by Eden Summers
I lunge for his wrist, pushing it out of the way to save his immaculate suit, and exaggerate my loss of balance. I topple, my shoulder ramming into him, my stool knocking his. “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
He turns, those strong, destructive hands clutching my upper arms to stabilize me and my seat. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I lick my lower lip, quick, panicked, and nod. “I was trying to stop your jacket from getting wet and made an even bigger fool of myself.”
“You’re not a fool.” He releases his grip and rights my martini glass as the bartender mops up the mess. “Let me replace your drink.” Dan turns to the woman behind the bar, not waiting for my response. “When you’re done, can you get her another martini?”
“Sure. Just give me a few seconds.”
I remain still, the screaming euphoria of celebration contained to the inner walls of my mind. My plan is working. The foundation has been laid.
“Thanks.” I grin. “That’s kind of you.”
“Not entirely. There’s a catch to my generosity.” He shoots me a glance, his lips kicked at one side. “You have to promise to sit with me until you finish your drink.” His gaze slithers down my body, curving over my breasts, my hips, then lower, all the way to my exposed calves.
I will my cheeks to blush. I will them and will them, but alas, I’m not that fucking demure. Instead, I lower my gaze and bat my lashes. “Actually, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m…working.” I hitch the strap of my small clutch higher on my shoulder. “It’s my first night. I was told to always stay near the bar unless I have an offer.”
His thoughts practically crackle in my head. He’s thinking how easy this is. How perfect. How serendipitous.
You bet it is, buddy.
“Working?” he muses, palming the two drinks the bartender slides toward him.
“Yeah.” I nibble my lower lip, exaggerating my vulnerable, virginal escort role. “I bet everyone can see how nervous I am.”
I glance around the dilapidated bar. Nobody pays me attention. It’s like my favorite drinking hole on the other side of the city—frequented by depressed drunkards too liquored to notice if it’s day or night.
“Maybe a tiny bit.” He chuckles, and I try not to cringe at his equally fake facade. “Come on.” He swings out an arm, his whiskey pointing the way to one of the free booths in the back corner. “It’s only one drink. I won’t take up too much of your time.” He winks. “Unless you want me to.”
I continue to devour my bottom lip. It’s my go-to move. And from the way he keeps glancing at my mouth, it must be working a charm.
“I guess one drink can’t hurt.” I scoot from my stool, grasp the martini glass he offers, and saunter myself to our private destination with the predator close at my back.
My skirt hitches higher with every step, the material creeping teasingly closer to my lace panties, until I slide into the booth.
“Get yourself settled.” Dan places his whiskey on the table, his free hand twitching at his side. “I need to excuse myself for a moment.”
“Okay.” I sip from my glass, watching him over the rim as he strides to the restrooms.
He may be heading for the bathroom, but I know his main objective isn’t to use the facilities. He needs to calm himself. To lessen the adrenaline spurring him to make snap decisions.
Day to day, he can fool the average Joe. From my time watching him, I’ve learned he gets careless when close to obtaining a fix. He turns into a stereotypical addict—jittery, breathless, and unable to control the need to rush to the finish line.
I’ve triggered his game.
There’s no turning back.
He wants me. Needs me. He’s hungry for my screams, and that’s okay, because I’m just as hungry for his.
This man, although vile and psychotic, is actually quite special. He’s not just the focus of another one of my retribution projects. He’s more. Much more.
This smug piece of shit could be the key I’ve spent ten years searching for. He could quite possibly be my Holy Grail.
With a lazy glance around the room, I open the tiny baggie stuck to the inside of my blouse cuff and rest my fingers on the rim of his glass. Fine white powder falls over my palm and into the liquor, the Rohypnol dancing through the liquid with such choreographed perfection I can’t hold back a smirk.
The sight is beautiful. Peaceful. Karma in motion.
