I suddenly can’t climb up fast enough. Everything moves slowly, the only thing racing is my heart, beating too fast in my chest. His arm is a manacle around my waist, pulling me back tightly against his powerful body as he carries me back down. His restrictive hold inhibits my movements, but I refuse to give up just yet as I pull my elbow back and aim for the vicinity of his face. The satisfaction of hearing his roar of pain is eclipsed by the victory I feel when his hold loosens and he lets me go. But I don’t get very far this time around. He yanks me back by my hair and flings me across the floor like a rag doll.
“What part of you are not to touch or fuck anyone until I’m done with you didn’t you understand?” He reaches for the buckle of his belt in the same instant my eyes shift downwards and as he pulls his belt free of the loops from his jeans, all logical reasoning leaves me and the only thing that filters though my brain just then is to get away from him. When he moves forward, I scramble backwards, turning my body so I’m able to scurry away on my hands and knees. A scream rips through me at the force of the booted foot slamming against the side of my rib cage. An explosion of pain shoots through my side and steals my breath. I’m on the floor again, on my back this time, trying to find my next breath when he speaks again. His dead tone utterly frightening, “Did you think I was joking when I told you not to break this rule?”
“I didn’t break your rule!” I spit through the haze of pain. “He’s my best friend and you almost ruined our friendship when you sent him those fucking pictures. I was trying to fix it!” I don’t owe him a goddamn explanation so it makes me so angry when my mind works to provide one for him.
He drops down to his haunches in front of me and pulls me up with a fistful of my hair to drag me closer to him. “He put his filthy hands on you,” he scathingly whispers in my face, his eyes boring into mine, “I don’t share my pussy, Lacey. Consider your friend lucky I didn’t rip his fucking face off.” When he relinquishes his hold of my hair, it’s only to loop the belt around my neck and like I’m an unruly dog, he yanks it with enough force to bring me to my feet. “You break my rules, I break you. Plain and simple.” The tightness of his hold eats into my neck, restricting my airflow and even when I raise my hands and try to get my fingers between the belt and my skin, I have little luck. Knowing if I struggle now, I’m only going to harm myself further and very likely pass out, so I take the passive approach and docilely follow when he takes the lead. My compliance is rewarded with just the slightest slackening of the belt. Breathing isn’t just yet readily available to me but it isn’t an absolute struggle now either as he pulls me inside the elevator of his loft.
We’re descending and my ears pop the lower we go. Finally it stops, the door opens and it’s a stretch of hallway into the bowels of hell. Every tiny hair on my body stands on end as a gust of terror sweeps through me. Immobilized, I can’t do anything but stare into the darkness that seems to absorb any source of light; even the eerie dark purple bulbs on the wall seem to reflect darkness. I don’t need to take another step to know where he’s taking me. To that room. To the place where it started. The place of my nightmares.
“Please,” I hate the tremor of my voice, hate the weakness I display. But I’d do anything just then not to have him bring me into the room again. “Knox, please don’t do this…”
He turns to me and when he cups my cheek in the tenderest of ways, I want to weep because I think maybe he’ll listen. This time, he’ll listen to me. “I don’t want you to beg yet,” he murmurs with a small twist of his mouth. “It’s too early for it. But I promise, you’ll know when I want to hear you beg me. Come.” He gives a tug of the belt but with my feet planted, it fails to move me forward.
“No.” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not going in that room again.”
“I don’t remember giving you a choice.”
“You said I would always have a choice with you,” I retort with desperation, my mind grasping onto the conversation we’d had nearly a week back.
Silence, and then, “Yes,” he accedes. “So, this is what you choose?” He makes sure that I meet his gaze, makes sure that I understand the meaning in his pointed stare. There is another part to that conversation that I purposely omitted, but in the icy depths of his blue-gray eyes, he forces me to face it.
You must be prepared for the consequences.
