by Jasmin Quinn
Jack, sitting across from her, wearing pyjama bottoms and nothing else, served her, spooning a small dollop of yogurt into a bowl, adding granola, and placing it in the middle of her breakfast plate. He added fruit to the side.
Mira grimaced. “Am I not allowed to have eggs?” She was emboldened by the early morning play. It was sensuous and almost loving. Jack wasn’t going to hurt her. He promised that last night and she believed him now. Maybe it was his eyes, the way they turned smoky gray when he looked at her, the slight flaring of his nostrils, like a wolf scenting his mate. His hard edges softening as he stroked her, forcing her response. With that knowledge, Mira could fight back. If that’s what she still wanted to do. Starting with breakfast.
“Of course you can have eggs.” Jack’s forehead creased and his eyes narrowed. “I thought you might like yogurt.”
“I don’t, not really.” Mira shrugged and moved the bowl off her plate.
“You used to,” he said softly.
And because the reminder of his past betrayal stabbed at her, she said, “I used to like you, too.”
He frowned, and Mira felt a slight glimmer of satisfaction. “I prefer eggs and toast and fruit.”
Jack waved churlishly to the serving plates. “Help yourself.”
Mira’s stomach rumbled as the smells assaulted her nose. She decided not to be coy like she might if she were on a real date or this was the morning after. She was going to eat hearty, maybe too much. Fuck Jack if he didn’t like it. She filled her plate and groaned softly as the first forkful of eggs touched her tongue. “Did you make these?” She lifted a second forkful of eggs and held it in the air.
Jack’s mood seemed to shift as he watched her eat, “I did not, Mira. I don’t cook anything. I have a cook.” His eyes sparkled as though he were laughing inside.
Mira tried her best not to shovel the eggs down, instead sampling the warm, buttery toast. “How does she get in?” She wiped her lips with her napkin.
Jack picked up the silver coffee urn and as he poured, Mira closed her eyes and inhaled the perfect blend of earthy and bitter. “Cream?”
“No. Thank you.” Mira didn’t want anything to spoil that first sip.
Jack folded his arms on the table, and leaned forward, the features on his face a cool mask of authority. “Mira, at breakfast, today and tomorrow, you are free to talk to me as you wish, ask your questions, eat what you want, take another shower. You have exactly one hour of freedom, so don’t waste it.”
Mira felt the coffee cup slip in her grasp and it banged on the saucer, the liquid splashing over the sides. His words were a harsh reminder of the fragility of her circumstance. This wasn’t a game. He might be kind to her now, but later, what would happen? “Why?” her voice sounded hollow to her ears, a bluntness of fear.
“Because in exchange, you will answer any questions I have of you.”
“Why should I trust anything you tell me?”
Jack laughed, but it was short and dark. “Why should you not? I haven’t lied to you once about anything.”
Mira swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She picked up a glass of orange juice and took a swallow. “Would you kill me, then?”
“No.”
Mira must have looked unconvinced because he reached out and touched her hand, running his fingers down the back to her fingers. His caress was so soft the hair on Mira’s arms stood on end. “I won’t kill you. It was an option at the beginning of last night, but not anymore.”
“Was it ever truly an option?”
Jack narrowed his eyes at her persistence. “At the beginning of last night.”
Mira took a nervous bite of egg, then a sip of her coffee. “What changed?” Why was she pressing this issue?
“Mira, I have you here for a very specific reason. I want my brother’s charge reduced to manslaughter. I want you to make it happen.”
A hollowness throbbed in Mira’s chest. She looked down at her eggs, poked at them with her fork and then lay the fork down on the plate. “What makes you think you’ve convinced me to do that?”
“I know I haven’t. But I do know that you won’t fight me every step of the way. That you’ll listen and hear.”
“Because I’ve done everything you’ve told me to? Because I’ve submitted to you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s fear, Jack. I’m afraid of you. I submitted because I had no choice.” A tremor ran through her body causing her to shiver despite the sun’s warmth.
