Salvage Her Heart

by Shelly Pratt

  Our first day has been amazing. We kayaked and ate a picnic by the lake, taking a reprieve from the sun’s bite by swimming in the cool water. Tonight we’re back up at the main cabin for dinner with Grayson’s friend Callum and his wife Kirima. We are given a proper introduction, which helps alleviate some of the discomfort about our very embarrassing first glimpse of each other. I don’t know if it’s because Grayson and Callum are such old friends, or the fact that country people are so hospitable, but we couldn’t have felt more welcomed.

  Grayson’s friends seem to readily accept me as his companion, which is a nice change to the crowd who always hang off Alex at his social get-togethers. Their scrutiny always leaves me feeling uncomfortable and like an outsider, despite the fact that I’m the wife of their boss. Kirima, on the other hand, links arms with me and shows me inside their home while she pours us a chilled Semillon Blanc. I like her instantly. Curiosity dances across her eyes, which are slightly slanted from her heritage. I can’t put my finger on where she’s from, but she doesn’t look dissimilar to a Native American.

  ‘It’s nice to finally meet one of Grayson’s friends,’ Kirima says.

  ‘Thank you, I’m really happy to be here. It’s really generous of you both to have us come and stay.’

  ‘It’s our pleasure. Grayson normally comes on his own, although it’s been a while.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, he normally comes out here when he feels like getting back to nature and to pursue his passion for painting.’

  ‘He comes alone?’

  ‘Always,’ she grins, ‘So, how did you two meet anyway?’

  I laugh. ‘It’s really boring, actually. I visit the delicatessen where he works with Jean.’

  ‘Ah, I see. I’ve met Jean once when we went to Brisbane; she’s been such a blessing in helping Grayson heal.’

  ‘She seems like a really great woman,’ I offer.

  ‘She gets him, which is why I think he’s so much like family to her. He’s like the son she never had, which is a gift since she could never have any children of her own.’

  ‘How come?’ I know I’m being nosy, but you know what they say about curiosity.

  ‘Grayson only mentioned it once recently when he phoned. He said she used to have an abusive husband. I think a particularly nasty beating almost cost Jean her life. As a result, I don’t think she was ever able to have children.’

  I’m not sure if I audibly gasp, but my hand sure flies to my mouth. I’m shocked, because Jean seems like such a strong woman—certainly not the type to put up with a man laying a finger on her. Kirima looks at me in alarm.

  ‘Are you okay, Evie? You’re awfully pale…’ She rushes to me, concern written across her beautiful features.

  ‘I’m o—okay,’ I stammer, ‘It’s just so horrible to think she had to go through that.’

  ‘I know,’ she says, rubbing my back gently, ‘but at least she has Grayson in her life, and he her.’

  ‘You’re right, they’re very lucky they found each other,’ I say weakly.

  ‘Okay, enough with the heavy, how about I tell you how Callum and I met?’

  ‘Is it a good story?’

  ‘Oh yeah, it’s funny alright. I’m a native Eskimo from Alaska and was living there with my family when Callum happened to be visiting. He was working on some big photography project with National Geographic. He wanted to get a really good shot of an Arctic fox, so took a short cut across an ice lake so he could come up at it from behind.’

  ‘Oh no…’

  ‘Yep, the idiot fell right through the ice where it was too thin.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I went to rescue him. He was struggling to get back up on solid ground and weighed down by his heavy winter parka. I was out hunting with my cousins and saw him.’

  ‘It was lucky you were there.’

  ‘I know. Poor Callum, he was beet red from the cold and really struggling. We threw him a line of rope and dragged him out. When he managed to stand up and get a good look at me, do you know what he said?’

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘He said, ‘I thought Pocahontas was from Virginia, not Alaska.’ I had to laugh, because he looked so serious. I guess with my long, jet-black hair and dark skin he could see the resemblance.’

  ‘That’s very charming! Let me guess, it was love at first sight?’