And just like that, I’m reminded of why I’m even here in the first place. Of what will happen to my brother if I chose to walk away from this, from him. My anger evaporates and my hope melts into a puddle of despair at my feet. So much more effective than the belt wrapped around my neck, this silent reminder of his consequences becomes the only restraint he needs to subdue me.
Defeat has me lowering my head, “I’ll go.” I surrender silently, my hair curtaining my face.
“Look at me,” he directs, his voice smooth, controlled, imbued with a calm that I can never emulate. “Go where, Lacey?”
My eyes move up to his face as I lick my lips, “With you. I’ll go with you.”
“I imagined you would.” The derisive reply further rubs salt in the wound and I want to reach out to smack him but I’m sure I’d only end up making things worse than they currently are. “Come.” This time when he pulls on the belt, I move. Despite my reluctance to follow, I stick close to him, and the very real fear that phantom hands might reach out of the walls to grab me hastens my footsteps.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Knox
I’m violently possessive of my belongings. Lacey is now under that category, temporary though the arrangement maybe, but it does not change the fact that she belongs to me. So the thought of anyone, especially her friend, putting his grubby little hands on her in any way, calls for the butcher in me to find that emaciated skateboard punk and gut him. But then my eyes land on her and that urge instantly redirects itself. She’ll provide a far better outlet. She knew my rules. I warned her not to break them. She chose to willingly ignore them. Now she will pay the price.
I can see her trembling; her fear is so potent that it intoxicates me. My eyes follow her every move; I’m aware of every ragged breath she takes as she attempts to hide her fear behind her tenacity, even while her eyes stare uneasily around the room. Without any restraints, she’s free to properly take in my vault, see its magnificent beauty for the first time. A visible shudder runs through her body as her eyes land on the cage. Our gazes meet for a fraction of a second when I pull the belt free from her neck, but she quickly looks away. While she occupies herself with her new surroundings, I leave her where she is and walk over to one of my hidden compartments in the wall.
I can feel her watching me, her mind undoubtedly racing with what I have planned for her. A small smile pulls at my lips, she’ll find out soon enough. Pressing the button beneath the white pyramid directly in front of me releases chains on powered tracks in the ceiling. There is only the slightest whirring sound before it stops and the silence resumes. There are several compartments strategically hidden throughout the room, inside the walls that house the multitude of instruments I use on the women I bring to my vault. The one I open holds my special collection of knives and whips. I have an array of options but my fingers know which blade I want to choose. It’s a beautifully lethal knife, with a sleek high carbon steel blade and a curved hilt made of titanium. It will give me the results I want without much of the mess. When I turn around with my chosen instrument in hand, I hear her quiet gasp as her eyes widen considerably on her beautiful face. I leave the compartment open because I’m going to need a few more things from it.
Stalking toward her provokes her panic as she takes a few steps backwards and then turns completely in search of an escape. Her hands feel the wall in front of her, groping for a handle or knob that will let her out. The futility of her search amuses me. She’s like a little mouse in a maze. With nowhere to go but around and around. No chance of escape but still determined to find one. Just like her attempt earlier. I tongue the corner of my bottom li
p, which she’d caught with the back of her elbow. I can feel a bruise forming. I underestimated her. I won’t make the mistake twice.
“The entrance door is made to match the walls of the room.” She jumps, her body tensing at the sound of my voice, but she slowly shifts around to face me, watching warily as I approach her. “No one knows how to differentiate it but me. So your escape will come only by my hands. And right now, letting you go is the last thing on my mind.” Cornering her against the wall with my body, I take a fistful of her hair and tug her head back until she meets my gaze. “Even your screams, when they do eventually come, will have nowhere to escape but back inside the sound-dampening walls that surround us.” Even now, trapped as she is within my unyielding grasp, there is defiance in her pale green eyes. That obstinate need to fight for survival despite the bleakness of the situation is the best sort of aphrodisiac. And I’m going to enjoy ripping it out of her body.