I dust my gloves gently, brushing off the evidence, then bite the olive from my toothpick and give the concoction a stir. In seconds, the betrayal disappears, dissipating into sweet nothingness.
Every inch of me thrums, pulsing and throbbing from the inside out. The enjoyment only increases when the door to the men’s bathroom opens and Dan strides forward with a wicked grin.
He thinks he’s good, and I’ve gotta give it to him, when it comes to being a sadistic son-of-a-bitch, he’s a real winner. What he doesn’t realize is that when revenge is the aim, I’m the motherfucking queen.
Years of experience flow through my veins. Retribution is my specialty.
I discreetly flick away the toothpick and paste on a chaste smile as he reaches the booth.
“Everything okay?” I ask as he hovers at the end of my seat, his forehead beading with sweat, his gaze darting around the room.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Leave?” A twinge of panic unfurls in my belly, and I shove it down with a sip of gin. I’m the one in control here. Not him. “I can’t. I’m working, and you haven’t even started your drink.”
He grasps his glass and downs the contents in two large gulps.
Big mistake, Danny. Fucking huge.
I release a girlie laugh, the sound obnoxious to my ears. “You’re eager.”
“I guess I can’t help myself. You’re a beautiful woman who’s nervous about her first gig. My gentlemanly nature means I’m obliged to ease your burden.”
I take another sip, a tiny one to ensure I remain level-headed. “And how will you do that?”
“By being your first customer.”
Ding, ding, ding. Jackpot.
“Oh.” My response is shy, but no matter how hard I try, I still can’t get my cheeks to heat. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
He reaches out a hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Wait.” I can’t leave. Not yet. The drugs need time to start their numbing goodness. “We haven’t discussed payment.”
He reaches for his back pocket and pulls out a wallet. “Name your price.”
“That depends on the service.”
He retrieves a stack of bills and places them on the table. “Is this enough for a few hours?”
My lips part as I pretend to be gobsmacked by his generosity. In reality, I’m scrambling to stall. “Yeah.” I slide my fingers over the money, drag it toward me, then slip it into my clutch. “That’s more than enough.”
“Come on, then.”
He raises his hand again, and I stare. It’s still too soon. Too quick. If I leave now, I’ll have to think on my feet to slow down this sequence, and although I’m shit-hot and shiny when it comes to this, I’d prefer not to take unnecessary chances on such a special project.
“Can I finish my drink first?”
His mask of charismatic charm falters with the narrowing of his gaze. “I don’t have all night, sweetheart.”
“Right.” Fuck you. “Of course not.”
I slide from the booth, ignoring his offered hand, and lead the way outside into the chilly night air. “Maybe I should buy a bottle of something to celebrate.” I spin back to face the door, only to be stopped by his large frame sliding in front of me.
“I know you’re nervous, but we don’t need it.” His rush for a fix has risen to fever-pitch. His eyes are glazed, his cheeks flushed.
“It’ll only take a second.” I sidestep, and he shadows me.
“I’ve got whatever you need back at my place.” He walks forward, and I’m forced to retreat
. One step. Two.
I raise my hand, placing it on his chest as I plant my feet. “I’m sorry, I’m going about this all wrong. We haven’t even discussed logistics.” Stall, stall, stall. “I have a room within walking distance. It’s small and simple and does the job. I’d just prefer if we had something to break the ice when we get there. Maybe a bottle of wine or some whiskey. I know a lot of body parts that taste better when moistened with liquor.”
Those plump lips smile down at me, and I see the expression for the threat it is. “With you, sweetheart, I don’t want booze.”
He grabs my hand in a tight grip, and it takes all my strength not to knee him in the groin like my intuition demands.
“Now, come on.” He tugs me along the footpath, toward the parking lot. “My car is down here.”
“We don’t need to drive. My hotel is literally at the end of the block. It’s an easy walk.”
“I’m not interested in walking.” He tries to charm me with a playboy sparkle in his eyes. “And my place is warm and clean. Not some seedy hotel on the wrong side of town.”
