by Gemma James
“Seems he and I want the same things, Alexandra. I want you to be safe and happy.”
“I want to know the truth.”
“And what truth would that be?”
“Did you kill my mom?” I enunciated each word.
“Will my answer matter?” He stood, taking his cup with him, and strolled to the sink to rinse it out. “If I tell you I didn’t do it, you won’t believe me. If I tell you I did, it’ll just break your heart.” His broad shoulders rose and fell for a full minute as silence descended over the kitchen. Then he turned and faced me. “Either way, it’ll change nothing.”
“It’ll change everything.” Rising to my feet, I crossed my arms. “If you’re behind her death, I won’t stop until they toss your ass back in jail and throw away the key this time.”
His mouth turned up in a humoring smile, and I wanted to smack that look off his face. “Alexandra, you’re not in a position to threaten me. Or have you forgotten that I can bury Rafe? Don’t mistake my time in prison as a sign of weakness.”
“You, weak?” I grabbed my purse from the table and shouldered the strap. “I wouldn’t think of it.” Tamping down the jittery fear clogging my throat, I closed the distance between us. “Rafe thinks I’m strong. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s the one thing you taught me.”
I left him standing in the kitchen and exited the house, the door slamming shut behind me as I hurried toward the Jeep. Anxious to put as many miles between me and my past, I backed onto the street then stomped on the gas. A block down the road, I passed a police cruiser. The officer slowed, and at first I thought he was going to turn around and come after me. For all I knew, Rafe had reported the Jeep stolen. But the cruiser turned into my dad’s driveway instead.
God, that was a close call, and undoubtedly Rafe’s doing. He was desperate if he’d resorted to calling the authorities.
I made it five miles down I-84 before the shakes set in. Pulling onto the shoulder, I switched off the radio and did my breathing exercises for several minutes. The same urgency that had sent me running from the cabin now gripped my soul, demanding I return to it.
To Rafe.
Struggling under the weight of shame for my actions, I sent him a text that I was on my way, then I hit the road and didn’t look back. If not for the GPS, I wouldn’t have been able to find the cabin. Until I’d actually driven the back roads, navigating the hairpin curves, I hadn’t realized how remote the safe house was.
I guess that’s why they called it a safe house, though.
Instead of making me feel isolated and afraid, it made me feel protected. Even knowing Rafe would punish the shit out of me when I returned didn’t upset me as much as the whole confrontation with my dad had.
If he were innocent, he would have denied killing her.
The tears started about two miles away from the cabin, and I wiped them from my cheeks in anger. I couldn’t afford to fall apart right now. I had to find a way to get through whatever Rafe was going to do to me.
I pulled in front of the cabin, and he came barreling down the stairs, his face a mask of worry and rage. The two emotions were a frightening mixture on his hardened features. Wordlessly, he dragged me from the Jeep and hauled me inside, and I fell to my knees before he had a chance to demand I do so. My entire body was trembling—shoulders, arms, fingers. Thighs, knees, feet. The utter storm of wrath spreading over his face scared me more than anything.
The severe line of his mouth, jaw set in determination. I’d known there would be consequences for what I’d done, but I dreaded his imminent punishment more than I thought I would.
He stared me down for the longest seconds of my life, and the silence between us roared in my ears. Even Jax and Angel didn’t make a sound. From the corner of my eye, I noticed her hunched posture. She knew as well as I did that I was in deep shit.
“I’m too fucking angry right now to punish you. Go to our room and pick a corner. I want you on your knees with your face in it.”
I sprang to my feet and headed for the hall. Fuck, he was more pissed than the night I’d run away from his boat, and that had involved my recklessness with a firearm.
This was worse.
I’d not only gone against his decision, but I’d gone to my dad on my own. To a man who might have murdered my mom just to shut her up. Confronting my dad had been risky, no doubt about it, but I’d really put the nails in my coffin by going without the protection Rafe insisted on. No, without the protection he demanded. Or else.
This was the or else.
I chose the corner to the right of the window I’d broken my first night back. Rafe had boarded up the jagged hole with a thick piece of cardboard. I wondered if he could board up the jagged holes in my heart so easily. I was dubious as I approached my chosen corner, shedding my clothes as I went, because getting naked could only help my case. I dropped to my knees, hands clasped at my back, forehead in the tight space where the walls connected.
And I waited.
17. Bad Pain - Rafe
I was too aware of the weight of my belt around my waist; thick, wide leather that would leave welts if I swung hard enough.
Fuck, I was tempted to.
But that was the anger talking because I rarely drew blood. Not purposefully. Certainly not born of the type of rage invading my system now. Alex needed punishment—a harsh lesson to reshape her behavior. She didn’t need my sick tendencies driving the act.
Fucking her would be reward enough for me. Hearing her beg to come would be enough. The ginger would be enough.
I had a large root with her name on it, just waiting for me to decide how big a piece she deserved before I carved the perfect shape to lodge into her ass. The idea of beating her ass first, then leaving her bent over the bed to watch me carve the ginger made me harder than fuck. The pain from the whipping would drive her insane as she waited for the burn she despised.