He shifted his chair so he was closer to her, so that if he wanted to, he could reach out and stroke her. But instead, he scooped some eggs onto his own plate, some toast. “Your body’s not afraid of me. It welcomes me. Wants me.” Then to reinforce it, he slid his hand inside her bathrobe, squeezing her breast, flicking the nipple, sending a cascade of shivers down Mira’s spine.
“Stop it!” Mira’s voice held a sharp edge as she swatted at his hand. “This is my hour.”
He grinned at her, his eyes knowing. He’d proved his point. But he complied, removing his hand and scooping some egg into his mouth with his fork. “You don’t seem very afraid of me right now, Mira,” he said as he swallowed. “Or submissive.”
He was right. Why wasn’t she afraid of him? Because he said he wouldn’t hurt her and she believed him. Crazy, but she believed him. If he said he would kill her, she had no doubt that he would and she would be doing everything in her power to escape. But he said he wouldn’t hurt her. Still she was here against her will. Why was she not doing more to get away from him?
She ran a nervous finger down the handle of her coffee cup, studying it with her eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me that your brother is innocent when he confessed to Amber’s murder.”
“It wasn’t murder. It was an accident. Isn’t that the account that saved him from going to trial for first degree?”
Mira shrugged as she looked up. “I didn’t go to trial for first degree murder because I knew I could get him to plead to second degree.”
Jack’s eyes hardened and he gripped his coffee cup tighter. “Aren’t you the genius for figuring that out?”
Mira didn’t dispute this. “I know you, Jack. Maybe better than you know me. There’s no way you wanted the publicity this charge was drawing. A trial would have drawn it out for years. It might have ruined you.”
“Sounds like that would have made you happy. So why didn’t you force the issue?”
Mira pursed her lips. The direction of the conversation was taking an ugly turn and he was asking for confidences she couldn’t give him. “You know I can’t tell you.”
“Then your hour is up!” Jack slapped his hand down on the table, a hard glint in his eyes.
“What?” Mira’s heart thudded in her chest, and the earth shifted slightly, throwing her off-balance. “You promised me an hour!”
“All cards on the table, Mira. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” The silence hung heavy, Jack tapped a single finger on the table as his eyes, dark and unyielding, stared into hers.
Tears slipped down Mira’s face and she impatiently swiped at them, then pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, so she didn’t have to see Jack’s angry glare. “I didn’t think I could get a first-degree conviction. If he was found not guilty…”
Jack gripped her wrists and forced her hands from her eyes. He gazed into her face, hard and uncompromising. “You’re right about that. I’d have made sure he wasn’t convicted. The problem, Mira, is he’s not guilty at all.”
Mira flinched from his loud angry words. His hard grip on her wrists sent little jolts of pain up her arms and she struggled to pry loose from him. He let her go suddenly, causing her to fall back in her chair. He turned to take a drink of coffee, his profile revealing the hard set to his jaw, the strain in his shoulders.
“Then why did he confess?” Mira fought down the panic bubbling up, tried to steady her rapid breathing.
“There were so many holes in that confession, Mira.
You looked deep enough to know you couldn’t make a first-degree charge stick. Why didn’t you look deeper?”
But they both knew the answer to that. Rob was a Creed. Creed’s were bad news. One plus one equals murder. Mira tried to be bold, squaring her shoulders as she leaned toward him, peering at him. Her watery voice betrayed her. “Why did he confess?” Then as she thought more about it, she added. “You didn’t want me to look deeper, did you, Jack? But you misjudged me, thinking I would agree to manslaughter.”
Jack faced her again, leaning back in his chair and stretching his neck from side to side as if it were knotted. “Everything Rob said about Amber is true. He loved her, they loved each other. And they loved their sex play. You took all that and ran with it. Decided that Rob was deviant, decided that BDSM is all about torture and cruelty and abuse. And in your disgust for him, your hate for me, you didn’t bother to check out Rob’s story, just to be certain he might not be who you thought he was. You embraced the lies Amber’s parents told you, used your own lack of sexual experience to form your conclusions. And you are such a good fucking lawyer, you had no trouble convincing everyone else that Rob was a pervert who deserved to rot in jail.”
