When Henry was satisfied he’d got enough liquid inside that hole, he pulled the funnel out and moved it up towards my ass. Guiding it firmly into its new location, he began pouring again. By now vodka was sloshing everywhere, and all I could feel was wet little trickles running down my legs and splattering onto the floor. By this time, my head was starting to feel a little lighter, and I suspected my reflexes wouldn’t be quite as good as they usually were.
"I think she's clean enough now, Henry, but if you're still worried, why not just dump the bottle into her?" The investment banker was now also on my shit list.
"Good idea. Never hurts to be careful." The funnel was removed, and the ice-cold bottle was pressed up against my side, making me shriek. There was laughter all around me. Henry rolled it slowly all the way along my side, imparting shards of ice into my skin.
“Beg me to shove it inside you,” he said. Honestly, that was the last thing I wanted to beg for, but when his hand began to cruelly knead the sore, red skin of my ass, I reconsidered.
"Please, Sir. Shove it in me. Bury it deep." James had said there'd be a lot of talking dirty involved, and it was best to keep it simple. I'd just have to hope that'd keep the horrible fucker busy for the rest of his turn. Exhaustion was now beginning to creep up upon me, and all I wanted to do was crawl off to a dark room somewhere and fall asleep. Perhaps when I got rid of these morons, I'd be off the hook for today. One could hope.
He, of course, obliged. No sooner did the funnel come out than the bottle was rammed in its place, and let me tell you, I felt it. I'd had just about enough of this game, and my fingers were itching to wrap themselves around Henry's neck and squeeze until the man's face went purple and he lost control of all his bodily functions. I managed to restrain the urge – but barely.
"Fuck her with it, Henry. You know that's what we've all been waiting for." Smarmy investment banker would be next in line. Rolling my eyes, which were thankfully hidden by the floor, Henry yanked the bottle up, wasted half a bottle of decent vodka in one fell swoop and then push it right back down again. He repeated the process a few dozen times, and I moaned as if I was enjoying myself. This went on for quite some time, with varying shouts of encouragement from his comrades. Then the vodka bottle was removed, and my hair was yanked upwards.
“Open.” Oh no. Not this again. What were they going to do if I got drunk and passed out? You really don’t want to know the answer to that question…
Henry managed to shove what was left in the vodka bottle down my throat, and his hand snapped my jaw shut with such force I’m sure I felt my teeth shatter.
“Swallow.” If I thought I’d have been able to get away with it, I’d have kept the full mouthful and spat it out on the floor when I went back down again, but Henry’s eyes were all over me, and James’s words were coming back to haunt me. Do as they say, or you'll suffer. There's nothing they like more than a disobedient slave. So I gulped the whole lot down and licked my lips afterward. Maybe if Henry thought I was enjoying myself, he'd leave me the hell alone. Reverse psychology was about the only card I had left to try.
"Back down on the floor, assume the position." My head swam with lights and colours. My body began to feel sluggish and slow. The alcohol was starting to take effect, and it wouldn't be long before I was a mess.
The vodka bottle entered my ass again. Back and forth it went, but I barely noticed. I was dancing pleasantly on the cheerful waves of inebriation, and it wasn't all bad. I was so relaxed, I was nearly nodding off when I heard the sound of a lighter being fired up.
“Now it’s time to have some fun, boys. What say we set fire to her?”
Chapter Fourteen
Somewhere in the back of my head, I figured that this was probably some sort of test, but my initial reaction, when doused in vodka and placed next to a naked flame, was to run. If I'd have been sober, I might have been able to curb it, but I was swimming in a sea as thick as treacle, and its ABV was rather high. Damn right I ran, and fast. Getting to my feet, I sprinted to the nearest door as fast as my uncooperative legs would carry me.
“Henry, you complete bastard. Why do you always have to pull that shit? Buggered if I’m chasing her for you. This time you can do your own dirty work.”
