Freed (Bad Boy Hitman Romance)

by Terry Towers

  “Of course.”

  Pastor William looked over at his daughter. “Sweetheart, could you fetch your mother for me?”

  “Yes, Daddy.” She gave me a final smile and left us.

  He put his hand on my shoulder, leaning in to me as if we were two conspirators, his stare locking onto mine. “You know, Mr. Winters, I have faith I’ll find her and I’ll find the man who took her. I may be a man of God, but no one takes from me. The man who took my daughter had better watch himself.” His hand tightened on my shoulder. “I will find him.”

  The tension between us became nearly suffocating. This had been a bad, bad idea. I’d let my arrogance get the better of me, but I had no reason to believe who and what Emily’s father was. To be fair, I could be wrong. I hadn’t been on my game lately. Perhaps I was beginning to get a hint of conscience, beginning to unlock the part of me I’d happily kept contained, and with it came other unfavorable emotions such as self-doubt. Yes, I could be reading this man entirely wrong, based on prejudices I’d already established due to what Emily had already told me.

  “Hello, I don’t recall seeing you here before.” William released my shoulder and straightened, taking a couple of steps back as he slid his arm around his wife’s waist, pulling her tight.

  Mary extended her hand to me and I accepted it. “I’m new. I admit, I was drawn to the church because of your missing daughter. It’s a tragedy. You’ve been in my prayers since I heard. I pray for her safe return every night.”

  She sniffed, pulling a tissue from her black leather handbag. “Thank you.” Close up, I could see clearly how red and swollen her eyes were. While I was positive she was an attractive woman, at that moment she looked well beyond her years and tired. Shifting my gaze to William and then little sister I saw a vast difference. Neither one of them had lost a blink of sleep, I was sure of that.

  “So you live nearby?” little sister asked.

  My attention shifted to Rebecca and I smiled. “Not far.”

  “Yes, Mr. Winters, I make it a point to spend time with every member of this parish. I’d love to drop by sometime,” her father cut in.

  Not going to happen.

  “I’m between places at the moment. Otherwise…” I took a step forward and extended my hand. “It’s been good meeting you. I’ll be in touch.”

  William hesitated, his jaw clenching as he begrudgingly accepted my extended hand. “Please do that. This is a big parish, but we’re more like a family here. Please come back soon.”

  Not bloody likely. With a nod to the ladies I spun and walked from the church as if the devil himself were nipping at my heels.

  Chapter 22

  Tanner

  “SON OF A BITCH!”

  Her screams of anger echoed throughout the house as I entered the front door.

  “YOU ROTTEN PIG FUCKER!”

  It was amazing how colourful her language had gotten since I’d brought her here, although that comment about me being a pig-fucker was not even close to being accurate. No, wait, that was a lie. I had fucked a pig or two in my day, but the two-legged, sexy, badge-wearing kind. One had actually been investigating a missing girl case, a girl I’d kidnapped personally. Damn that was a rush. Alas, I’m a one-woman man now. Chuckling, I took my time making my way through the house to my bedroom where I’d left her handcuffed to the bedpost.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I sing-songed as I entered the bedroom, a grin spreading across my lips. I planned on doing a very thorough investigation of Emily’s father when I had the time, but I needed information from her, information she wouldn’t freely give when in a mood like she was currently. I had to slip back into boyfriend mode so she’d lower her barriers for me.

  “I have to pee.”

  My eyes scanned her naked body, taking in everything from her dark hair cascading down her back with a lock covering her left eye, to the anger in her dark eyes, to the way her breasts bounced as she rapidly inhaled and exhaled.

  And just like that I was as horny as fuck again.

  “Where were you?” she demanded.

  “Out.” My grin widened as I pulled the keys of her cuffs from my jeans pocket and advanced on her. “Geez, honey, you sound like a nagging wife, you realize that, right? I really didn’t think we were quite there yet, but all right.” Unlocking her cuffs, I stepped back and let her slide from the bed.

