by Dark, Raven
“Dang it, Gwen, don’t make me hurt you. I don’t want to have to punish you. But I will. I don’t like violence, but if it’ll keep you in line…”
“A psychotic pacifist. Who knew.”
He grabbed a robe tie from somewhere on the bed. “Give me your hands, Gwen. You should be used to this.”
“Fuck you.”
“Language.” He glared at her. “Whores talk like that. I’m not having you pollute my house with filth.”
She tried to kick him off, but his position gave him the upper hand, the soft mattress giving too much way under her to allow for a good vantage. As she bucked under him, he grabbed her hands, pinning them to the mattress.
Exactly as Archer had done with her a hundred times in practice.
Gwen shoved her hands swiftly upward toward the foot end of the bed, then thrust them out to her sides. Throwing him off balance. She kicked hard, sending him off of her.
Frank grunted, rolling off the bed onto the floor.
Gwen vaulted off the bed, but before she could take another step, he leaped up and shoved something into her side. Pain blazed through her, and she convulsed.
He’d tased her.
The ground rushed up to meet her. Slowed with pain, she rolled over and tried to get to her feet. Frank slammed his foot into her stomach. She screamed.
“That was a low setting. Don’t make this any worse.” He hauled her to her feet and tossed her on the bed.
Disoriented, limbs too weak to move them, Gwen bounced on the mattress on her back. Struggled to think. What’s next…?
But Frank was already on top of her, securing her hands tying them with the robe sash.
“The sooner you learn to do things my way, the better off you’ll be.”
“Not gonna happen.” She swung at him with both hands. Her fists hit his cheek, sending his head sideways.
He grabbed her wrists. The compassion in his eyes was disturbing. “You can be a good girl, Gwen. I know you can. Sis should be back from… she should be back soon. When she leaves again, I’ll be back. Then we’ll see if you’re ready to cooperate.”
When he let go of her hands, Gwen tried to sit up and swing at him again. She didn’t get the chance. His arm slammed her across the bridge of her nose.
Pain blazed through her head and nothingness took her.
A horn honked just as Archer raced down the walkway out front of the hotel. Quinn followed behind. Ace’s black Dodge Durango squealed to a halt.
“Archer, what the fuck is going on? Where the hell is Gwen?”
Archer was about to call him out for his accusing tone, but stopped. He stared at the gleaming black vehicle behind Ace as a connection snapped together in his head.
“Ace.” It came out a growl. “When did you get that truck?”
“What?” He looked at the Durango, flustered.
Archer’s heart pulsed in the back of his throat. “Where. Did. You. Get. The truck.”
“What the hell, Archer? I became a detective last week, it’s the same standard vehicle all detectives use. Archer, where the hell is…”
Archer pushed passed him toward the vehicle, blood racing. “Detectives…” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Shit…” He spun. “That’s what it was. Quinn, that’s it.”
“What?” Quinn looked lost. “Where are you going, Archer?”
“The guy who has Gwen. Her stalker.” He looked at both men and forced himself to draw a breath. “He’s a fucking cop.”
37
Psycho
“He’s got to be kidding.” Gwen stared at the ugly yellow dress that had been lying across the bed beside her when she’d come to. Little lavender blossoms gave it a dowdy look she wouldn’t have been caught dead in. A tag attached to one sleeve read ‘Wear me.’ “What am I, Joan Cleaver?”
Across the room, the tools on the walls mocked her. So close, yet so far away. If she could get her hands on any of those, this would all be over. Except Frank had come down while she was unconscious and cuffed one of her ankles to the bed, with only enough slack for her to do what he wanted.
She had no idea how long she’d been out this time, but her head still hammered, and two voices warbled from above again. She glanced at the sliver of a window above the bed. It had been just afternoon when Frank took her, but it looked like the sun was setting now. She’d been here that long?
Oh, God, Archer had to have been going insane now. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like for him, hearing her scream. Love for him washed over her, poignant and crushing. He’d be looking for her now. Would he figure it out?
The door at the top of the stairs opened.
“You’re going out again?” Frank shouting. “Lila, if you’re going to that club again, you can find another place to live. I’ll not have you whoring while you’re under this roof.”
A woman shouted something back, and the door slammed shut, only Frank didn’t come down. He yelled again. Footsteps moving across the floor.
Some of the tension left her chest. She had time, but how much? She looked at the window again. Barely a sliver. She’d never get out that way. The only other exit to the basement was the door at the top of the steps. She sat down and pulled her foot up, yanking at the manacle there. Tugging at the chain.
Nothing. Hopelessness threatened to seed itself deep in her gut. She shook it off. No. she was just going to have to play along again. Until he made a mistake.
Gwen stood up and looked at the window one last time.
I’ll find my way back to you, Archer. She snatched up the dress.
“Archer, do you have any idea what you’re saying? Do you know how serious an accusation that is?”
Archer sighed. “Yeah, Ace. I know. But I also know I’m right. Look. I saw a truck like this following me around before Chad’s test. The guy damn near ran me over. Something nagged at me when I saw the truck, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.” He nodded at the Durango they stood beside. “Until now. All the detectives drive Durangos.”