If I get in his car, we won’t make it to his Lake Oswego home. I’ll be driven to an isolated industrial area where he’ll try to beat me, rape me, then leave me battered and barely breathing on the side of the road.
No, thank you, Danny boy.
“I appreciate the offer, but I insist on my hotel.” I pull my hand away. “Neutral ground, ya know?”
His nostrils flare, and I wonder if he’ll drop this bullshit act and drag me, hair first, to his getaway car.
“It’s decent accommodation,” I exaggerate with a flash of my pearly whites. “You’ll like it.”
“It’s the car or nothing.”
My chest tightens. Fear and anxiety collide in a mass of tangled emotions. I can’t throw away my one and only shot at this.
At him.
But I can’t get in that car either. Not now. Not even with the looming promise of his Rohypnol-induced impairment.
Confinement in a small space would mean my fun would end and his would begin. I’d lose my advantage and he’d gain the upper hand. His strength against my strategy.
I have to stick to my plan or let him walk.
God, I don’t want to let this fucker walk.
“Then I guess this is where we part ways.” My face falls, and I don’t need to fake a stricken expression. I’m on the verge of heartbreak, devastated at the thought of this guy getting away, not only with what he’s done, but with the information I desperately need. “See ya, handsome.”
I give him a timid finger wave and the chance to demand a refund before I turn in the direction of my hotel. I take slow steps, and his pursuing footfalls don’t hit my ears. He’s not following. I guess he’s too frustrated to even ask for his cash.
Shit.
Four weeks of meticulous preparation disintegrate into painful splinters, each one penetrating my skin to exacerbate the failure.
This guy deserved what I had planned. He’d earned it over months, possibly years, of brutality. But losing the connection to my past tears me apart, limb by limb, nerve by nerve.
Anger boils my blood, the potency so rich my throat tightens with the need to scream. I can’t turn back.
I can’t.
Getting in his car is too dangerous. The drugs might not kick in for another twenty minutes. Maybe more. He’d easily overpower me. I’m not stupid enough to believe my years of self-defense, martial arts, and boxing classes could save my ass in a confined space, up against a deranged psychopath.
The knife in my boot is insurance, but I’m not infallible.
I grind my teeth to the point of pain as I trudge the eight-minute walk to the sleazy, pay-by-the-hour hotel, with its flickering red ‘Vacancy’ sign.
What the hell am I going to do?
I may never get another chance to find Jacob. I’ve failed. Again. And not only on a personal level, but all those women Dan has abused won’t get a vicarious taste of vengeance.
How have I messed this up?
Was the meticulous preparation not enough?
Should I have watched him for longer?
Could I have tried harder?
Risked more?
Fuck.
I pull the hotel key from my clutch and stride to door fifteen—the last room in the single-story complex. I slide my key into the flimsy lock, preparing to lick my wounds in private, when the noisy crunch of asphalt alerts me to a vehicle entering the parking lot. My heart kicks. A sixth sense sends goosebumps erupting along my arms. Or maybe it’s optimism.
I want this.
I want it enough that each breath hitches in my throat.
I glance over my shoulder, my limbs throbbing, and come face to face with the impeccable good fortune that stares back at me.
2
Her
I paste a surprised look on my face, placing my mental celebration on hold.
Dan cuts the engine, slides from the car, then slams the door shut.
“You changed your mind?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He stalks toward me, his smile stiff. “I did.”
I unlock the hotel door and push it wide, allowing him to proceed. “After you.”
He doesn’t respond as he strides inside, not bothering to scope his surroundings. This smug piece of shit thinks he’s invincible, and I can’t wait to prove him wrong.
He slumps onto the well-worn bed, the cheap springs squeaking with his heavy weight. A frown spreads across his forehead as he stares blankly at the tiny kitchenette in front of him.
Could my buddy Rohypnol have given him a friendly nudge of disorientation?
