Chapter 32
Zoe
It’s our second night in this pig sty, a primitive goats’ skin tent, God knows where in the middle of the desert. Although we’re out of direct sunlight, the inside is stifling during the day, and at night, when the temperatures fall, my thin blouse and light trousers offer insufficient protection from the cold. Sean and I are still together with no option but to stay that way, connected as we are by a chain looped around the central pole; attaching me to one end by my left hand, Sean to the other by his right. We’ve each got about six feet of free movement, which makes answering the call of nature humiliating and embarrassing, especially since we’ve not been left with anything to relieve ourselves into.
Even though we’ve pleaded and begged, resorting to sign language as our guards don’t seem to have any command of English and Sean doesn’t want to reveal his knowledge of Arabic, they refuse to let us go outside. Instead, we have to use a corner of the wooden hut to relieve ourselves. The only saving grace is that after two days of hardly any food and very little water we don’t have to use the corner much. The first time was the most embarrassing; I’d held on as long as I could until I thought my bladder was going to burst. But after that, I felt so weak and dizzy from the heat and lack of food I lost all sense of dignity.
If I had to choose a companion to share this horror with, I could have come up with no better choice than Sean. He tries to keep my spirits up, impressing on me time and time again that Kadar will move mountains to rescue me, but I’m not so confident; my written goodbye to him was too final. And at the end of the day, he’s the emir with all the responsibilities that go along with that. I’m only a humble employee. No, all our hopes have to be pinned on Grade A. They won’t leave a man of theirs behind.
During the daylight hours, and at night for that matter, there’s surprisingly little activity around the camp, the soldiers, tribespeople—warriors? I’m not quite sure what to call them—seem to be waiting for something. Although Sean suggests other alternatives, deep down, I know the truth. They’re waiting for Ethan.
As darkness falls once more, a sudden change due to our latitude—no lingering sunsets here—I fall into an emotionally exhausted and restless sleep, snuggled up against my bodyguard’s side. I start to dream…
Ethan stands in front of me as I’m naked, and stretched across the St Andrews Cross that graces one end of his playroom. My hands and ankles cuffed too tight for comfort. I hear footsteps approaching, and can smell the stale odour of sweat mixed with tobacco so react with no surprise when Hargreaves comes up behind. The grin on Ethan’s face looks feverish as though he’s overexcited, and I fear this time it’s going to be dire.
“The whip, Sir?”
“The eight footer, Hargreaves,” Ethan confirms. “You know how much she loves it. It will help settle her. Just like John Tharpe calms his wife, Mia.”
Again I hear footsteps as the manservant walks away to the cupboard where Ethan keeps his implements of torture. I lower my chin to my chest, the only movement that’s available to me and close my eyes, trying to shut out what I know is to come. Tears start to fall. I’m trapped, there’s nothing I can do except try and mentally prepare myself, knowing that there’ll be no escape from the wicked tail of the whip slicing through my skin.
“Look at me,” Ethan commands, roughly grabbing my hair so I’m forced to face him. There’s a manic look in his eyes as he waits for the screams Hargreaves will bring forth, however hard I’ll try to suppress them. He loves to watch my body process the pain, and my mind accepting my utter hopelessness. My torture is Ethan’s favoured foreplay. He’s already turned on, his free hand in his pocket, brisk movements in the material showing he is enthusiastically rubbing his cock. I hope he’ll make himself come. Otherwise, he’ll use me, whatever state I’m in after my correction.
“How many, Sir?”
“How many, Zo?” He gives an excited laugh, already anticipating my torture and pain, I say nothing. There’s no point. So he replies without waiting for me to speak, “Just continue until I tell you to stop.”
Will it be this time? Will he forget to tell Hargreaves when he’s satisfied? Will tonight be the night he goes too far, and they whip me to death? I tense up, anticipating the blood trickling down my back. It’s almost worse now that I know what to expect.
“Very good, Sir. I’ll wait for your word.”