  ‘Well for him it was. I thought he was a jackass for walking on thin ice, but I guess when you grow up there it’s common sense. He was determined to get that picture, just like he was determined to get me to marry him. He persisted until I said yes.’

  ‘So he wore you down?’

  ‘Well, I like to think of it that he knew I was what he wanted and he wasn’t going to ever take no for an answer. The fact that he was so sure was enough to convince me he would stick around forever, no matter what.’

  ‘That’s so romantic.’

  ‘It’s been bliss.’

  ‘It sure sounds like it.’

  ‘You could have that, you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘With Grayson, he looks at you the same way, like he’s about to walk to the ends of the earth just for a moment with you.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so. All you’d have to do is let him.’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘It always is, but love, real love will always find a way to work. Now let’s get back to the men, I’m sure they’re wondering where we got to.’

  We leave the homely cabin and head for the woods. The men are barbecuing pork belly while reminiscing about their school days and drinking beer. Kirima and I laugh over the more light-hearted moments of their teenage years. Just listening to them talking makes me feel more connected to Grayson, like I really know the boy who was a daredevil and a little bit mischievous before heartbreak stole a little of that away.

  While the chatter goes on around me and we consume the delicious food, I wonder how I can be so selfish to allow Grayson to love me. So many questions fly through my head. What if I break his heart? What if I put him in danger? What if… there’s so many that if I think too hard I might just turn and walk away now before I can ever cause him any pain. My mutinous heart, however, has other ideas. It wants every little bit of him he has to offer.

  I worry about Kirima’s comments about Jean from earlier. I’m sure she had no idea about the circumstances surrounding me and my own abusive husband, but Grayson certainly knows. I wonder absently if that’s why he wants to help me. Does he feel pity for me? Does he want to help me because his own mother figure suffered at the hands of an abuser? The niggling in the back of my mind is starting to ruin the evening. I need to talk to him—alone.

  Like he can sense the shift in my mood, Grayson slides in behind me and starts to massage my shoulders. His strong fingers knead the knots in my shoulders from the day’s exertion out on the lake. His touch, as always, ignites emotions I’m trying hard to supress.

  Callum pulls out his guitar and starts to strum, while Kirima is loading marshmallows onto wooden skewers to toast over the fire.

  ‘Would you guys like some?’ she offers.

  ‘Thanks very much for your hospitality, but it’s been a long day. Would you mind if we take a rain check?’ asks Grayson casually—too casually. I know he can sense something is up.

  ‘Of course,’ she replies, jumping up to offer both of us hugs goodbye.

  ‘Thank you both very much for such a nice evening,’ I say.

  ‘Any time, you’re always welcome. You both have a good night,’ says Callum with a wink.

  Grayson grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet. We wave goodbye and head down the path that runs along the lake towards our cabin. Our fingers are entwined, his thumb gently massaging mine as we walk along in silence. When we are far enough from the camp fire to be alone, he stops and pulls me into his arms.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Your friends are really nice, thank
you for bringing me here.’

  ‘I sense there’s a “but” in there somewhere, which says you’re not really happy to be here… or is it just the company?’

  ‘No, it’s not that at all.’

  ‘Well, just be honest. What’s up?’ In the moonlight his features seem so much harder to read, but even so, sincerity still shines through.

  ‘Kirima mentioned something about Jean…’

  ‘Uh-huh…’

  ‘She said that her husband was… was abusive.’ Realisation dawns on his face.

  ‘Evie, I…’

  ‘Is that why?’

  ‘Is that why, what?’

  ‘Is that why you want to help me? Because of her? Do you feel sorry for me?’ I don’t mean to be, but I’m close to tears. I so want him to be the Prince Charming, I so want this to be real. What I don’t want is a pity party.

  ‘No! Fuck no! Are you serious?’ His voice echoes across the lake. Luckily there is no one on the other side to hear it.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I whisper quietly.

  ‘I don’t quite know how to tell you this Evie, without completely scaring the shit out of you, but I’m so in love with you. Everything I say, everything I do is because of that love. I can’t stand that he thinks he can hit you. It drives me crazy.’

