women helpless when he fucks them. Oh, and they always end up dead. Or maybe I should give you a pretty scar like me. Would you like that?”

  I screamed, trying desperately to turn my head away. That knife was too close, too sharp. Scarface hit me again and this time I fell onto the floor. They both laughed. Scarface grabbed my hair and pulled. Yelling, I somehow managed to scramble to my feet, my hands still tied behind me, as he forced me onto the stool again. The ropes were cutting painfully into my wrists, and I thought I could feel blood running down my fingers. My hands were like ice and yet at the same time they were burning.

  “Now, I’ll ask you nicely one more time. Where is Jennings?”

  “You’ve got to believe me. I have no idea who you’re talking about!” I screamed, hysterical now as I thought they might kill me.

  “Hold her up,” Scarface ordered.

  The prick behind me pulled me roughly to my feet and pushed me into Scarface, who held me tight. Mr. Knife slit the rest of my clothes. I tried to pull away from him, but Scarface had a tight hold as Mr. Knife worked his way with the shreds of my clothing until I was naked. I felt humiliated to be nude before them, but I was determined that I was going to somehow get out of here alive. I had no idea how because things appeared pretty grim.

  Scarface’s phone rang. He grunted, listened, and then grunted again.

  “Take her back. There might be a problem.”

  Mr. Knife dragged me none too gently back through the door and threw me on my butt onto the concrete floor. He bent down, grabbed one breast, and pulled. I screamed again as he grabbed my crotch. I thought he was going to shove his filthy fingers inside me, but Scarface called out and Mr. Knife went, but not before he spat on me.

  When I heard the door slam shut, I had a new lease of energy and managed to struggle to my feet. Stumbling around the perimeter of the room, I tried to find any way I could get out. But all I managed was to cut my feet on some of the broken glass. The place was devoid of anything useful.

  I tried both doors. They must have locked the one I’d come through. The other gave a little but it was too awkward trying to pull it open with my hands behind my back. Anyway, they were pretty numb by now. In the end, I gave up. Despair flooded in as I screamed and yelled. I achieved nothing but a sore throat as I slid down one wall and sat sobbing. I was naked, cold, sore, and extremely afraid that soon I’d be killed.

  I had no idea how much time went by. I ached, my face burned with pain, and I could still taste blood. At some point I realized my beautiful bracelet was gone and that set me sobbing again. It seemed like hours had passed and it must have been a while because it got dark and I couldn’t see more than a few meters. It had been around ten in the morning when I was taken. The door opened again and they were back.

  Once more they dragged me into that room. This time, Scarface picked me up and pushed me onto a dirty table. He had a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth.

  “Now, bitc
h, unless you want my friend here to have his fun, I suggest you talk. I’m through being nice.”

  Through being nice!

  I sobbed hysterically, terrified at what he might do. “I don’t know him.”

  The next ten minutes were the worst of my life as he pulled me upright until I was sitting on the edge of the table. I struggled but against these two it was useless. Scarface took a drag on his cigarette and jabbed it into the tender flesh of my labia. Intense pain jolted up my body as he slapped my face, my breasts, between my legs. It was as if my body were on fire as he systemically punched and slapped me.

  Scream wasn’t the word for what I did. I attempted to pull apart the ropes tying my wrists ignoring how much it hurt. All I wanted was to fight back but the agony of my body robbed me of strength. “I’m through being Mr. Nice. I like watching my friend here fuck. He likes to make them scream in agony. Now unless you like the idea of him shoving his cock up your pretty arse while he fists your cunt, then I suggest you cooperate. I know you know Jennings. You’ve been seen with him.”

  I shook my head. I had no idea who they were talking about until he said, “No fucking way you don’t know the tall, black fucker. Now where is he?”

  Shit!

  They are talking about John!

  This was about John. It must have shown on my face because he grabbed my chin and pulled me forward.

  “Now you remember. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.” Desperately I wailed, “He was going to pick me up tonight.”

  “That’s better, but I want an address.”

  I couldn’t tell them where he lived. I knew how to drive there but not the actual address. Suddenly, I knew they were going to kill me no matter what happened. Even if I told them, they couldn’t let me live. I’d seen their faces, knew exactly what they looked like. There was no way they could afford to keep me alive.

  No matter what I did or said, I was as good as dead. I shook my head again as the realization that I only had a few minutes to live sunk in.

  I sobbed, “I. Don’t … don’t know.”

  “I think my friend here needs to teach you a lesson.” Scarface glanced creepily at Mr. Knife. “She’s not going to tell us, so she’s all yours. Fuck her all you like, wherever you like. Maybe she’ll stop screaming and say something before she dies.”

  “No!” I screeched as loudly as I could, absolutely terrified. Frantic with what was about to happen, I yelled again, “No!”

  Mr. Knife started touching me, his grubby fingers kneading and pulling at my nipples. I squirmed, trying to get away from him, still shrieking hysterically. I tried to curl into a ball as I kept wailing nonstop, but they both laughed. Mr. Knife was the scariest guy I had ever seen. Even Scarface didn’t look as terrifying as the knife-wielding maniac. He pressed his thumb hard into the cut on my foot, making me yell even louder, and he laughed insanely.

  Crazy as it sounded, I’d kind of accepted I was going to die, but I didn’t want to die with him raping me. I twisted, with my hands beneath me, and I tried to push up and away. The ropes bit painfully into my wrists, sending bolts of agony up my arms. Continually screaming and sobbing, I made one last desperate attempt to stop him, even trying to kick him with my free leg.

  The two of them kept laughing at my stupid, useless struggles, but then Scarface punched me hard on the side of my head. I literally saw stars and then another vicious punch—it was lights out for Anabelle.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  John

  “John! Fuck, John where are you?”