The next thing I hear is Hargreaves swinging the whip through the air, the loud crack of his practice strike then a deep thud as it hits the stone flooring. Another crack, and then another. I don’t know how many times it will be before the lash lands on my back, slicing through my skin. Ethan’s manservant might keep this up for a while; they are both aware that the cruelty of the mind fuck can be almost as traumatic as the actual blows themselves. Ridiculously I have to bit my tongue to stop screaming out for him to just get on with it! More tears trickle down my cheeks, and at the sight, Ethan lets out a manic laugh.
“You need a lesson how to treat a submissive.” A new voice, but one I recognise. One which manages to be deep and authoritative, but calm and soothing at the same time. Heaven knows how or why, but it’s Kadar! How the fuck can he be here? What’s he doing in London? I didn’t even think Ethan knew him.
“Give me the whip and I’ll show you how you should treat a sub!” I flinch, realising this is no rescue, Kadar wants to take part! A long moan of protest comes from my lips as I hear scuffling behind me, it sounds like he’s appropriated the single tail from Hargreaves.
Tears fall faster now, my anguish doubled by the presence of the man who’d been so gentle with me. True colours will always out; I should know that by now. Unable to prevent myself from tensing, I wait for the first blow, but there’s no crack, no feel of the whip lashing my back, just a gentle kiss placed on my shoulders, then barely-there soft strokes, and caresses of a hand over the whole of my back. A caring hand, arousing me as it circles downwards.
“Relax, habiti, enjoy,” Kadar’s voice rumbles over me. Ethan and Hargreaves are noticeably silent, as though they’re no longer there at all.
His hands reach my backside, starting to rub, then a finger moves lower swiping along my slit. I writhe against my binding, struggling, not so much as to try to escape as somehow to find some much-needed relief. How is it I’m getting turned on with Ethan and Hargreaves in the room? I can’t understand it!
As if my squirming is a signal he changes his target area, his talented fingers move up and circle my clit which is very much alive and throbbing, and oh, do I want to come.
He reads me so well; he knows what I need. His fingers are cleverly strumming; Kadar leans over me so I can feel his impressive cock in his robes pressing against my backside. And then, at exactly the right time, the words I need to hear, “Come for me!”
I explode with a scream.
Kadar wipes his hand across my dripping pussy and holds up the wetness for Ethan, who’s now moved back in my line of sight, to see. “That’s how to treat a sub,” he tells him.
Ethan’s face morphs into that of a monster. “I’m going to kill you all!” he promises shouting, spit flying out of his mouth.
“Zoe! Zoe!” I can hear Sean’s voice and for a second wonder what he, too, is doing at Ethan’s mansion. “Zoe, sweetheart, wake up. You’ve been dreaming.”
Sitting up, I rub my eyes, for a moment, disorientated then rapidly remember where I am. Shit! That dream was so real! Oh God, damn! I didn’t actually have an orgasm, did I? My body’s feeling alive and thrumming. Mortified I turn my head away. What exactly did Sean hear, or worse, see?
“Was it Ethan, again?” His voice is full of sympathy and tinged with suppressed anger that even in my nightmares, Ethan haunts me. I let out a relieved breath I hadn’t realised I’d sucked in. As there’s no way Sean would equate Ethan with pleasure. I must have woken him up at the very end of my dream.
“Yes.” Only able to give a simple answer, as my mind is still trying to process th
e content of my rapidly fading fantasy. Even now the details fade away, including those I don’t want to lose—the fact that Kadar came to save me in my nightmare. I didn’t even know my imagination could be that vivid. I genuinely orgasmed!
He squeezes my arm and rolls his shoulders trying to get some relief. Being handcuffed with a lack of freedom of movement makes us both stiff and unable to find a comfortable position. “Just keep hanging on in there, sweetheart.” Pulling me to him he plants a platonic kiss on the top on my head, “The longer we’re here, the more likely it is that someone will come and save us.”
He’s trying to comfort me, but I’m fast losing hope.