It was the most Jack had ever said in one breath and she flinched under the razor-sharp shards as they rained down on her. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady her breath, trying to decide what was next. She jumped when he banged his coffee cup onto the table.
“Your hour is up,” he snarled.
Seven
Jack gripped her by the wrists and hauled Mira to her feet. The force caused her to stumble and fall into his arms, but he set her back from him. “Take off the robe.” His voice was ugly, his face twisted, and his eyes held dangerous promises.
“Jack, please,” Mira begged him, trying to convince her legs to keep her upright, trying to convince her brain not to flee in fear. “Please, let’s finish the conversation.”
He leaned towards her, gripping her chin between his fingers and his thumb. “Your hour is up.”
Mira couldn’t decide what to do. He was angry with her, but he promised he wouldn’t hurt her. If she complied, would he treat her better? If she fought back, would he forget his promise? She decided to test his limits, just a little. She could back away, turtle if he got too intense. “I won’t take off my robe, Jack. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”
“You don’t?” He loomed over her and she backed up a step, bumping into her chair. No where to go. “You don’t want me? You don’t want to submit to me?”
“No.” Her voice was too small and feeble. Her breath caught in her chest.
“Shall I show you again how much you want me?”
“Please Jack, can’t we just talk? You’ve made your point. You’ve won.”
“No, Mira.” His voice softened slightly. “I haven’t made my point.” He pulled her to him, tracing the curve of her chin, peering into her eyes, searching for something. “You’re ashamed that your body is responding to me. You’re ashamed that you’re turned on by my domination and your submissiveness.”
“I’m not.” Mira’s knew how weak she sounded, how unconvincing.
“It’s not your body that’s betraying you, Mira. You know that. You’ve known it since the day you stepped into that courtroom and saw me sitting there. You watched me as much as I watched you. There’s a connection between us. If there weren’t, this wouldn’t be happening. We would have never made it to Saturday.”
Mira shuddered, trying to fling his words off her. She crossed her arm defensively and dropped her eyes to his bare chest. Even as she did this, her body simmered, craving his touch, knowing the truth. “Jack, if that’s the case, then why are you forcing this on me. Why not just let me be? Let whatever this is, grow organically. Explore it. Just talk.”
“Because I don’t like to talk. And you’re not ready for talk. You’re still resisting.”
“Of course I’m resisting you!” Mira was exasperated and tried to temper it so that she could convince him to keep talking to her. “You’re forcing yourself on me.”
“You’re not resisting me, love. You’re resisting your body’s reactions to me. You’re in denial about what’s happening here. I have to get you to the point of acceptance.”
“Okay, I accept that what’s happening is natural. That I want to be with you.”
Jack laughed at her wickedly. “That’s bullshit, Mira. I’ll know when you accept it.” He reached for her and Mira twisted away, bumping the table and sending it and their unfinished breakfast crashing to the floor. Dishes and glassware splintered, and Mira, off-balance fell over the table, to the floor onto the dishes. She let out a small cry as she caught herself with her hands and felt the sharp sting as slivers of glass impaled her fingers and palms.
“Mira!” Jack reached out to pull her up, his voice loud, his hands hard on her arms. As he grabbed her, Mira saw a large shard of glass, sharp, dangerous. She wrapped her fingers around it, ignoring the pain as it sliced into her flesh of her palm. It was big enough to do some damage to Jack, especially if she could slash an artery or a vein in his neck. Her mind was screaming at her to do it. Trying to convince her that Jack would turn on her, maybe not this weekend, but eventually, like before.