  “I thought we’d established I’m not going anywhere.” She shot me another glare as she brushed past me and headed for the bathroom, me trailing behind.

  “Guess I got a little paranoid after the other night.”

  Entering the bathroom, she didn’t reply, but slammed the door in my face. Leaning back against the wall, I crossed my arms across my chest and waited for her.

  “Are you serious?” she exclaimed, as she opened the door after doing her business and glared up at me. “Some personal space would be nice, or do you get off from listening to me use the bathroom?”

  I plastered my best hurt expression on my face. “Ouch, aren’t we in a mood today? Do I need to go out and buy more tampons?”

  She wasn’t amused and she made her way to my closet and pulled it open, searching through my clothes. “I thought that after the whole whipping incident and me not running when I had the chance we’d established a little bit of trust.”

  “We did. In fact, I want to even it up with you.” Brushing past her, I closed the closet and turned to her. “I want you naked for this.” Grabbing her hand, I pulled her behind me. “Come with me.” While I’d been giving her leeway in the way she talked to me, I got a thrill from the banter with her and so I’d allow it until it no longer amused me, but the bottom line was that she still knew her place with me. Without protest she allowed me to lead her down the stairs to the lower floor and past her room.

  It wasn’t until we entered my small showroom, heading into the direction of the bar, that she dug her heels in and began to wiggle in my grasp. “Please no. Master, no.” She pulled violently, trying to free her hand from mine; if she kept it up she’d tear open her still-healing wounds.

  With a sigh, I stopped and turned to her, releasing her hand and grabbing her shoulders. “Stop, Emily, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you, all right?”

  She shook her head, fear in her eyes. “I don’t want to.”

  “Have I ever lied to you?” She didn’t answer, but quit her protesting. “Then come with me. We’re going to even things up a bit.”

  She remained hesitant, but surrendered. “Fine.”

  Opening the door to what she not so affectionately referred to as the “torture room” I waited for her to enter and then trailed behind her, leaving the door open, thinking that she might feel more comfortable with a avenue of escape visible, even if it was just an illusion.

  “Come over here.” She followed me over to the wall that held the whips. “Pick one.”

  “I don’t want to.” Turning her back to the whips, she refused to even look at them. “I want to go upstairs.”

  Grabbing the hem of my shirt, I pulled it up and over my head, throwing it onto the floor, drawing her attention back to me. “You’re going to get your turn. Now chose one.”

  A frown formed on her face. “What? My turn? I don’t get it.”

  “A whipping for a whipping. Let’s even this up.” I motioned towards the whips. “Now pick one and let’s get this over with.”

  “Is this some sort of trick?” She gave me a dubious look then shifted her focus to the whips. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head, attempting to figure out my angle.

  “No. This isn’t some trick. Just pick one and let’s get this thing done.”

  Giving me another look of doubt, she reached up and grabbed a red and white leather whip. It looked innocent enough, but the red popper at the tip would easily tear through my flesh. Fuck, that was going to hurt, especially if she got the hang of cracking it and put all her strength into it.

  “This one.” She gave me a self-satisfied look
and unravelled it.

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  She shook her head. It only took a few minutes of instruction and a half dozen or so attempts before she was wielding it like a pro. She was a natural, lucky me.

  “Do I get to cuff you to the pole?”

  “Not a chance.” Walking across the room to the pole, I grasped the straps holding the cuffs. “I assure you, I won’t move.”

  The whip cracked behind me and I winced despite myself.

  ****~

  Emily

  This wasn’t what I’d expected when he’d dragged me into his torture room, and to be honest, I really didn’t want to do it. He might be able to turn off any type of sympathy he had for other people’s pain, but I couldn’t. Even if it was for someone like him, someone I told myself I hated. How could I take satisfaction in hurting him?