Raising the knife to her full, plump lips, I thickly say, “Lick my blade.” There is only a moment of hesitation before she pokes her pretty pink tongue out and carefully runs it along the flat surface of the knife’s blade. Desire shoots blood straight to my groin, instantly making me hard. The animalistic need to bury myself inside her heat has me pressing my hard length against her, making sure she feels just how badly I want to fuck her. “Such a talented little tongue. I would hate to cut it out of your mouth if you displeased me in any way, Lacey. So I suggest you try very hard not to displease me, hmm?” Waiting for her response, I twirl the tip of the knife slowly at the corner of her mouth.
She follows her short nod with a quick exhale of, “Yes.” And I give her an approving look.
“Good. Take off your clothes.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lacey
When he releases my hair and takes a step back, my first instinct is to deny him, the urge is so strong that the word “no” weighs down my tongue. I can’t bear the thought of taking off my clothes. Because then it would mean that I’m willingly relinquishing what little bit of humility and dignity I have left. But what choice do I have?
To make it easier on my pride, I don’t dare look at him. Instead, I keep my eyes focused on the black and white wall behind his left shoulder when I reach for the bottom of my sweatshirt and pull it up over my head. I hold onto it for a second longer than I need to, before letting it drop to the floor beside me. Tremors overtake my fingers when I reach for the button on my jeans, I try my best to ignore them as I pull down the zipper and hook my thumbs on the opposite ends of my waist to drag the jeans down my hips and legs. I step out of them and toe them to the side with my sweater. I’m more embarrassed now standing in panties and a bra than I’ve ever felt when I’m completely nude in front any other man. Because no other man has ever been able to make me feel like he does.
Beneath the terrifying beauty of his gaze, I am his victim. He’s staring at me, staring through me, like the barrier of skin, muscles, and bones aren’t there, inconsequential as those eyes perforate my core and invade all of me. I feel him slice me open with those eyes to yank out all of my secrets. All of my vulnerabilities. All of my fears, wants, and darkest desires. They’re all on display for him to see, and no matter how hard I try to look away, try to conceal myself, I can’t. It’s the small upturn at the corner of his mouth that has my gaze finally shifting away from his raping stare. It’s not a smile. I’m sure he’s not capable of one. But the sardonic twist of his mouth conveys all that I need to know. He has seen all that I didn’t want him to see and exploits it to his own end every chance he gets.
Dragging me away from the wall, he takes me to the center of the room and all too soon I’m made aware of the source of the whirring sound I heard earlier when he orders me to lift my arms up in the air and cross them at the wrists. He steps in front of me, closing the distance between us, deliberately invading my personal space and preventing me from looking anywhere but at his chest as he reaches up to fasten a pair of metal bracelets around each of my wrists. I hear four simultaneous clicks before he takes a step back and walks away from me. My eyes immediately follow his progression to the other side of the room and widen when I feel myself being lifted off the ground. My heart plummets even as panic pushes me to struggle, as I rattle the chains hauling me slowly upward. My struggles make everything worse as my bones begin to pop. The unrelenting ascent of the chains steadily pulling me up and my stubbornness to reach for the floor with my toes puts incredible strain on my muscles, stretching them beyond my limits. I only stop when the whir of the chains halt, leaving me dangling inches off the ground, supported only by what feels like a pair of handcuffs. My body slowly sways like a pendulum from side to side as he reappears before me. He looks at me but my eyes are trained on the leather whip he holds at his side.
I take in a shaky breath. “Wha…what are you doing?” I can hear the tremor in my voice as fear has put a noticeable dent in the wall of my courage. I see the upswing of his arm before the whistle of the whip cuts through the air. I cry out as it strikes the front of my upper thighs. It’s not unbearable but the sting of it causes my breath to come out in short, little gasps.