As he hauled her off the floor, she twisted her body and slashed out at him, blindly flailing for contact. He jumped back, not letting her go, but not quite fast enough as her weapon made contact with his chest, slicing into it before he could stop her. He flipped her around, her back to his chest and grabbed the hand holding the glass. He yanked her arm cruelly behind her back and half-shoved, half-carried her away from the broken glass to a thin high table behind the white sofa. He slammed her down on it, face first, sending a vase sailing to the floor. She was dimly aware of it smashing as he gripped her hair with his free hand and turned her face at the last second before it was hammered into the table.
Her heart was beating wildly and the air in her chest constricted, forcing itself out in small breaths. As she thrashed, Jack grabbed her other arm and twisted it up her back. Her muscles screamed in protest, and the hand holding the serendipitous knife throbbed in pain. “Let go of the fucking glass, you idiot.” Jack was raging. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his anger bounce off her as he used his elbow to keep her down while he wrested her fingers open, forcing her to drop the blood-stained glass. She struggled wildly, trying to get free.
This was the moment, she thought as tears burned her eyes. His rage so intense he’d kill her. It would be nothing for his powerful hands to snap her neck. Would it be painful? Would she even be aware of how close death was in those final seconds? She started sobbing then, as reality took hold of her. She didn’t want to die. She’d barely lived. She needed to pull herself together before he ended her. She forced her body to go limp, forced her rebellion to the corner and let her rage give way to pounding fear and acceptance of where she was and who she was with.
He flipped her onto her back and she was dimly aware of the hard, unyielding surface beneath her, that her bathrobe had fallen open, that there was blood on Jack, on his chest, his face. Her blood, his blood, she didn’t know. And Jack looking down at her, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring, his mouth twisted. He stepped back and yanked her up from the table, grasping her around the waist and dragging her down the hall to the playroom. The ferocious anger rose up in her again, but she struggled to keep it contained, letting it rage inside her. It was what she needed to keep her going, but she couldn’t use it to provoke Jack. She knew she was here until Monday morning. She understood that she’d had one chance to save herself and she’d fucked it up, because whatever trust Jack might have in her was lost. She tried to kill him and he knew it. And if she didn’t find her way to submission he might change his mind about killing her.
He flung open the door and threw her inside. She fell again, jarring her body on the hardwood. Pain rippled through her and she couldn’t contain her hoarse cry. It only served to enrage him further a
s he pulled her back to her feet, dragging her to the centre of the room and yanking off her kimono before shoving her down on a chair.
“Don’t you fucking move.” A deadly warning in his voice as he stalked off. He returned quickly, her cuffs in his hands. As he dropped to his knee to place the cuffs on her ankles, she thought she could kick him, hard in the face. Maybe hard enough to drive his nose back into his head. Or in the Adam’s apple. But if she killed him, what then? Would she be able to get out of this cell of an apartment? Or would she be discovered by his men. Either way, she lost her nerve when she saw the blood on him. Her eyes were drawn to his face, dark, angry, deadly as he clipped on the wrist cuffs, his chest still bleeding from her slash, transferring it to her, so that she felt sticky with his blood and hers.
He hauled her to her feet and yanked her hands up above her head. Looking up to where he reached, Mira realized he was chaining her up. She moaned, “Please Jack, don’t do this.” He didn’t respond, simply clipped the chain to her cuffs. Then he kicked her legs open wide enough to stretch her and make her uncomfortable and fastened each ankle cuff to anchors on the floor. She was caught, unable to even struggle. He stood in front of her, staring at her, his face dropping its menace, his pupils dilating as he raked her body. How could he still want her after she tried to kill him? And as she felt a small sliver of heat in her lower belly, snaking its way down to her pussy, she wondered how she could still want him?
He turned from her then, and stalked away, out of the room. She flinched as the door slammed, and for the first time, felt the throb of pain in her hands. How long would she be here? How long would he leave her like this? And why was she suddenly bereft at his departure? Her body was stretched, he’d tightened the chain so that she had solid footing but no room to move. This would be okay for a little while, but not beyond that. Her muscles were already wanting to cramp.