  I cracked the whip once more, the clapping sound echoing throughout the room. I had to admit, I did love the feel of it in my hand and the way it flew through the air. But to have it tear through Tanner’s flesh…

  “Do it, slave. Do it or we’ll switch places.”

  Glaring at his back, I took aim and sent the whip sailing through the air, the tip slapping against his back. His body jerked forward and he grunted softly, but as promised didn’t move. The whip fell to the floor, leaving a red slash across his back.

  “That all you got?” he snarled, looking over his shoulder at me. “If you aren’t going to put effort into it, why fucking bother?”

  Anger boiled up in me and something broke within me. Fine, I’d give him what he wanted. Bracing myself, using all my strength, I sent the whip sailing through the air, slapping against his back. Pulling back, I sent it sailing a third and fourth time, getting into the motion and taking a sick sense of satisfaction in wielding the whip and hearing his grunts of pain as the whip landed on his shoulder, ass and everywhere in between. Everything that son of a bitch had put me through, all the other women he’d done this to, he deserved it. He deserved every lash.

  Rage blinded me. I barely took note of him or what I was doing. I was consumed, basking in the rhythmic sound of the whip sailing through the air and slapping onto flesh in combination with the sound of his grunts each time the whip made contact. It wasn’t until a hand grabbed my wrist, stopping me from sending the whip flying, that I came down from my anger high. Dropping the whip to the floor, my eyes scanned his chest, which was covered with sweat. He grunted as he bent to retrieve the dropped whip and I gasped, bringing my hand to my mouth, my eyes going wide as I stared at his back. It was a bloodied, gnarled mess. Worse than mine – much worse, ten times worse.

  “Ohmygod. Oh God.” My hands flew to cover my open mouth, my eyes growing wide in astonishment. Tears sprang to my eyes, not only for him, but for what he’d made me become. For a minute I’d enjoyed it. I’d taken pleasure in hearing his groans. “What am I turning into?” I took a step back from him and then another. It felt as if the walls in the room were closing in on me. I needed out of there. Now. I turned and ran.

  ****~

  Tanner

  Holy mother of fuck, if I managed to get up the stairs without passing out it would be a fucking miracle. My back was burning unlike anything I’d ever felt while blood seeped from the over a dozen long wounds on my back. I know; I silently counted every fucking every last one of them. I’d endured until I couldn’t handle another one before stopping her.

  Now she was God knows where, running for her life for all I knew as I used the banister to haul myself up the stairs to the main floor. I hated to admit it, but I needed her. I needed water, painkillers, and for the wounds to be dressed, possibly stitched up – the whip she’d chosen was more intense than the one I’d used. And I needed them now.

  I found her in my bedroom, on her knees, praying.

  Well, fuck me. I was in pain with my blood dripping down my back and onto the floor, saturating the waistband of my trousers, and she was fucking praying. “Emily, I need your help.”

  She froze and slowly turned, her tear-filled eyes meeting mine. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You unleashed your anger, you got even. That’s all.” I took another step and faltered, grabbing the dresser to keep on my feet. “I whipped you.”

  “That doesn’t make what I did right.”

  My mouth was growing dry. I badly needed something to drink. I flashed her a no-nonsense look, praying my expression didn’t give away my anxiety and would spur her into action. “Emily, I need your help. I need you to get the first aid box and a glass of water. I need it now. I suspect you’re going to need to put in some stitches.”

  Chapter 23

  Emily

  I remained frozen as I stared at him in horror. His face was drained of color and sweat was coating his body. Shame washed over me. I’d stooped to a whole new low. What was I becoming?

  “Emily, I need your help. I need you to get the first aid box and a glass of water. I need it now. I suspect you’re going to need to put in some stitches.”

  Getting to my feet, tears streaking my eyes, I rushed over to him, slipping an arm around his waist and helping him to the bed. He was in bad shape, very bad. I’d say worse than when I’d stabbed him. I could run, get away, he might die here. But that would make me a murderer and that wasn’t who I was. I needed to hold tight to the remaining slivers of my soul; I’d given up so much already.

