“Oh, I think so, my pet. I think that’s exactly what we both need. C’mon now, get up over my knee.”
She obeyed grudgingly questioning as she went. “You need a hairbrush spanking too?” she teased. “Are you a switch now?”
“No,” Pax growled. Laying into her ass with the hairbrush, lightly, but immediately. “I am not a switch. Sometimes, it can be just as cathartic for a dominant to administer a spanking as it is for the submissive to receive one, smart ass.”
“Oh, okay!” Diamond tried to giggle, but it came out choked, as the hairbrush was now falling hard and fast. It wasn’t having the same panic inducing flight or fight response it had had the first time, and she worked really hard on receiving it and all that came with it. Every painful stroke had meaning to her, from her insecurities as a submissive to her lack of trust in her dominant to the hell in a hand basket day that they had both had. She suspected it was the same for Pax, although he didn’t speak. For once, he was fully content to let the spanking do all of his talking for him, and Diamond found it oddly relaxing. The wooden brush beat a drum solo against her backside, and she relaxed into the rhythm of it. As spankings went, it was a short one, but it was everything it needed to be.
When it was finished, Pax claimed her as his, loving her completely, in a way that no man ever had, and content and relaxed, she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Pax and Jase paced in front of the window of Pax’s suite two days later, glaring down at the crowd below. “I can’t believe the press release didn’t work.”
“Calm down, man. Give it a little bit. It takes a while.”
“You’ve been saying that for two days!” They had given the press release Monday night, and neither he nor Diamond had left the suite since.
“It’s still the same. They are afraid they are going to miss something. They want to stick around a few days, and find out if you have anything more for them. Besides that, it’s kind of a game. Nobody wants to be the first to leave. They want to wait out the competition.”
“Don’t these people have lives? Jobs? Families?”
“All of the above I’m sure, but this has big story potential and the big stories pay the big bucks. Sorry, man. Might have to wait it out through the weekend.”
“Through the weekend? Are you fucking kidding me? Jase, it’s only Wednesday.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?” his buddy retorted, looking almost as stressed as Pax himself was. “I’ve done nearly everything I can think of short of using the two of you as bait. There is nothing else left to do other than wait it out. I’m sorry.”
“We can’t wait it out—these are our lives—this is my livelihood!” His rant was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone.
“Yes? This is Paxton.” He listened, and his jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me! This is a joke right? Okay, yes, do that. I’ll be down in a minute. Thank you.”
He hung up the phone, and turned to Jase, who was watching him intently. “This has gone too far. Too far. There’s a bomb threat been called in. They are saying there is an explosive device somewhere on the premises. We have to lock the whole place up, and bring in the bomb dogs. This is fucking unreal. A bomb, Jase? A bomb! Are they trying to kill us now?”
Jase was already on the move. Pax caught up with him near the elevators and they went into ass kicking mode, storming the casino like men on a mission. The front desk was in chaos. Phones were ringing off the hook. People were pounding on the front doors. Patrons were screaming. Just when it couldn’t get any more chaotic, the swat team stormed the place through the back door, bringing a half dozen dogs with them. They blew right past Pax, and took over the situation. They were barking orders at people, herding them into lines, letting the dogs loose to catch the scent. Old ladies were crying, people were fainting, and there was nothing Pax could do. It was without a doubt, one of the scariest moments of his life, and that was saying a lot.
The generally unflappable Jase, who had been Pax’s rock throughout the entire ordeal, was standing behind the front desk, frozen in place as he stared at the events taking place. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know, man. I’ve never had this happen before. I think we just wait, and make ourselves available if they need anything. Maybe try to go calm some guests?”
Although, Jase didn’t look like he could calm himself right now, and Pax felt like he was going to throw up, as he looked out onto the casino floor, he saw a lot of terrified people who were much worse off than he was. They were on vacation. They hadn’t asked for this, and it had nothing to do with them. Now they were virtual hostages in the middle of a bomb threat. Talk about a vacation nightmare. Pax had to do something.
Zoning in on a group of hysterical regulars, he took off across the casino, a man on a mission. At least there was something he could do to feel less helpless.
* * *
Her heart was filled with a mixture of dread and hope when she woke up on Wednesday morning and padded into the sitting room as she did every morning. There were two things on her mind. Coffee and checking out the view of the front of the hotel. Coffee first.
The pot was full and ready to go, even though for the first time since Monday morning, Pax and Jase were nowhere to be found. That was odd in and of itself, but, they did have hotels to run. Inhaling the strong heady scent of the coffee Pax favored, she clutched her cup in her hand, and dialed room service. Bacon, fruit and toast. It might take a while because the only person allowed on the forty-ninth floor these days was Will. Pax was so stringent on this fact, that he had put the young man up in a room for the time being, and offered him a heady bonus to stay at the hotel until the chaos died down.