Oh hell.
The smile curving my mouth wasn’t good. This was supposed to be about punishment. About driving home the fact that she couldn’t just take off and put herself in danger whenever she fucking felt like it. Her fuck-up had gone way beyond mutilating her skin, or mouthing off, or disobeying some rule. She’d put herself at risk. Again.
Damn straight the punishment would be severe.
I filled a bowl with cold water, grabbed the ginger, and strode toward the hall, exhaling the most dangerous of my anger as I went, but Angel’s voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Don’t h-hurt her.”
The girl looked terrified. I gave Jax a meaningful glance. “You better take her for a long walk. We’re gonna be at least two hours.”
He nodded, understanding what I was getting at. Angel did too, because she cried in protest, begging me not to hurt Alex as he ushered her outside. But what she didn’t understand was that Alex needed the lesson.
She needed the fucking pain.
I’d reneged on doling out appropriate discipline a few weeks ago on her birthday, shortly after we’d set up camp. I hadn’t had the heart to punish her on such a special day, so I’d given her a verbal lashing and a pass on the physical punishment.
After all, her fingernails had barely left a mark on her skin—not deep enough to draw blood.
A few days later, I regretted it, because she’d gone apeshit with the sharp end of a roasting stick on her arm, leaving a nasty gouge. A nightmare had probably triggered the incident, and that had been my second mistake.
Instead of forcing her to talk, I’d waited for her to come to me.
In the end, the wound healed, but apparently my belt hadn’t done its job, and neither had her imprisonment in the bedroom these past few days, ankle shackle keeping her safe; if it had, she wouldn’t have even thought of going to her father without me.
I would not…could not go easy on her again. This time, I’d have to go beyond the physical.
As I headed into the bedroom, the realization cracked me in two, threatening to dent the shell I’d built aro
und my heart all day as I agonized over her safe return.
My first glance at her in the corner, naked and on her knees with her hands together at her back, only armed me with more ammunition. She was so fucking prim in this moment. Demurely submissive. Too damn obedient. Alex knew exactly what she was doing. Everything about her body language spoke of repentance, but underneath the perfected pose, did she really feel remorse? Or was she playing me like only she could—appealing to the softer side of myself?
The man with a fucking conscience, with a healthy sense of socially acceptable versus socially fucked.
Alex was not this submissive doormat in front of me. Fuck no. She was the spitfire that fought me every step of the way. The strong woman who flipped the bird at me and anything else standing between her and what she wanted.
That type of behavior was how she’d ended up in that corner, telling a lie with the language of her body. Deceit stormed through her veins.
I wasn’t falling for it. Letting the door slam behind me, I started across the room with purpose and set the bowl onto the dresser, followed by the ginger root. From her corner of shame, she peeked at me.
“Rafe…no.”
“Was your visit with the old man worth it? Did you find what you were looking for?” Despite the hell she’d put me through, I hoped she’d found the closure she needed, though I highly doubted she had.
“You were right,” she said, and I knew admitting so cost her a huge chunk of her pride. “He’s a cold-hearted bastard.” She peeked at me again before her gaze darted to the ginger. “Don’t do this.”
“Your ass is gonna burn for what you did.” My tone left no room for argument, and the slump of her shoulders told me she heard it. “Bend over the bed.”
“Please!”
“Begging won’t help you, babe. Now get over there before you make things worse for yourself.”
She rose on shaky limbs and trudged to the bed, her head dipped, spirit dragging as if she were facing the firing squad. In her mind, she probably was. Alex could handle a lot of shit—all kinds of pain from whips and canes to the reliable weight of a firm hand.
But stretch her ass and make it burn, and you’d see her fracture.
She cast one final glance my way, imploring me for a stay of punishment. If not for the dampness on her cheeks, she might have persuaded me. But those tears of regret, fear, and even anger drew me in. Hardened my heart and my dick. Those tears were my weapon against her pleading, sorrowful eyes.
She draped the mattress, and I couldn’t have positioned her better myself; hands at the small of her back, legs planted shoulder-width apart on the floor, ass out.
She was the sublime picture of capitulation.
Still not falling for it, but I’d test it.
“I’m wearing your least favorite belt.” I let that dangle out there for a few seconds, giving her time to envision the agony the strap of leather would inflict, because her pain threshold was levels below it. “Can you stay still for this?”
“I’ll try.”
“No, babe. You either stay still, or you don’t. There’s no trying.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Don’t put yourself in danger again.”
Silence.
What could she say to that?
She chose the smart route and said nothing, and I reached for my buckle. “You’re damn lucky Jax has his hands full with Angel, because I’d let him whip you for what you did to his tires.” I slid the belt from the loops of my jeans, and she flinched.
I waited.
Seconds ticked off in my head, each one never quite the right moment to begin.
The first strike to her ass landed in surprise, and I got a high-pitched mewl as a reward for my sneak attack.
“How many?” she cried, voice strained with desperation. Giving her a number would allow her to focus on the end in sight instead of the pain of each burning lick. After what she’d pulled, I wanted her to feel every strike to the follicles of her hair and the bottoms of her feet.