  Once to the bed, Tanner flopped face-first down onto it and the wounds became visible. A gasp escaped me, I’d been so consumed with rage, with getting revenge on him, that I hadn’t even noticed how badly his back had become as I was whipping him. Far, far worse than mine. My stomach clenched and I began to feel the need to vomit. But I couldn’t, he needed my help and I had to fix him – fix this.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  My hands were shaking as I opened the cabinet under the bathroom sink and retrieve the required items, first aid kit and basin. Filling the basin with warm water, I grabbed a face cloth and rushed from the bathroom, the water slopping over the rim of the bowl as I ran.

  “I’m so sorry, Tanner.”

  He grunted, ignoring my apology. “Give me some painkillers. The pale blue ones.”

  Opening the kit I searched the numerous bottles of pills until I found the requested ones.

  “Clean the blood away. Get a look at how bad it is. The ones that are really deep, where the strike marks cross or double up, you’ll need to stitch up.”

  I did as told, cleaning each wound. It didn’t take long for the basin of water to turn red, forcing me to leave him and refill it. He didn’t say anything and I honestly didn’t know what to say to him.

  “You’ve said your family moved a lot?”

  I let out a breath of relief when Tanner broke the silence and paused in my stitching of the worst of the wounds. “Yes.”

  “How often did you move?”

  “Every year and a half. Two years maybe. It varied.”

  “Where have you lived?”

  I relaxed a little more, grateful for the conversation. “The first place I remembered living was Boston, I think I was six. Father prefers churches that are big; he says he can reach more people with his word.”

  “I see.”

  “After that…” I chewed at my lower lip, trying to remember. “After that, there was Orlando, Birmingham, San Diego, Seattle, D.C, Dallas and then here, Portland.”

  “Did you all decide to move or did he just tell you?”

  I laughed. The idea of Father asking permission from his family was crazy. “Father never asked, Father did and expected us to follow. He would tell us that he was the gatekeeper of the family and as such we were to do as told.”

  “Even your mother?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s the duty of the wife to obey her husband. He made the decisions for the family, in the best interests of us all.”

  He huffed. “So starting at age six you went from Boston to Orlando, Birmingham,
San Diego, Seattle, D.C., Dallas and Portland.”

  “Yeah, you writing a book?” I asked, laughing lightly.

  “Just making conversation. It must have been hard making and keeping friends.”

  “We were only allowed to be friends with the children who attended the church. This was the first time I’d actually been allowed to go to public school and make friends outside the church. Since I was going to college this fall, Father gave in, allowing me to go to public school and make friends who didn’t attend his sermons.”

  “Right. It seems to me rather oppressive.” He turned his head to look at me. “How could you live like that?”

  “Like a captive, you mean?”

  A faint smile curled the corners of his lips. “Something like that.”

  “It was my life. He provided everything I needed. He was doing what he felt was right, to make sure I was safe and my heart and soul pure for my future husband. So I could have my choice of the best Christian man available.”

  “I see. And you don’t think that perhaps he was a domineering narcissistic asshole that was keeping his family under his thumb to stroke his own ego?”

  I cocked a brow up at him. “Unlike someone else I know?”

  “Well there is the saying that women tend to fall for men that remind them of their father.”

  “There’s a problem with your assumption.”

  “That being?”

  “You’re assuming I have emotions other than hate for you.”

  “You don’t?”

  I stopped sewing up his back and knotted it off. He was done aside from bandaging. I didn’t answer, not because I was being obtuse, but because I didn’t know the answer. I’d thought I’d known the answer, but I didn’t anymore. Grabbing the bandages, I began to dress his wounds.

  “You’ve had numerous opportunities to leave, but here you are, nursing me back to health.”

  “It’s only the Christian thing to do. You’ve already succeeded in darkening much of my soul. I’m not going to have being a murderer by letting you die or have the life of another woman who would no doubt take my place on my hands.”