When that was finished, only then did she make her way over to the window. The blinds were already open which meant Pax had done the same thing before he left. The scene below filled her with anxiety and set her teeth on edge. There wasn’t much change. Paparazzi still stood at attention, cameras and binoculars around their necks, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. The news vans had been gone yesterday, but for some reason were back today. Every single person had their neck craned towards the upper floors, as if they would be able to see her from down there. Ugh. Her stomach rolled and she stepped back from the window, glaring into her nearly empty coffee cup with unease. She was beginning to think she’d never be allowed to leave the suite. Sure, it had only been a few days, but it felt like forever.
A shower was definitely in order. Even if she couldn’t leave the suite, at least she could attempt to feel human today. As she entered the bathroom, the knock on the door alerted her to breakfast. Will was here.
“Just leave it inside the door, Will,” she called out, knowing that Pax had given him a master key.
Shrugging out of the hotel robe, she stepped under the spray, letting it run as hot as it could go. Short and hot was the ticket this morning. It only took a few minutes to wash her hair and body, reveling in the scalding water until the steam was nearly choking her, before stepping out and putting the robe on once more.
Not feeling like bothering with make-up or her hair, she threw her blonde locks into a messy bun, without bothering to dry them first. It was definitely a tank top and yoga pants day, she thought, as she opened the bathroom door, mentally going over her wardrobe that Crystal had brought her.
He was sitting on the bed. It was the closest she had ever been to him, but she knew who he was. His bright red hair and scruffy beard gave him away, as did the camera around his neck. A navy blue Jansport bag sat on the bed beside him. The glint of a metal grip caught the sunlight streaming in through the blinds, and the glaring reflection caught her eye. Her breath caught in her throat as she noted the gun sticking out of the pocket of his black hoodie.
Her eyes welled with tears as her brain raced with possible outcomes of this situation. Where were Pax and Jason anyway? And how had Fitch gotten in? Those questions and so many others were glued to the tip of her tongue, but
paralyzing fear kept her from speaking. It didn’t matter Fitch spoke first.
“You look just like her.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, taking in the sight of her, and she remembered she was dripping wet in only a short thin robe.
Her mother. With the exception of her blonde hair, she was the spitting image. Was that what this was about? A long rooted obsession with her mother? It made sense. He wouldn’t be the only one.
She opened her mouth to scream, and he was on his feet in an instant. His body pressed against her back, as his hand covered her mouth. His breath was hot against her ear. “Don’t scream. Just listen. Obey.”
The last word clicked in her brain, and she remembered how he had found her here. A crazed obsessed paparazzo with wannabe dominant tendencies. Perfect. The word “obey” from his mouth made her sick to her stomach, but she would use it to her advantage.
She nodded, and felt his body relax against her. “I’m going to let go now, and you’re going to be quiet. Only speak when I ask you a question. Do not scream. If you do, I will have to punish you, understand?”
Her eyes were wide with fear and unshed tears as she nodded her acquiescence. Relief flooded her body when he let go over her and moved back towards the bed.
“I just want to talk,” he told her, putting his hands up in front of him, in a gesture that was surely meant to create a false sense of safety—like she was the one keeping him instead of the other way around. “I don’t want to hurt you, Diamond. I love you.” His voice was thick with emotion as he whispered his sick confession.
She wanted to argue, to point out that he didn’t know her—that they had never had a conversation—that he had only spent years worshipping her from afar—that she wasn’t her mother. But she couldn’t speak. He had warned her not to. Her eyes were glued to the gun in his pocket.
He sat on the unmade bed, pulling the backpack into his lap, and unzipping it as she watched with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Fitch was shaking as he slowly pulled out items one by one, setting them on the bed beside him. It was a mixture of unambiguous and foreboding. A water bottle. Rope. A photo album of some sort. A pocket knife. A roll of film. A pair of handcuffs. Altogether, with the gun, it looked like the survival kit of a serial killer. One by one, the items went back into the bag until only the water bottle, rope and album remained.
Fitch patted the bed beside him, and motioned her to come, leaving the rope, but setting the photo album in his lap.
“I know you don’t love me,” he stated flatly, his eyes sad. “It’s okay. You don’t know me yet. That’s why I’m here. We can change that. I know everything about you. I’ve watched you for years, collecting information until you disappeared. When she died, I thought I’d have my chance. I could comfort you. I could be the man you needed to get you through that horrible time. I waited until a few days after the funeral, to give you space and time to mourn. Then I was going to come to you. We were going to be together. But you never came back. I waited and waited. You never came.”
Dread settled like a boulder in her stomach. If only they had known that she was his target. They had thought of him as the harmless paparazzo, snapping pictures of their day to day life for the purpose of making a quick buck. They had never suspected that he was really just lying in wait—for her—the object of his maniacal affections.
She opened her mouth to speak, questioning him with her eyes as she silently begged permission. Appeased, he nodded.
“It was too painful.”
His eyes were sad as he acknowledged her pain. “I know. I knew you were hurting. I knew you would come back when you were ready. We would be together then.” He put his arm around her, one large clammy hand gripping her shoulder.
Her skin crawled underneath the thin fabric.
“But you came with him.” His eyes narrowed, and darted around the room frantically. She hadn’t known eyes that bright could look that dark and eerie. “You didn’t wait for me. You were supposed to wait!”