Brian quickly pulled his chair back, but that was the last sound I heard because I was then out of earshot. When I reached the door, I surged through it and found myself in an empty corridor, with three directions to choose from. Knowing that some asshole would be hot on my heels, I pelted straight ahead and hoped for the best.
I've always been good at running, and sprinting, in particular, is one of my special talents. It's got me out of many a sticky situation in my past, and there wasn't a chance in hell that any of the pompous assholes behind me were going to catch me today. The only thing that was going to hinder me was around ten tonnes of TNT, and thankfully there wasn't any of that in sight.
Aiming for the back of the corridor, hopeful that there would be some kind of fire exit or escape route, I propelled myself forwards as if the devil himself were on my tail. Hearing a commotion from behind me as the double doors burst open, I flew the final few strides, only to look madly from left to right. There were no doors, there were no windows, and there wasn’t a fire exit in sight. Oh shit.
Adrenaline shot through my alcohol-soaked veins and blood thundered in my ears. Turning to look behind me, I could already see Henry and Investment Banker making a beeline towards me. With about five or six seconds to make up my mind, I decided to try all the nearest door handles and pray that some stupid asshole had left his open.
Doors number one, two and three proved to be locked, and as the men thundered up behind me, I began to panic. My lock-picking ability would have come in handy here if I'd had more time and something that I could have picked a lock with. Unfortunately, that was not on the cards. If one of these doors didn't open, I was going to be fed to a pack of wolves who had incendiary tendencies. It wasn't a thought I wished to linger on.
When door number four was also locked, I wanted to scream, but what had I expected? This place was obviously some sort of hotel, and people weren’t likely to leave their rooms unlocked, were they? Turning to the other side of the corridor, I had just enough time to try one last door before the mob would reach me. Bending the gold handle down, I had little faith that it would open, but I’d been taught, over and over again, to exhaust all options before giving up. If I was going down, I was going down fighting.
This time, the handle moved under my weight, and I was so shocked I stumbled headfirst into the room, landing in a tangled heap on the floor. The door snapped shut behind me with a satisfying click, and I somehow managed to pick up my spaghetti limbs and double lock it before the masses could descend upon me. There. I figured I'd have at least ten minutes to work something out before a replacement key could be found, and a girl like me could do a lot in that short amount of time.
Checking to make sure no one else was in the room, I peered briefly in all the places someone could be hiding. If someone was in here, they would have heard my sprawling entrance, even if they hadn’t seen it, so I had to assume I was alone. Sure enough, a quick glance around proved this to be correct. Then, and only then did I allow myself to examine the spectacular room. For starters, the bed was circular and placed upon a raised black dais. The sheets and pillowcases were black, but it featured a red velvet, curving headboard and the material looked so thick and inviting, I wanted to bury my fingers in it. The floor was covered in a thick black shag pile carpet, and the wallpaper around the room was metallic silver. Tiny white LED lights had been placed all over the walls in a completely random pattern to look like stars, and they appeared to be on some automatic sequence effect for they grew brighter and dimmer at regular intervals, giving the room a rather soothing ambiance at first glance. Opposite the bed, the forward wall was a collection of rectangular mirrors, placed one upon the other, so they gave the room a jagged, disjointed look. Lights and colours swirled at al
l angles, and looking at it for too long made me dizzy. A television was placed in the middle of them, next to a glowing, bright-red St Andrew's cross complete with cast-iron restraints. Just in case you were in any doubt that might be a nod to modern art, further shackles and chains were dotted around the room at intervals. In the centre of the ceiling was a clear glass dome and something that resembled a gym above. Was it a viewing area for other guests? I wasn't sure, but I didn't like the look of it. Turning my attention to the contents of the room, I tried to figure out what kind of man I would be dealing with, should the bastard come back suddenly.
