“Giles, Giles…” I say the name repeatedly, because it’s signaling something in my brain. I just can’t place it. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Who the fuck is Giles?”
“That your girl?”
The bartender draws my attention as she saunters up and points out the window.
“If so, she’s hot,” the bartender says.
I follow her direction, and sure enough, Mack’s exiting Dee’s building with long strides, head forward, sunglasses in place…
Hang on.
“Bro? You still there?” Brax asks.
Leaning forward, I get a closer look before Mack shoots into a waiting vehicle. I notice the sleek hair and tailored clothing. Her heavily lined, lipsticked mouth.
She’s Jane.
She’s fucking Jane.
Having the kind of exposure and disgrace she’s experienced apparently did nothing to deter her from continuing to put herself at risk. I smack the varnished bar, cursing under my breath.
“You alright there, bud?” The bartender asks.
“Fine. Just fine,” I mutter.
I’m far from it. Mack warned me all along she’s not the girl she used to be and to stop looking for her. I could’ve sworn I glimpsed her a few hours ago, riding me with softness, and I was arrogant enough to believe I received the kind of attention from her no goddamned client ever had.
I’m an idiot.
An ass.
And I’ve been fooled.
Standing, I throw a few bills against the bar and stalk outside, the phone still held to my ear as I watch the black car depart, taking the girl I thought I used to know with it.
Mack wants her old life back? Then I’m more than happy to let her have it.
“Mase, seriously. Say something or I’m gonna think this is a dead call,” Brax says.
I say, while glaring at the back of the vehicle, “Well B, as my brand spanking new Executive Assistant, you can tell the big boys on top there’s no need to continue their freak out. I’m boarding a plane back to the tour tonight.”
I know when I’m not wanted anymore.
35
McKenna
“Strip her.”
My foot finds its mark against Suit Man’s groin, but he only grunts. My back is pressed against his hard, yet pudgy stomach, and he uses a meaty hand against my forehead to hold me still and keep me facing Giles.
I say through my clenched jaw, “Don’t you fucking touch me.”
Giles gives me a wry glance on the other side of the metal table. “Darling, we’re past that.”
I fight anyway. Despite being dragged into a small, windowless room with nothing but a metal table, a fireplace, and a sofa chair, I’m not about to cower.
The table appears freshly cleaned—streaks of cleaning solution blur what should be shining silver, as if it were recently used. Black straps with metal clasps hang down the sides, and I notice cuffs on the ends of them.
Oh God Oh God Oh God.
Stop looking.
“Either you take off your clothes willingly, or Mike here will do it for me.”
Suit Man—Mike—grips me so hard, his fingerprints will leave red marks on my face, but I can’t seem to stop struggling. It’s like it’s in my DNA to push, punch and spit until something worse happens.
“McKenna. Dear. You’re trying my patience.” Giles moves to the fireplace, giving me his back as he pokes at it with something iron. “Is that better? You’d like a little privacy?”
“I’d like to leave,” I say. “You have your money. I’ve done what you wanted. There’s no—”
“I say when we’re done, and if you’d listen to my instruction, you’d be out of here in a jiff. I’ll only repeat myself once. Take your clothes off yourself, or Mike will tear them off you.”
Abruptly, Mike releases me. It takes a few seconds to gather the strength back in my legs and hold myself up. But with unsure fingers, I do as he asks, because I can still feel Giles’s hands on my throat, cutting off my air.
My pants go first, then my shirt. They pool silently beside me, the thin silk fabric soundless and delicate and completely at odds in this harsh room.
“Bra and panties, too,” Giles says without turning around.
A whimper sounds out, and I realize it’s me. I clamp my mouth shut, but it’s too late to pretend Giles hasn’t heard it. Or Mike.
Mike steps forward when I remain frozen, so I move to unclasp my bra, then slowly, painfully, pull down my underwear.
It’s better than them doing it.
That’s the only thought that keeps my limbs moving.