Fitch was growing agitated. Terror flooded her veins as his grip tightened on her shoulder, pulling her close to him. She could smell him then, a mixture of sweat and cheap deodorant. His right hand raked against the denim of his jeans as he clawed at himself frantically.
“I’m sorry!” she squeaked, praying she wouldn’t anger him by speaking. “I didn’t know! You never told me. How was I supposed to know?”
The calm was instant, and frightening. He looked at the album sitting in his lap as if he had just remembered that it was there. “I know,” he whispered. “I was going to. I had it all planned out. I worked on it all the time. I was going to show you. But you never came back.”
Bile was rising in her throat as she stared at the album in his lap—knowing that what laid inside was the work of an obsessed stalker. She didn’t want to see it, but it seemed to be the only thing calming him at the moment.
Laying her hand on his leg, she squeezed his thigh softly, fighting the tears that were still threatening to fall. “Show me now.” Her heart was pounding in her chest as she ran through her options. She could only keep him calm for so long. Whatever was in the album might set him off again if she didn’t respond appropriately, and her limited acting skills were sure to fail her at some point.
At her touch, Fitch jerked his head up hopefully, and gazed longingly into her eyes.
“Show me,” she repeated again, fighting not to stumble through the words she didn’t want to speak. “Show me now. I want to see. But,” she gulped, forcing herself to meet his eyes with a look that conveyed trust and promise. “Not in here. Let’s go into the sitting room, where the light is better.” Shrugging his hand from her shoulder, she gripped it in her own and stood, pulling him with her.
To her gratified amazement, he followed, taking only the album with him.
Diamond chose the bigger of the two small leather couches and sat, scanning the room for anything she could use as a weapon. There were only a few lamps, and a small wooden chair near the window where Pax often ate his breakfast. Pax kept the room tidy and devoid of personal belongings. Why couldn’t he have had a baseball bat behind the door or something?
Fitch’s gaze followed her own, and he noticed something she hadn’t. A photo of Pax and Jason outside Rojo rested on the armoire. He was instantly agitated. “This is his room.” His voice was cold. “You didn’t wait for me. You were supposed to wait. We’re supposed to be together. The fact that you’re here—at Rojo—it just proves that we are made for each other. You’re supposed to be my sub, not his.”
He turned on her, and stood, pacing around the room, filled with rage. “She’s mine. She’s mine.” He was muttering under his breath. His hand rested on the gun in his pocket, but he didn’t pull it out.
“Yes!” she cried, breathing through her tears that were now falling fast and free. “I want to be yours. I always wanted that, I promise. He means nothing to me,” she lied desperately, willing to say anything to subdue him. “I want you. I-I just didn’t know you felt the same.”
It was working. His pacing slowed and his breathing grew ragged. He looked at her with uncertainty, wanting so desperately to believe the words she was speaking. Then he shook his head. “You’re tricking me! It’s a trick!” he roared, crossing the room to where she still sat stiffly on the couch. A clammy hand grabbed her elbow, and yanked her up, pulling her body tightly against his. His change in demeanor was instant as he shifted, holding onto her tightly with one hand, and grabbing the gun with the other. The cold metal grazed her cheek, and she closed her eyes with a whimper. This was it.
* * *
“Are you the owner?” A short man dressed in full swat gear, clutching a semi-automatic, approached him carefully.
“That’s me. How much longer is this going to take? It’s been hours. My staff and customers are terrified.”
“The place is clean. There are no bombs anywhere on the premises. The dogs found a few people with guns, and we’ve sent them into the office with th
e security officers, but they were all very cooperative, and I have no doubt that they will all pan out as having licenses for concealed carry. We’ve swept the casino, and all the shops. We’ve not done the hotel rooms. We can, but we wanted to go ahead and give the all clear here first. The threat that was called in specifically focused that it was somewhere on the first three floors.”
“Wait a minute. The threat specifically said the first three floors? Where the casino and all the shops and restaurants are? And all three floors were checked and came up clean? Why would they do that?”
The man shrugged. “I just control the dogs, man. I don’t know how criminals think.”
“Shit! It was a diversion! Diamond’s upstairs all alone! There was never a bomb! They needed a distraction.”
The SWAT guy was looking at Pax oddly, as if he couldn’t decide if he had a good point, or if he had just done lost his mind. “I don’t know, man. There are no bombs. Do you want us to start sweeping the upper floors where the rooms are? It will take a while.”
“Don’t bother,” Pax shouted, running past him. “There were never any bombs!”
He sprinted across the casino with Jase at his heels, cursing his own stupidity as he went. How could he have been so stupid as to leave her alone in the middle of a bomb threat? His chest was tight with dread as the elevator carried them up to the forty-ninth floor. Was it always this slow?
The sight that greeted them as they stepped from the elevator made his blood run cold. Will, the only person with access to the private floor sat in a chair outside Pax’s suite. Saying he sat was an understatement of the situation. He was bound to the chair tightly. Even from the elevator bank, Pax could see that his circulation was failing. He was sallow and weak looking, with a ball gag crammed into his mouth.
Collared (Vegas Nights Book 1) Page 17