There were a few shirts and suit jackets hanging up in the wardrobe carrying labels like Armani and Ralph Lauren, which was to be expected. The toiletries in the bathroom were of the Clarins brand and probably exclusive to the hotel, but bar that there were few other clues except for an electric shaver and an Oral B toothbrush. On the bedside table there was an obviously expensive designer fountain pen bearing the engraved brand ‘Visconti,' and if I wasn't much mistaken, it was inlaid with eighteen-carat gold and diamonds. There was also a copy of Condé Nast Traveller underneath it. So far, all I’d managed to figure out was that the guy was loaded and he liked moving around. Shaking my head, I groaned out loud. I was better than this. Search harder.
It didn’t matter how hard I searched, there was nothing more of interest in the room. No wallet, no money, no credit cards or ID, no phone or laptop - nothing that could give me a real clue as to who I might be dealing with shortly – if Henry and his motley crew didn’t get here first. Sighing, I sat down on the bed and tried my best to figure out my next move.
My escape plans were limited. I'd already clocked the fact that there were no windows or doors in here, bar the one I came through. The dome above me was thick Perspex, and the chances of me being able to unfasten the industrial grade pins that held it together were slim. That left me with two options. Stay put, or risk going back out. There was no question they would have left someone out there to deal with me. If they were sensible, they'd have left two, one in either direction to ensure my capture. If I stayed put, someone would come in after me before long. There was no easy solution. However I looked at it, I was in at the deep end, and I didn't have a clue how to swim. Mind you, I'd finally got the adrenaline high I was seeking, and I was pretty tipsy to boot. Today hadn't been a complete disaster – yet.
Someone must have heard that thought, for the door handle began to move. Oh shit. Now I was in for it. What the hell should I do? My alcohol-drenched brain wasn’t particularly cooperative. There was nowhere to hide. The wardrobe didn’t even have a door, and jumping in the bathtub or hiding behind the bathroom door was a desperate measure destined for failure with the multitude of mirrors everywhere. I might as well accept the fact there would be consequences for my little stunt and stand up to face them. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stood my ground and waited to see what would happen.
The door handle turned agonisingly slowly, although that was probably because my mind was racing at twice the speed of light. It was telling me that under no circumstances could I attack the person on the other side, while my every instinct ached to do so. Play the victim. See if you can get some sympathy. Yeah right.
When the door finally opened, the last person I expected to see was Adie. He looked fucking incredible in a black blazer with a buttoned-down white shirt and black Armani jeans. I stood there gaping at him for several seconds, and the tension in the room was so intense there wasn't a knife around that could cut it. He advanced towards me slowly, lazily, with a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. I could have had an anxiety attack just looking at him. The man resembled the worst kind of predator, and I'd have been no less scared had six hundred and fifty pounds of grizzly bear been in the room. The trouble was, he had the face of an angel – Satan's – and I'd bet every last penny I had that there wasn't a woman alive who could resist him.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" The smile that had been threatening came into full bloom, and I was utterly powerless beneath it. Sauntering towards me, the devil himself placed two hands upon my shoulders and pressed hard, until I was forced to sink to my knees before him. "Much better. Slaves should always be on their knees, and they should always know their place." The last word, ‘place,' came out as a hiss and while it should have scared the living daylights out of me, all it did was fire up an incinerator in the general direction of my groin. His accent rippled through my body and was far better than foreplay. Hell, I was so wet right now, all he had to do was say the word. When he yanked my hair so that I had no choice but to stare up at him, I was immediately captured by eyes so dark and black they threatened to consume me. Absurdly, I felt the need to please this man, so I immediately blurted out the reason for my disobedience, as if to appease him.
“Sir. They covered me in vodka and were about to set fire to me. I didn’t know what to do.” The words came out in a rush, all jumbled on top of one another. I couldn’t inhale enough air to speak with him so close to me.
Squatting down in front of me, he placed a single finger upon my lips, effectively silencing me. I swear he could have felt my heartbeat with that single finger because the sound was like a bass drum all over my body.