  He lets me go and starts to pace in the dusty earth. Without realising it, he starts to run his hands through his hair, short sharp breaths coming heavy from his chest. His mood panics me a little, because I get the sense I’ve made him mad. I know mad. I don’t want to make him mad; I know what men are capable of when they’re mad. Slowly, I start to back away from him. He stops his pacing and stares at me.

  ‘Evie?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Grayson. I didn’t mean to make you mad.’ The weak little girl is coming back, the one who doesn’t do unpredictable.

  ‘Mad? I’m not mad at all.’ He takes one big stride and takes me in his arms again. ‘Evie, I don’t mean to scare you. I would never hurt you. You need to know that, okay? Never.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say hesitantly. His hands reach for my face and I flinch. Gently, slowly, he reaches for me, cupping my cheeks so sweetly I want to die. He gazes at me convincingly and I melt.

  ‘Never, do you hear me?’ I nod, my fears assuaged. ‘Bloody hell, Evie, I’m up to my fucking eyeballs with love-hearts and roses for you. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that I would not do for you.’

  He dips his head now, claiming my lips, my heart and my soul as his.

  Twenty-One

  ALEX

  I fuck her with a ferocity that borders on illegal. I didn’t know that every single bit of anger, hate and disturbingly fucked-up like for the cruel and unusual could be sated by using women for my purpose.

  The first girl, Kora, left my room on a stretcher. The flight to Chicago had allowed too much anger to boil up and over, making me need the kind of release that could only be filled with depravity. I whipped her, flogged her until her cries could no longer be heard. She silenced as another side of me took over.

  Tonight a blonde thing called Charice is in my quarters, and now that my anger has tempered somewhat, I’m going to take my time and really enjoy dominating her without blind rage ruining the memory of it all.

  Stavros has been adamant that he fills my time with a new girl each day, allowing me to sample different girls, exploring new desires with each one. I’m sure he’s buttering me up to sign the contract that I’m yet to put my mark on. I have to say, his tactics are working.

  Charice is lying face down on the four poster bed, her muffled grunts almost inaudible as I push her face further into the duvet. The thought of her struggling from lack of oxygen excites me even more, allowing blood to swell and fill my shaft, engorging my dick to its maximum girth. Each shove forward reaches as far as I can possibly go, her cries letting me know that I’m too big for her to accommodate me. I don’t care. I still pound away, punishing, torturing her.

  If she thinks this is all there is, she’s mistaken. I’m not that easy fulfilled anymore. A taste of the dark side and I know I can never go back to the sweetness of someone like Evie. I need more. I want more. Before I come, I pull out abruptly, letting go of her hair.

  I catch my breath, allowing gulps of air to fill my lungs while I watch absently as Charice scrambles to the far corner of the bed, as if somehow the distance will shield her from my wrath. It won’t. It just means I have to chase her, which makes things all the more exciting for me. Her eyes stalk my every move, trying to anticipate what’s next. Unlucky for her, I’ve become quite fond of the flogger that hangs next to the other assortment of whips on the walls. The wallpaper suggests aristocracy to rival the previous tenants of the Palace of Versailles, yet the bondage and discipline toys that line the walls speak volumes of a different beast; one that will not be contained.

  As I reach for it, she whimpers. It excites me that she is so weak, so powerless. I have to admit, I don’t think Evie would have had this much spunk. Her sudden infiltration into my thoughts stirs wounds that haven’t healed, wounds that she herself has inflicted on me. No matter, I will get my revenge. In the meantime this little blonde will be a nice fill-in.

  I flick the flogger against the end of the wooden bed, the loud crack widening the girl’s eyes like saucers.

  ‘Come here, whatever-your-name-is,’ I taunt.

  ‘No, please, no,’ she begs, a single tear sliding down her already bruised cheek.