“Good girl,” Giles murmurs, his back still turned. “Mike. Set her down for me.”
I turn for the door, picturing a sprint through the hallways and a successful escape, but Mike clasps my arm and shoves me against the table.
I scream. I scream, cry, and scratch, but he lays me flat like I’m nothing to him but a skinned salmon filet, and as he holds my arms down, then spreads my legs and straps them still, I become sure: I’m going to die here. The money was nothing but a ploy to kill me. Giles is a psychopath.
I think of my father, and the lengths I went to in order to save him, despite his complete shut-down and inattention after my mom died. I think of Debbie, who’d prefer to let him rot in jail than deal with the repercussions he caused.
I think of Mason and the unexpected surprise of his gentle touch. How those moments with him this morning cushioned the blow of my memories, and the sheer shock scoring through me at the realization that he’s actually changed.
I can fix this, Mack. Let me fix this.
Oh, Mason, I think. You can’t fix what I’ve utterly broken.
Mike leaves my eyes and mouth free. I’m not blindfolded or gagged, but I’m not sure that's a good thing. I train my attention on Giles and what he’s doing by the fire, his last words before locking me in this room a glaring alert in my mind.
Branding.
At last, Giles turns, and he doesn’t have what I thought was a fire poker in his hand. Instead, it’s like a cattle prod with a circular end, the type of iron stick farmers use to brand their cows’ haunches.
My lips part. Sweat collects on my temples at the growing heat in the room and the sudden, animalistic fear taking over my body.
“Now, I realize your career’s in jeopardy after unfortunate recent events,” Giles says. “So sad. How ever did your information get leaked?”
The gleam in his eye tells me exactly how it leaked. It was him. Giles sold me out. But … “Why?” I croak.
Giles’s lips spread wide. “I love my games, darling. And preventing you from receiving that money, well, I salivated over how you were going to get yourself out of that pickle. What you might be willing to do. Unfortunately, I underestimated both your wiles and your pussy.” Giles’s lips pull to the side before he asks, “How was it fucking a rock star, anyway? That’s the one boon I didn’t gain with Jessica. As much as I encouraged her to, she never fucked Mason Payne to better get into his head.” Giles shrugs. “Or maybe he never wanted to fuck her. Either way, here we are.”
I keep still and silent, trembling and exposed on the table.
“Mason paid you well, at least,” Giles muses. “You must be extremely talented to be worth that much money. I figure, I should sample the goods myself.”
He drags his attention down my chest, pausing to appreciate my breasts, then goes lower.
The chains rattle with my tugs.
“What are these?” Giles asks.
The dry pads of his fingers dance across one side of my hip.
“Marks of some kind. Fingerprints,” Giles deduces, “that are not my own.”
His tone turns dangerous. “Who touched you, my darling? Who dared to leave their marks on you first?”
He slaps my outer thigh, hard. I choke on a whimper.
“That won’t do.” Giles tsks-tsks. “For now, my handprint will cover it, but if I ever see another man’s fingers on you from
this point on … oh dear, you do not want to picture what I’ll do.”
Smack.
I whip my head to the side, away from Giles, refusing to let him see my tears.
“Better yet,” Giles says with a smile, his eyes never leaving my center. “Why don’t I claim ownership to the goods myself? It’s not like you’re a working girl for much longer.”
Giles steps closer, the prod hot, red and glowing at the end.
“No. Please,” I find myself whispering.
“Just think, McKenna-Jane, every time you strip for another man, any time you take your clothes off to bathe or to fuck or to change for the day, you’ll be reminded of me. That you’re now mine.” He holds up the prod. “This, my darling, will pay off your debt, with the added bonus that I can call upon you at any moment as my own.” He chuckles and glides a finger down my inner thigh. “Even when I’m not there.”
I want to throw up. I’m even urging myself to do it, since that might turn him off, make Giles back away. Hell, I’ll pee myself—anything to stop this madness, this nightmare, from continuing.