“You’ll know when I know.”
I laid another one on her, the sharpness of thick leather on skin echoing off the walls. Then another.
I didn’t count, and even if I had kept count, I probably would have lost track. Turning her ass red did that to me—sent me to the darkest corners of my mind. The part of myself that terrified me most. With each jerk of her body, the tighter she fisted her hands, the closer together her whimpers came…
The more I fell into the pit of all that was twisted. My cock lengthened and hardened in my jeans, straining against the zipper. Painfully aroused.
Still, further into the black hole I went.
It took her letting loose a howling shriek and a break of the pose to snap me out of it. She got back into position before I could reprimand her. Dropping the belt on the floor, I filled my lungs with a calming breath, counted the rapid beats of my heart, prayed for patience and composure.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.” She sniffled.
“Is it a bad kind of hurt?”
She hesitated, no doubt tempted to lie.
“The truth, Alex.”
“It’s a…a g-good kind of hurt.”
Her butt cheeks were beet red, welting in some areas, and despite her low tolerance for that particular belt, I’d known what her answer would be. If her quaking thighs didn’t let me know, the shimmer of arousal between them would. Those sexy tanned legs of hers weren’t weak from pain. Fuck no. They shook with the effort it took to keep them spread. Not that closing them would give her relief. Her deviant cunt would still throb.
I pulled the chair from the opposite corner where I’d found Alex and moved it next to the nightstand, followed by the bowl and ginger. Removing a pocketknife from my jeans, I sat and began peeling and skinning the first finger off the root. “Time for the bad pain, sweetheart.”
18. Three Times the Burn - Alex
I was fucked.
He wouldn’t even spare me a glance. The determined way he skinned and carved that huge piece, so intent on his sadistic artistry, scared the shit out of me.
God, he was furious. For that reason alone, I didn’t dare move or say a word, no matter how I ached to apologize and beg for mercy. The only thing I had the courage to do was watch him carve his ultimate weapon, aside from water, against me.
Please, not the ginger. Anything but the ginger.
As his fingers worked the knife along the piece, and a plug-like shape began to form, I blinked rapidly, hating the threat of tears. Hating my weakness. If I were stronger, braver, somehow capable of tolerating this particular type of pain, he wouldn’t be able to hold it over me.
He finished carving and dropped the ginger plug into the bowl of water, and I thought this is it, but then he broke off another piece and brought his knife to the outer skin.
Dread ignited in my gut. I shouldn’t have gone to my dad—not without Rafe. It had been a stupid and reckless thing to do. In the end, the visit had done nothing to answer my questions. Instead, it left me feeling like an orphan.
Rafe believed he was justified in punishing me, and maybe he was, but I didn’t think I deserved such a harsh form of discipline. That was the downside of giving my free will to a man who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of my weaknesses.
And Rafe Mason was my number one weakness.
“You broke my trust,” he said, shattering the silence after a while. He started on a third piece, and the repugnant spiciness of ginger grew stronger in the air.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“I am. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“Hurt me? You pissed me off, Alex. And you scared the fucking shit out of me. Do you have any idea what losing you would do to me?”
I couldn’t help but glare at him. “That’s a stupid question.”
He winced, but it was a fleeting show of empathy. “Then you know how fucking terrified I was when you di
sappeared on me.”
“I do, and that’s why I am sorry.”
“I sense a caveat in there, babe.”
“I had to confront him.”
“I told you no.”
“Maybe it wasn’t your decision to make.”
“I don’t care. I made it, and you ignored it.” He glanced up from his work long enough to pin me under the boldness of his green stare. “You ignored it knowing there would be consequences. Don’t pretend you didn’t know this was coming.”
I couldn’t argue with that. We fell into silence while he finished carving what I hoped would be the last piece. Rising from the chair, he set the knife on the table. Then he bent and kissed the watery regret from my face. I wanted to beg him not to go, but he moved behind me, taking the bowl of torture with him, and I felt the weight of it on the mattress. The dreaded sloshing sound followed as he selected the first piece.
My ass was only seconds away from scorching, and despite lying here, free of restraints, I couldn’t bring myself to fight him. And it would be a fight. In fact, if it came down to it, he’d probably bring Jax in to help hold me down, if he had to.
“Do you think you deserve the ginger?”
“No.”
“I figured you’d say that. But you don’t get a choice in this, do you?” He paused, apparently expecting an answer.
“No.”
“That’s right. Just like I didn’t get a say when you stole the Jeep and slashed Jax’s tires.”
I closed my eyes in shame. What I’d done was underhanded and unfair to him, and totally fucking dangerous.
He positioned himself between my spread thighs. “If you try closing your legs, I’ll carve a fourth piece, and we’ll be here even longer.”
One wrong involuntary movement on my part, like my thighs inching toward his hips, would land me in more trouble. By the time he was finished, I’d have cramped and stiff muscles from spreading my legs for so long.
I was sure that would pale in comparison to the burn.
Rafe brought our bodies flush together, his erection bulging through his jeans, and the blunt tip of the ginger nudged my puckered hole. I held my breath.