“You okay?” I purr, closing the door to the world.
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “You got a glass of water or something?”
“Sure.” I saunter to the sink, and the hair on my neck tingles as my back faces him.
Limit vulnerabilities.
Stay alert.
He pushes to his feet while I begin filling a cloudy glass with tap water. Every inch of me is tense, ready to attack, but I continue the monotonous actions, turning the tap off slowly and drying my hands on a dirty dish rag.
I swing around. He paces near the door. Like a caged dog, he wants out, but there is no out. Not until I have what I want.
“Here.” I hand over the drink and point to the sturdy wooden chair strategically placed between the bed and the stained sofa. “Have a seat and I’ll make you feel comfortable.”
He takes large gulps of the water, the deep grooves of his frown still intact when he hands back the empty glass. “No.” He shakes his head in a mix of confusion and agitation. “Let’s go. I’ll take you somewhere better than this.”
“We have all we need right here.” I grab his wrist and lead him forward, guiding him to sit in the hot seat. “I’ve been practicing something for a while, and I really want to see what you think. Call it an added bonus, if you like.”
I place the glass on the unsteady bedside table and slide my hand under the pillow on the bed. He watches as I produce a handful of thick, red ribbon. I sway my hips to imaginary music on my return and let the long lengths of material fall to the floor, dragging behind me.
“This room is a dump,” he mutters. “We need to go to my place.” He grips the armrests, preparing to stand.
“Don’t.” I lean over and get in his face. “It will be fun to have sex in here. It adds to the fantasy.” I inch closer, his stale breath brushing my lips. “I’m the weak woman in distress, and you’re the wealthy, charming man here to save me. But every fantasy has to be earned. Let me earn this. After that, I’ll go wherever you want.”
His jaw tightens. His features harden. “You’ve got five minutes.”
“I can work with that.” It isn’t a lie. Once he’s tied, his ability to negotiate is over. The game is won. All that’s left is the celebration.
I hold his right wrist to the armrest and begin binding it to the wood with my ribbons.
>
“What the fuck are you doing?” He lashes out, gripping a fistful of my hair—my wig.
I gasp, feigning fear when the reality is anger shooting through my body. “It’s a part of the show,” I plead. “I just—”
A rustle of noise sounds from the back of the room. In the bathroom. No, it must be right outside the window, in the alley. My escape route.
The potential for someone to overhear freezes my blood. It seems to have the same effect on Dan because he releases my hair and scowls at me.
“Hurry up and do your thing.” A slur mars his words. “Then we leave.”
I nod, quick and sharp, ever the eager escort, and continue binding one wrist to the armrest, then the other. Next, I kneel between his spread legs, sliding my palm over his crotch as I lower. There’s no hardened cock behind that zipper, no erection, no arousal. Not surprising. He won’t get turned on again until he’s in control. Not until he’s inflicting pain.
I bat my fake lashes at him and tie his ankles to the chair legs, tightening the last knot against his leg with all my strength.
“Jesus.” He tries to kick me and fails under the restriction. “Stupid bitch. That fucking hurt.”
I cluck my tongue, stand, and leisurely walk to the bathroom to close the door on anyone in the alley who may plan to snoop on my pleasure. “You’re really showing your true colors now, Danny boy.”
His face slackens.
I let the situation sink in—my familiarity, his vulnerability.
Warring emotions spread across his face, from confusion to annoyance, then more confusion. “Who are you?”
I shrug and stroll back to stand before him. “Consider me a business partner. We’re going to work together tonight.”
“Is that right?” His narrowed gaze holds mine as he tugs at his wrist bindings. “Well, I’m more than happy to help a pretty lady. But you might want to untie me. We can’t work together if I’m stuck like this.”
“You’ll do just fine where you are.” I move to the bed and drop to a knee to retrieve the folder I stashed under the ensemble. “It’s very easy, actually. All I need are a few answers to some really simple questions.”