Ace crossed his arms and shook his head. “I won’t accept that. No cop in Haven would do this.”
Except he shifted uncomfortably.
“Yeah, and stalking doesn’t happen in Haven, either, right? Isn’t that what you told Gwen?”
He looked away. “It can’t be a cop.”
“Detective, you’re sure?” Quinn put his hands on his hips. “Are there any officers who seemed a little too interested in Gwen? Showed up at odd places, never getting the hint?”
Quinn’s words sent an image snapping into place in Archer’s mind. His eyes widened. Ace opened his mouth to answer, but Archer didn’t give him a chance. “It’s Rightworth.” He growled the name.
Ace’s gaze jerked to him. “What?”
Archer’s fists clenched. “It’s him. I know it.”
“Frank?” Ace gave a forced laugh. “Come on. Frank would never do this.” He looked furious.
“Who is he?” Quinn looked at Archer. “What makes you think it’s him?”
Archer quickly relayed everything that had happened, each time Rightworth had showed up. “It’s him, I’m telling you.”
“I refuse to believe that. Agent Lassiter, Frank’s a little sweet on her, yeah, but he’s harmless. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Yeah, right,” Quinn growled. “I have a dead agent, and someone lying in a hospital bed.” Quinn nodded to the Durango. “I want a look at his file.”
Relief Quinn was willing to look into it washed over Archer. As a lawman himself, he’d expected the agent to balk at the idea of investigating a cop, but then, he’d never really liked the Haven police force.
Ace let out a frustrated sound and looked at him like he was committing an act of betrayal. Then he rounded on Archer.
“If you’re wrong, you’re gonna make a lot of enemies on the force, Archer. People don’t just accuse cops and get away with it.”
Anger roiled in Archer at the implications. So much for friendship. He
followed Quinn to his car, firing a look back at Ace before getting in. “That’s fine. Trust me. I’m not wrong.” Please, let her be all right.
By the time Frank came down, Gwen had finished getting ready. She’d put on the dress as best she could, holding the librarian’s black flats he’s left with it. With the shackle still on, she’d left her pant leg pooled around her ankle. With nothing to do but wait, she’d seated herself on his bed. Hands in her lap, ankles crossed in what she hoped was a submissive, demure look.
Proper. Perfect.
As soon as he saw her, a slow, insidiously warm smile spread over his face. “Now, see? Was that so hard?” He walked across the carpet to her and brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “You look so lovely. Just right.”
She cringed.
“Except for one thing.” He took a hair pin from a drawer in the dresser and sat beside her. His breath on the back of her neck made her skin crawl.
“Turn your head.”
Play along. Gwen turned. He gathered her hair carefully in his hands. He twisted it up with a care as though it were made of gossamer, and pinned it in place. Then he turned her on the bed to face him. Satisfaction softened his features. “Very nice.”
“If you say so.” She tried to make the words sound shy instead of biting.
The storm that raged across his face came fast and sudden. “Yeah, well. I’m sure you’d rather wear your hair more like most of the women these days. Little whores.” He shot up from the bed and turned her. “Like my sister. No. I won’t have you looking like you just spent the night in some guy’s bed. Not with me.”
“Your sister?” She looked up at him, baffled.
He let out an angry sound and ran his hands through his hair, gripping the back of it. “It’s all his fault.”
“Whose?”
“Who do you think? The same one who corrupted you. That vampire at the club.”
Nick. “Frank, you… you aren’t making sense. Why don’t you sit down here and talk about it?”
He shook his head. “Lila was like you were once. Good, wholesome, loyal to a man who loved her. Until she went to that The Sanctuary years ago and Nick turned her into…” His fists shook. “Into one of those…”
Subs?”
He shook his head again.
She widened her eyes. “Lila’s a Domme?”
He nodded mutely, rubbing his forehead. His shoulders slumped. He looked at her. “You were so good, once, so innocent and sweet.” He reached for her, but then his hand fisted and he dropped it, face contorting in pain that she had a feeling had nothing to do with his headaches. “Working for Nick must have planted the seed in you. Then Archer came along. Cultivated the wickedness Nick started in you.”
Slowly, pieces began to slip into place. Her heart thudded in her ears. She’d always heard being a Domme in Haven could have worse ramifications than being a sub. Men in this city correlated it with some twisted misandry-driven need to punish.
“Is that what this is?” She stood up, teeth clenched. “I’m some sort of substitute for your sister?” Her stomach roiled.
“Don’t say that.” Frank grabbed her wrist and pushed her down until she sat on the bed. “You’re nothing like her. You’re perfect, Gwen. Or you can be. If I teach you.”
Everything in her screamed to lash out, to fight him. But her foot was still shackled. She folded her hands and looked up at him. Pleading.
“All right. I… I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be what you want. But…” She cast around for something, anything for an excuse. There’s no mirrors down here. “Can I see what I look like first?”
One of his brows winged down in a look of suspicion. She lifted her hands to him in a pleading gesture. “If you want me to act a certain way, I need you to show me. I’m new at this. I need to see.”
For a long moment, Frank only scrutinized her. Then he nodded. Pulling the taser from his pocket, he bent down, unlocking her foot.