“You seem to forget my rules so quickly.” He keeps his voice quiet, low, but there is a menacing quality to his tone that I’ve come to associate with pain. “But you will remember them soon enough.” Another lash of the whip catches the underside of my left breast and scores along my abdomen. He puts more force behind this one and my body reacts to the pain. I have to bite down on my lower lip to keep myself from crying out. I can feel the welts bursting through my skin, the pulse of blood flooding beneath the surface. When he walks behind me, he takes away my ability to see when he’ll strike, further heightening my vulnerability. “Twenty lashes, one for every minute you kept me waiting.”
He repeatedly strikes the same area with the first, second, and third blows, the whip mercilessly slicing the middle of my back until all there is, is a searing throb that has me arching desperately to escape it. Four, five, and six brings a current of sweat that drenches my entire body as I began to quiver. I bite down so hard on my lower lip, that blood coats my tongue. I tense, my fingers gripping my restraints as I wait for another crash of the whip against my back. It doesn’t come. I already know he’s playing a game with me. While I wait for him, exhausting myself in trying to hold the tension in my body steady, he cruelly keeps the next blow from coming until I go limp. The next three lashes are even more brutal than the previous ones, followed by this last blow that hurtles me to the halfway point and rapes the breath from my lungs as it cracks against my ass. Beneath the layer of fire blazing across my back, something unnatural blooms inside my body. It pulses as it coils deep in my belly, unfurling further when he delivers another blow across my ass, heat of another kind, thick and slick, trickles between my quivering thighs. The eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth strike between my ass cheeks with purpose and I know he’s aware of what it does to me. The scorching pain saturates my pulsating pussy with each lash and I can’t help the deep moan that escapes my mouth.
I make the mistake of focusing on it, on that hot pool of pain laced with indescribable desire. I allow it to become my center and free fall into its consuming depths.
“Scream for me,” he commands, the gruffness of his voice penetrating through the fog of pain and pleasure. And I do, I follow his command and scream until my vocal cords are raw.
He’s merciless, brutal, and unrelenting as he turns my sobs into piercing screams, but they don’t seem to be enough for him. Every punishing crack of the whip turns utterly violent as he covers my back, my ass, and thighs with welts. I don’t have the luxury of numbness. The sensitivity of my body keeps me present, forces me to feel every excruciating blow. Tears run down my face, mixing in with the sweat, blood, and drool dripping off my chin. With every lash of the whip, the pain he inflicts melts into a river of searing agony, covering every inch of my back in blazing fire, but the haze of pleasure that follows is so utterly in
toxicating that I endure it all. It becomes an instant addiction and for an infinitesimal moment, I understand why my mother would choose her addictions to anything else in the world.
I lose count and I’m merciful he isn’t forcing me to keep track. But there is only two more hits before everything stops. In that instant, I can only silently pray he’s reached twenty.
I hear the even gait of his footsteps receding, the whir of the chains as I’m lowered back down, and the instant my feet touch the ground, I collapse. I don’t quite make it to the floor as the restraints still keep me suspended. He reappears to free me of the chains and only then, do I crumple to the ground. Silently, he gathers me into his arms, sliding an arm beneath my knees and the other around my back. He lifts me up and I can’t do anything but squirm and whimper, hiding my tear-stained face against his chest as his arm rubs painfully against the abrasions on my back.
“Please…” I croak pitifully, grabbing onto his arm as he sets me down on the table in the room. I don’t even know what I’m pleading for, the words are hidden so deep inside me that I can’t find them.
“Shhh,” he soothes, wiping my face with his large hand. When he’s cleaned me to his satisfaction, he captures my hand and brings it to the front of his tented jeans. His hand covers mine, holds it over the thickness of his length before steadily moving up and down. “Look at me.” And my eyes flutter up to meet his. “Feel how hard I am? That’s what your screams do to me… And I’m only just getting started.” He pulls my hand away and roughly pins my wrist above my head, securing it this time with a tight, leather cuff. He moves swiftly around the table and binds the rest of my limbs. The coolness of the table is like a temporary salve to the raging fire across my back. I want everything to stop. I need everything to stop. But as he’s told me before, my wants and needs are inconsequential to the pain he’ll reap from my body.
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