"Shhh. You're not here to think, slave. You're here to obey. If they want to set fire to you, you just have to trust that they'll put the fire out pretty damn quickly. For your information, though, I don't allow them to roast slaves without my permission." Adie smirked at me, enjoying his own joke. There was no such answering smile on my face, but it didn't seem to bother him. "They were playing chicken with you, and you fell for it on the first day. This is why we rarely buy inexperienced slaves. They're too damn predictable." The ‘T' was heavily accented, and although I wanted to glare at this man and slap his face, all I did was whimper at the tight grip he had upon my hair roots.
“You know what this means, of course?”
"You're giving me straight back to Henry?" My voice was strangely hopeful. Henry, I figured I could deal with. This guy was in another league, and I knew with a strange kind of certainty that his soul was as black as his eyes. Foolishly I appeared to have delivered myself to him on a silver platter, and within just a couple of minutes of my arrival here. As far as first days went, mine had not been great.
"No," he purred and yanked my hair harder. "Henry wouldn't know what to do with you. I, on the other hand, do." His gaze moved towards the bed, and I instantly tried to scrabble backward, although his firm grip prevented it.
"Such a nervous little thing, aren't you? One minute you're a fireball, and in the next, you take off running. I'm not sure I can figure you out, Thirty-Eight."
“Sir? I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” I’d left my fiery days behind me in the auction room. They’d brought me nothing but trouble, and I didn’t care for a repeat episode.
"Don't call me Sir, Thirty-Eight. I've already told you that." My head snapped up so fast, I almost gave myself whiplash. His accent had changed from sultry Spanish to prim-and-proper English in the blink of an eye. The guy in front of me was Crazy Monster and judging from his earlier performance, I had good reason to feel afraid.
“You,” I whispered, and if my errant limbs hadn’t been trembling before, they were now.
“You’re not quite as stupid as you look, you know.” Adie sauntered over to the wardrobe and retrieved something from a drawer at the bottom.
“Who are you?”
“I hardly think that matters at this moment in time. Most slaves would be asking another question right now. Care to hazard a guess as to what?” He held out a pair of steel handcuffs and walked towards me. I did not have a good feeling about this.
"What are you going to do to me?" I eyed the cuffs nervously, and my tongue snaked out to lick my lower lip.
“That is the more important question, yes. What am I going to do with you?” He looked down at me and let the silver cuffs swing from his finger. They glistened in the li
ght, trying to attract my attention, but my eyes were not allowed to leave Adie’s. He held me in his stare like some invisible magnet, and I didn’t much like it. The pull his body had over mine was incredible.
“Why did you buy me?” The words blurted out of my mouth before I could stop them, but I found myself strangely anxious for his answer.
He slowly sat down on the bed, placing the cuffs beside him, while his hand rubbed against the stubble of his jaw. Taking a moment to consider his answer, he stared at a point above my head, before his eyes caught mine once more.
“I’m not sure.” He then stood up and began pacing the length of the room, removing his suit jacket as he did so. “I usually prefer my slaves with more experience, but the right ones have been a little thin on the ground lately. Perhaps you just appeared at the right time, and I don’t mind a challenge once in a while. Do you?” Adie began unfastening his silver cufflinks, and once they’d been removed and safely placed in a drawer, he began unbuttoning his shirt. My throat ran dry.
“I don’t think I can bear to see you naked. Can you keep the shirt on?” I snapped my hand over my mouth as soon as the words had left my lips. This man would already have an ego the size of the Empire State Building. Why on earth did I feel the need to inflate it? It’s the alcohol talking. Your brain is fried.
Adie smirked at me, almost as if he had read my mind. “I prefer not to torture disobedient slaves in a dress shirt. Some types of stains are almost impossible to remove.”
Well, that told me. Strangely, my body didn’t fire up with enough panic to fill a sinking ship, though. I felt excited, and if I’d been sober, that would have scared me more.
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