“These are my initials,” Giles murmurs, his attention never straying from my body. “They are going to look so wonderful on this bare pussy of yours.”
A cry unlike any sound I’ve made before leaves my throat. The fear is so thick in my throat, I can’t throw up. My denial is so stiff, I can’t release my bladder willingly.
No one knows I’m here.
“Stay still, my darling,” Giles says, meeting my eyes. “This will only singe for a few moments. The smell, however … well, picture yourself at a picnic barbecue.”
“N-no—”
“Oh, yes.”
The cattle prod comes down, and I’m screaming as if it’s already landed against my fragile skin.
A second of searing, everlasting pain rockets through my core when he starts to press it against my skin. I scrunch my eyes shut, my mouth stretching wide for a final scream—
A roar.
A grunt.
The pain receding.
The clatter of iron hitting the floor.
I open my eyes to two shadowed forms struggling against the fireplace. My first thought is that it’s Mike having second thoughts about torturing a woman, but then the sounds reach my ears.
I know that growl. That fueling riptide of rage unleashed from that mouth.
Mason? I mouth his name, the terror yet to leave my throat, but my eyes are wide open and follow the fight.
Mason lands a punch against Giles’s jaw, then an uppercut to his torso. Giles lunges, but Mason pushes his head down and rams it against the brick mantel of the fireplace.
I furtively search for Mike, doing as much as I can to watch Mason’s back and hope neither Giles nor Mike has a gun.
Where’s Mike?
Lifting my head as much as I can, I glance around the room and eventually land on a slumped form in the corner.
Mike, unconscious. Mason must’ve gotten to him first.
“You think you can touch her?” Mason roars, drawing my attention back to the fight. “Without consequence? You think you can lay hands on her, mark her, without me coming to take off your head?”
Punch. Slam. Toss.
Giles slides against the wall, barely conscious.
“I’ll kill you.” Mason seethes. “With my bare fucking hands, and enjoy watching the light die from your eyes. I’ll kill you by crushing your throat, first.”
Giles writhes on the floor, gurgling from a likely broken jaw. Mason lifts a booted foot and readies to slam it down on Giles’s neck.
“Mason…”
Blue fire shoots into my soul when he lifts his gaze and meets mine.
“Help. Please,” I say.
Mason’s jaw goes rigid. After a final study of Giles, fairly harmless on the floor, Mason steps away and strides to the table.
With one hand, he cups my jaw, using the other to unbuckle the cuffs on my wrists.
“Mack. Holy fuck.”
His study of the situation, of the way I’m splayed out and the position I’ve put myself in, shines in his eyes.
In response, soft sobs leave my lips.
“Oh, sweetheart. Baby, no.”
With gentle, calloused hands, Mason lifts me into an upright seated position and folds me against his chest. His fingers dig into my hair, pulling me closer as he kisses my temple.
“I got you,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna be okay.”
I clutch him so hard, my grip gouges against his muscles, but Mason doesn’t flinch or move. He just lets me.
I’m aware we don’t have minutes, or even seconds, before either Mike or Giles recovers, but I can’t seem to release him. Mason’s smell, his warmth, his presence, is everything I’ve wanted.
“If I let you go,” I whisper against his neck. “I’m afraid you’ll disappear. That you’re not really here.”
“I ain’t going nowhere, Mack.” Mason holds me tighter.
After another kiss to the top of my head, he leans back to hold me by the shoulders. I’m ashamed to meet his eyes.
After a few seconds of assessment, Mason takes off his shirt and pulls it over my head, the warmth of his body lingering in the fabric.
“I’m an idiot,” I say as he straightens the shirt against my torso, then moves to unbuckle my ankles. “I can’t believe I thought I had this handled.”
“Hey.” Mason pauses long enough to hold a hand to my cheek. “You’re going to tell me everything, but not right now. Right now, I’m getting you out of here and taking you somewhere safe.”
Mason glances down near my inner thighs, and I cringe at what he must see.