  ‘Okay, your choice.’ I drop the flogger and lunge for the bed. Instinctively she dives off it, racing for the bedroom door that allows no escape. It’s locked, so I need not worry, but in the heat of the moment it’s hard not to react when your pray gets away. I give chase, knowing I’ve already won. Her fingertips are so close to the brass handle, and I have to admit, her momentum does her no favours. With brute force, I grab behind her neck and keep propelling her towards the solid oak door. Unable to stop her momentum, she crashes head first into the timber.

  She sags to the floor, stunned by the impact. I grab what’s left of her negligee and drag her back to the bed. She’s limp, almost unconscious and unable to defend herself at all. Compared to me, she’s a fly-weight. It makes tossing her onto the mattress seem easy.

  Without her resistance, I methodically tie her, spread-eagled to the bed. As I’m finishing tying the last of the knots, she starts to come around. Normally one might wish to whip her back, or lick the flogger across her ample buttocks. Not me. I want her to hurt, and hurt badly. I opt for the sensitive flesh around her breasts and stomach.

  With her on her back, I can see the glistening of moisture between her legs and remember what it felt like to have my cock in there just moments ago. The thought sparks my cock alive again, wanting more attention. For that, she’ll need to be awake. On the vanity is a variety of vials. I grab the one labelled Epsom Salts and take it to her limp form. She’s breathing, so I place the vial under her nose. She gags and wakes fully, realising she’s still in her nightmare.

  ‘Now that I have your full attention, darling… where were we?’ I straddle her chest, pleased with the feel of her breasts under my balls and backside. With my cock a little flaccid it allows me to bend it to my will, which unfortunately for her, is towards her mouth. It remains shut, refusing to take the appendage that was in her pussy and fucking her for dear life. I hold up the flogger and she physically recoils.

  ‘You don’t want me to use this do you?’ Her head shakes violently. ‘Well, open up then, darling.’ She reluctantly obliges by deciding it is the lesser of the two evils. Her mouth opens just enough to prod the tip of my cock inside.

  ‘Wider!’ I demand. She does. ‘Now suck me hard you fucking little minx or I’m going to punish you for being a bad girl.’ She starts to suck greedily.

  ‘Stop!’ I yell. Yes, something is missing.

  I quickly scramble off her and head back to the vanity. I start to rummage through the endless amounts of tubes, vials and lotions. I find what I’m
looking for. A tube of red lipstick in hand, I close in on my subject. She’s confused, not sure of my intentions. Grabbing her cheeks hard, I proceed to paint her lips hooker-red. I toss the make-up to the side and straddle her once more.

  ‘Again!’ I command. She opens up and starts to suck, this time without being told how to do it properly. Once again, I stop her before I blow in her mouth. When I get off, she realises this is not just going to be an easy blow-job. Her eyes go wild and she bucks and pulls against the restraints that hold her. I’m loving this way more than I should, let me assure you.

  With the flogger teasing her from a distance, it’s time to show this girl who is really in control. The first lashing from the flogger lands right across her left nipple. The scream, I’m sure, could be heard in other parts of the house. I don’t stop, hardly giving her time to catch her breath and process the stinging bite of the leather on her skin. I land blow after blow on her porcelain skin, forever changing her and me in the process.

  This is what it’s all about. This is what I need to feel completely whole and in command. I deliver blow after blow, never caring if I hit the same spot twice. I’m filled with desire as I see welt after welt, mark after mark. It’s only when blood trickles from a particularly hard lashing that I am somewhat brought back to my senses.

  The screaming still continues, despite my removal of the discipline tool. What completely takes me by surprise is the door opening. Standing in there is Stavros, perfectly dressed as always. He walks in without saying a word, eyeing the situation before him.

  Without being told, I hop off the girl, wondering for a moment if I’ve gone too far. Like a punished child, I stand back, allowing the master to look over my handiwork. The girl likes this reprieve, but she knows no better. She doesn’t know that Stavros is worse than I. After taking a very long look over Charice, he turns to me, admiration in his eyes.