****
Another day passes, then one more. Now we begin to hear sounds of preparation around us as if something is about to happen. But apart from the uncommunicative man bringing us our meagre food and water rations we see no other person. It’s a waiting game; I don’t know whether I’m anxious for this time to end, or would rather continue as we are, unable to imagine how bad the alternative could be.
We’re both weaker now, and our vain attempts to try to fill the time seem too much effort to continue. We’ve sought to keep our spirits up, sharing stories of our pasts then, when our history was exhausted, Sean started a game of ‘I spy’. That didn’t work out very well as there’s not much to see in the stark tent, but it did help distract me from my dark thoughts. For the first couple of days, we’d made attempts to exercise to keep fit. Attempts that were at times amusing, tied together as we are, but neither of us has the energy for that now. Sean tries to remain positive, but as the days pass I slowly lose hope of any rescue attempt.
Dawn on the fifth day brings a new sound, that of a helicopter flying overhead. As I hear the increase in engine noise when it comes into land, Sean’s body goes tense on full alert. Something’s going to happen. Standing, I know we’re both hoping against hope that this might be a rescue. But even I know the lack of fighting outside signifies it’s anything but. When the rotors stop turning, an eerie silence follows the fading whine of the blades. Then voices seem to call out in welcome as though sensing no danger or threat. And only minutes later my worst fears come true as the person I dread most enters the tent.
It’s been more than three months since I last saw him. In that time, he seems to have changed. His civilised veneer has become tarnished, and the touch of madness I used to discern in his eyes is now far more apparent and accompanied by a twist in his face when he leers at me. Of course, here he isn’t trying to act a part, so maybe he’s just dropped the façade. I taste bile in my mouth at the sight of him.
For a moment Ethan simply stands and stares, a cruel grin slowly spreading across his face. Quickly stepping forwards Sean puts himself in front of me, but he can do nothing to save me. Surrounded by six fierce looking well-armed men, Sean is outnumbered and would only be committing suicide to try to take on Ethan’s bodyguards. But his movements attract attention.
“And who have we here?” Ethan snaps out as he comes further into the tent, but maintaining a safe distance. “Who are you?”
Sean tells him the same as he said last time he somehow had asked him that. Ethan sneers and spits on the ground.
“A pansy gardener! I should just shoot you now.”
“No, don’t!” I try to push Sean out of the way. “He’s nothing to me, nothing to you, Ethan. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Don’t hurt him, please!”
For an answer, Ethan raises his gun and points it at Sean’s head. As though scared, Sean drops to his knees and lowers his head in defeat.
Ethan laughs, enjoying the show of apparent submission. “I think I’ll let you suffer a bit longer, pansy.” Now, his attention turns to me, “And you, my dear little whore. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to. From one rich man to another, eh? Wasn’t my wealth enough for you? You wanted to be a rich Arab’s plaything instead?”
It takes me a moment to realise he’s suggesting I left him for Kadar. When I understand, I have to put him right. “I left you because of how you treated me. You abused me. You beat me, hurt me. You raped me!”
I should have known my display of spirit would have enraged him. Motioning to his men he points at Sean, “Watch him!” Six guns come up trained on my bodyguard. Ethan takes another step toward me, his nose wrinkling in disgust, “You stink!”
I hate myself, but instead of pointing out the unsanitary conditions his men had kept me in, instead I do what he’s grown to accept, and take responsibility as though I could have done otherwise, “I’m sorry.” I’m immediately annoyed at myself and how weak my voice sounds.
“I can’t even bring myself to fuck you.” He sniffs derisively; then his eyes grow darker, “You shouldn’t have left me, Zo. You shouldn’t have run. Do you know how fucking long I’ve been searching for you?” Moving within striking distance his hand comes up and slaps me hard across the face. I feel blood trickling from the side of my mouth. “And that slut friend of yours. Sophie. Where the fuck is she? Would you believe I’ve been traipsing around America trying to fucking find her?” His voice is getting louder as he starts to lose control, “You wouldn’t think it would be hard to find a fucking cripple, would you?” He grabs hold of my hand, yanking it painfully. “Tell me where she is, whore! Tell me where to find her and I might let you live!”