Gwen eyed the taser, heart plummeting. If she tried to kick him in the face and didn’t knock him out, he could use that on her again. She forced herself to remain still.
When he straightened and put the taser in his pocket, his face softened. “Take off the pants. Let me see those shoes on you.”
She withheld the urge to break his nose, instead slipping the pant leg off and tossing them aside. He watched her with a sickening closeness as she slipped on the ugly brown shoes.
“Perfect.” He gave her a stomach curdling smile and held out this hand. “Come upstairs. There’s a mirror up there.”
Gwen tried to keep her face casual and let him lead her up the stairs. At the top, he opened the door for her and led her into a well-lit front hall. White walls with black and white tiles covered every room. A nice house, probably in the western, higher end of Haven.
Well. At least he hadn’t taken her out of the city.
Gwen forced her hand to remain in his, but took in all she could. The double front doors at the end of the hall, a set of varnished steps going up to a second floor, large windows, but all at least partially blocked with furniture, large plants, or fixtures. She thought this house was probably not far from her dad’s. The thought made her shudder.
“There’s a mirror in the living room, this way.” Frank pulled her gently into a large living room decorated in a dark blue with light blue and white accents.
“This doesn’t look like your house.” She noted the photos on the walls, the potpourri on the tables, the ugly floral patterns on the couches and loveseat.
“It was my grandmother’s. I inherited it when she died. See? I have everything you need. I wouldn’t take you into a marriage when I can’t provide for you.”
Gwen cringed, but forced on a smile.
Then she caught sight of a table over by the window and her breath froze in her lungs. A blond wig sat on the table like a scrap of hair pulled off a scalp. A pair of thick glasses with black rims sat beside it.
Her eyes darted to Frank. With that wig surrounding that boyish, choir-boy face and those glasses over those watery blue eyes, he’d have looked just like the man she saw at Master Hex’s mansion.
Frank’s gaze flicked to the wig and glasses. A touch of a mischievous smile touched his mouth, disturbingly childlike. “I knew you recognized me,” he said. “I wanted to whisk you away that night, but I knew I had to wait until he wasn’t there.”
Gwen swallowed, feeling sick. How had he gotten in that night? How did he get a pass? “Smart thinking.”
She’d known the man in the audience was the stalker, but to hear him confirm it still caused her insides to roil.
Smiling as if her praise meant the world to him, Frank took her hands and pulled her in front of a long mirrored glass door on a cabinet. “I also have a cabin. In the mountains, secluded. If you’re good, I’ll take you there some time.”
Oh good. A place where no one can hear me scream. She shuddered.
“See? You wanted to look.”
Gwen turned to the glass. Her brows lifted. It took effort not to look disgusted. She’d always hated dresses, but this one made her rethink nakedness. In odd counterpoint, dark bruises lined her wrists and feet from where the shackles had chaffed them. A gash on her forehead from where she’d hit it on the step, and a bruise on her nose gave the old fashioned housewife image an unsettling look.
Her gaze snagged on the front door, just off the living room. No more than ten steps. If he got her back downstairs again, she might not get another chance.
Gwen pulled in a breath. Then she burst for the door.
“Dang it.” Frank raced after her, and his fingers snagged on her dress. She screamed and twisted free. Slamming into the door. Clawed at the lock, fumbled to get the doors open.
“No, no, none of that.” He grabbed her hair, yanking her back hard. Gwen crashed to the floor. She twisted, trying to get her feet under her, get her head out of his grasp. He dragged her across the floor like a rag doll to the door to the cellar.
And let out a loud scream.
He stumbled, hitting the wall. Then the taser was in his hand.
Gwen pivoted sideways and threw her leg up, delivering a well-aimed kick to his hand. The taser went flying. It skittered across the floor into the hall, disappearing under a chest against the hall wall and out of reach.
Snarling in rage, Frank reached for her. She hammered one fist into his face.
Or tried to.
Somehow, he ducked in time and her fist hit the wall with a painful crunch. Frank grabbed her shoulders and swung her with an impressive ease toward the stairs. The flight rushed up to meet her.
She tucked and rolled. The world spun, pain flared in her shoulder, her back and her ass. At the bottom, her head slammed into the floor. Blinding pain screamed through her head and white lights danced before her eyes.
Behind her, Frank clattered down the steps. Adrenaline raced through her, keeping her from passing out, but when she tried to roll over, the pain in her head pounded savagely. She threw herself onto her back, but pain made her limbs slow and uncooperative, and she couldn’t get her leg up to a kick.
“All right, you leave me no choice.” He came at her, reaching for her. “Forty lashes with a strap ought to fix you.”
She tried to roll away. He grabbed for her hair.
Someone… a man that sounded remarkably like Archer shouted and there was a loud slamming sound. Frank screamed and pitched forward. He crashed to the floor on his side.
Gwen stared. Archer landed on the bottom step in a crouch, like a huge cat. Frank backed up and got to his feet, grabbing at him. Archer kicked him backward in the chest. He crashed into the work table behind him with a grunt, and rolled onto the floor.
Then he spun on his side, reached into the tool box under the table, and shot up, throwing something at Archer’s head.