Giles’s poker touched me, only for an instant, but it was probably enough to leave a mark.
With a deep breath, I look down, too, and see the bloody, swollen half-circle there above my slit, almost like a crescent moon.
But no initials.
“Oh, thank God,” I say with a haggard exhale. “Thank God it didn’t…”
“It’s going to hurt,” Mason says, his fingers whispering along the edges of the brand before getting back to the straps. “But it won’t be a bad scar. I don’t think.”
I shake my head. “It’s better than…” but I can’t get the rest out. I’m choking on fear, adrenaline, relief, confusion…
“Okay. You’re all right.” Mason moves faster in unbuckling my ankles. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Mason lifts me in his arms at the same time Giles makes noises on the floor.
“You motherfucker,” Giles says as he rolls onto his knees clutching his nose. “You’re about to learn what it is to—“
“BRB,” Mason says to me, then sets me back down on the table.
He storms over and kicks Giles in the face. Giles’s head bounces off the wall and I gasp at the sound, but he isn’t knocked unconscious.
“You don’t think I’ve dealt with guys like you before?” Mason shouts. “I’ve had plenty of you rat-faced scavengers in my life. You live off threats, eat off hardworking people’s plates, and grow fat off money that ain’t yours. I know your operation inside and out.” Mason bends to Giles’s level. “But I’ll tell you something, guy. You haven’t met anyone like me before.”
“I’ll kill you. I’ll have you killed!” Giles says through a rapidly swelling, bleeding face.
“Not before I access each and every one of your hidden bank accounts and drain you out of every penny you got. Better yet, I’ll send all the info to the cops. I’m sure they’d be mighty interested in the workings of Marvin Giles Vandersleuton.”
Giles’s eyelids flutter.
“That’s right,” Mason continues. “I know your real name. Got my guys working on accessing your shit right now. So do me a favor. See that gorgeous woman over there? Go on. Take a look at her.”
When Giles’s head slumps sideways, Mason forces it in my direction by digging his fingers into Giles’s jaw.
“Yes. Fine! I see her,” Giles sa
ys, then wrenches away, spitting blood.
“These are the last few seconds you’re gonna take to study her,” Mason says. “After this, you’re never going to see, speak, or fantasize about her again. Got me?”
When Giles says nothing, Mason prompts, “My guys are a phone call away, asshole. I’ll send everything to the cops. And I do mean everything, including your proclivity to abuse hookers and all the pics you take to document it. Your personal information is mine, motherfucker.”
“Okay. Okay,” Giles repeats when Mason lifts a fist. “Leave. Go, already.”
Mason straightens to his full height. “My pleasure.”
As he turns, the frost in his gaze transforms into an inferno when he meets my eyes. Without a word, Mason lifts, then carries me out of that terrifying room and through the hallway without a hitch in his gait.
It’s only when we’re out of the apartment and enclosed in the elevator that Mason sets me on my feet. He hooks an arm around my neck, slams me against his chest, and fiercely kisses the top of my head.
“Christ, McKenna,” he says as he breathes into my hair.
“Do me a favor,” I murmur into his bare chest, my arms wrapping around him and fingers digging into the muscles on his back. “Don’t let me go until I’m steady enough.”
“Do you know when that’ll be?”
I clutch him tighter. “Not for a long, long time.”
36
McKenna
Mason ferries me from the lobby to his waiting car with the speed of a cheetah that has the drop on its prey. It happens so quickly that anyone we pass by is unlikely to notice I’m clad in only a t-shirt and Mason’s shirtless. Never mind the blood splattered against Mason’s skin.
I slip into the cool interior on the passenger side, my head falling against the headrest and closing my eyes as Mason rounds the front of the car and gets into the driver’s seat. With a low purr, the engine starts and he pulls away from the curb.
We sit in silence, the only sound the whirr of the air conditioning. There’s only so much of it I can take.
“How did you find me?” I ask while blearily staring ahead.
Strum Me Page 25