“Why?” I cry out, unable to understand his fixation with Sophie. Hasn’t he already caused her enough harm?
“Because I never lose!” He screams out the words, spittle flying from his mouth. He’s out of control, and he’s terrifying me. This time, it’s a punch to the stomach, and I reel from the blow.
“I don’t know where she is!” I screech. It’s the truth, but I’ve no hope he’ll choose to accept it. Christ, that blow was so hard I have trouble straightening up again. If there were a chance I was carrying Kadar’s child, I surely wouldn’t be any longer after that.
Our eyes meet for a moment that seems to stretch into hours although it was probably only a couple of minutes. Ethan stares into mine, assessing me. I can’t help returning his gaze with defiance, knowing he wants me to break. I’d like to know what was going on in his head even though I’m well aware I wouldn’t like it.
With a sudden change of mood, his face suddenly softens, and his hand goes under my chin, caressing me gently, almost an intimate gesture. “I’ll find her,” he starts in a reasonable-sounding tone, “With, or without your help.” I move my head back as his fingers start to push my hair gently away from my forehead. “Where has this defiance come from? Where’s my Zoe?” His hand moves down to my cheek again, smoothing it gently, “You used to be such an obedient slave, crawling across the floor on your hands and knees to beg my forgiveness. Taking your punishment so beautifully. My marks will still be on your body, won’t they, Zo? Don’t they remind me that you are mine?”
I try to stop the shudder going through me as he weaves his spell. Part of me wants to blurt out another apology, but I fight it, resisting falling into his trap. The memory of Kadar in my dream, so kind and careful, loving. It might only have been my imagination conjuring him up, but the vision of his face makes me feel brave. I’m terrified of what Ethan’s going to do to me, but he’s not going to make me beg. It might be stupid, but there’s nothing I can do which would make things worse. Needing to show him how far I’ve come since I left him, I blurt out, “Go fuck yourself, Ethan.”
He’s taken aback; that’s clear. But then he laughs, “Common as muck, you filthy, little slut. You whore. I don’t know why I bothered with you in the first place.”
I hold myself taller. “I’m no whore.”
Expecting another blow to come I tense, but instead, his hand grabs my chin, his fingers digging painfully into my skin. “Do you know what they do to adulteresses in Ezirad?” he asks me quietly in a matter of fact voice and then continues without waiting for a reply. His coldness is more disturbing than if he’d lost his temper, “I’ve been learning all I
can about this fascinating country, and some of the practices are, well, they might be thought barbaric in the Western world, but in the circumstances, I believe they’re quite fitting. And admirable. Do you know what they do? How they deal with a woman who’s left her man for another’s bed?” He continues to stroke my face; his touch makes my skin feel worms are crawling over me.
Although my mouth is dry from lack of water, I swallow rapidly. I knew death was inevitable, but am starting to dread the manner in which it might be delivered and what he could be referring to. He’s talking about it so indifferently that I grow chilly despite the hot desert air. I have to protest, “I didn’t commit adultery. We were never married.” I can’t stay silent even knowing it’s futile to attempt to get him to see reason.
“Here, in Ezirad,” he continues as if I hadn’t said a word, “Adulteresses are stoned to death. A fitting end for you I think, my love.”
“For fuck’s sake, man! You have got to be joking!” Sean can’t help himself.
Ignoring Sean’s outburst, he starts to smile. “You’ll be begging to die before long, and it won’t be quick. I’ll make sure of that. Yes, you’ll be screaming and begging and telling me everything I might ever want to know in the hope that I’ll be merciful and end it quickly for you. But I’ll want to see you suffer. No one gets away from me, Zo. No one leaves me.”
“I’m not an adulteress,” I tell him again, my head swimming with the brutal sentence he’s just pronounced. Is there no limit to Ethan’s cruelty?
“As good as! You were, are, and always will be my woman. I own you. Mine, to do with whatever I fucking want. And mine to punish now you’ve given your body to someone else. No one gets away with that.”
Second Chances (Blood Brothers #3) Page 34