  “Charlie?”

  “Get here, Anabelle’s missing.”

  “What?”

  “She’s gone. She went out to buy some stuff and disappeared.”

  “What do you mean disappeared? Start from the beginning.” I put my foot down as I headed toward the boutique. I was only about ten minutes away.

  “She went out about nine-thirty. She was only supposed to be gone about twenty minutes. I got worried when she didn’t come back. I went up the road but there was no sign of her but … John, I found her mobile in the gutter.”

  “Did you ring the police?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m on my way.” I disconnected before Charlie had a chance to say anything else. All I could think of was that creep had taken my Anabelle. I drove like a maniac. If I got pulled over for speeding, I didn’t care as I finally screeched to a halt opposite the salon in a “no parking” zone—they could book me for all I cared. I raced across the road. There was a police car out the front.

  When I raced inside, Charlie was talking frantically to one of the officers and I went to their side. They eyeballed me up and down.

  Charlie gasped. “Thank goodness you’re here, John.”

  “And you would be?” one of the officer asked.

  “Anabelle’s partner. Have you found her? Where’s that prick, Ed?”

  “Ed? Ed Baines?”

  I nodded. “Yes, that prick. He’s been following her.”

  “No, he isn’t. Miss Rowley rang us on Saturday and we checked.”

  “I know she rang, I told her to.”

  “Well, Mr. Baines broke his leg rather badly two weeks ago. He was operated on and is in plaster, living in Wollongong.”

  Stunned, I could only stare at the man. Shit, if it wasn’t Baines following her, who the fuck was it? The policemen’s glances at me were rather hostile. The two officers had pulled Charlie well away from where I stood and were now questioning him. When I went to go to them, one held out his hand and one told me to either leave or wait at the other side of the room. No way was I going to be left out of this. I pulled out my phone and made a quick call to my old handler.

  I had no idea what time it was in the UK, and to be honest, I didn’t give a fuck if I’d gotten him out of bed. I quickly briefed him and hung up after asking if he could at least let the officers keep me informed of what was happening.

  I had no choice but to cool my heels. Until I knew exactly what happened, I couldn’t do anything. I’d been positive it was Baines and now I began to wonder if my past was coming back to haunt me. Ten minutes must have passed when one of the cop’s phone rang. He answered and obviously didn’t like what he was hearing. He kept scowling at me and then he hung up. I walked over.

  “I’ve been told to allow you full knowledge of what’s happened.”

  “Thank you.”

  He flipped through his notebook and read to me. “Miss Rowley was last seen walking back from her shopping at ten when a man grabbed her and threw her into a car, a dark sedan driven by second man. The witness was hesitant to ring us, but when Mr. Lyton contacted the police, we asked around and he told us what he saw. He said the assailant was dressed in dark clothing, solid build, reddish hair, and he had a large very noticeable scar across his face.”

  I gasped.

  “Miss Rowley dropped her shopping bag and the witness picked it up. It was handed in to us when we interviewed him. Mr. Lyton also found her mobile in the gutter. That’s all we know at the moment. We’re treating it as a kidnapping. Miss Rowley owns the salon and my guess is someone needs money.”

  My heart was in my mouth. I knew immediately who they were talking about—Arthur Riley. That scar? Well, that was a gift from me. He was the brother of the man who’d tried to kill me and who I’d killed. He was one of his most trusted henchmen. Obviously someone knew I hadn’t died, but how the hell did they know I was in Australia. I ignored the two officers, stepped out of their earshot, and hit re-dial.

  Quickly filling my old boss in on what had happened, I said, “Reinstate me, effective immediately.”

  “Fuck, John, you know I can’t do that.”

  “Fuck you can’t! I’ve worked in Australia before. You’ve pulled plenty of strings to get me out here. Please do it, do it now. You and I both know what Riley is capable of and that’s my woman he’s got his slimy hands on. I want full authorization and I want it now.”

  “I’ll r
ing you back.”

  His voice was curt, short and to the point. I knew I had to cool my heels, but it wasn’t easy. One of the officers may have overheard me because he examined me speculatively.

  “You know who did this, don’t you?”

  I shrugged.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Better you never know.” I turned away and walked over to Charlie. He was looking rather pale. He grabbed my arm.

  “John, what’s happening? Is she … who has her?”

  “I’m going to get her back, Charlie, with or without permission.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  I pulled out my car keys. “My car’s across the road. Can you move it to the salon’s parking?”

  It would be safer there than in the no-standing zone where I’d left it. I’d need it once I learned more, and I didn’t want it towed.

  “Yes, what else?”

  “Have you ever seen the car that was tailing her?”

  “No. She said it was a dark sedan, that’s all.”

  “Fuck!”

  “She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”

  I was about to answer when at least a dozen more cops walked in. Two of these were senior guys. One nodded in my direction and went over to the other police and spoke quietly. Glances were thrown in my direction, and my phone rang.

  “Okay, I’ve done it. You’ve got clearance to use deadly force if necessary, but, John try not to let it come to that. Although with Riley, I doubt you’ll have much choice, he’ll be pissed big time that you killed his brother. The Director rang through to the police commissioner, who’s a personal friend there, and he knows exactly what’s going on. I’ve pulled that many fucking strings for this.

  “Do not fuck this up, or your head will be on the block. You’ll fucking wish you were dead. And that’s not to mention what it will do to Australian and UK relations.”

  I was about to answer when he continued, “You are not in charge—understand? You can offer suggestions, but you must follow the orders of whoever is in charge. Tell me you understand, John, and will comply, or you’re off.”