My glare should have poked him all over, like a million little needles.
“You are such a tease.”
“And you need your rest.” He tucked me in, like I was a defiant child, as I narrowed my gaze at him. “As well as some time to recover,” he added.
“You know I’ll get even.”
“I’m sure you will.” He brushed his lips over mine, making me sigh and melting some of the irritation at being sent to bed without the rest of my treat.
Him. Inside me.
Donovan switched off the light, then left the room. I was so relaxed from my orgasm that I think I was asleep before the door closed behind him.
April 23
Tuesday, early, early morning
Nameless, faceless people. I shoot, shoot, shoot.
I’m strapped to a chair. I smell the sweat and stink of the Cuban prison. A man slugs me. I see stars, and then the man starts to unzip his pants.
Randolph. Dead. Her face white as she floats face up in the harbor, her throat slashed, her eyes and mouth open in a scream no one will ever hear.
Kristin. I can see her. But she’s so far away. Must get to her!
Fire sears my skin, my entire being, as Cabot presses the brand inside my thigh. I scream, then scream louder as he pulls the hot metal from my skin.
The pain goes on forever as I struggle against the bonds on the St. Andrew’s Cross. He’s going to take that horrid metal and brand every bit of my naked flesh.
B. C. Benjamin Cabot.
His property.
“No!” I scream over and over again as he heats the metal again in red-hot coals. An orange-red glow from the flaming brand lights the devil’s features as he raises it and brings it toward the inside of my other thigh.
Cabot jabs the brand at me like a fencer going in for the kill. He presses the hot metal so hard and so long against my flesh that I know he’s going to burn it away, through to the bone.
I’ll never stop screaming. I’ll never be able to escape. I’ll be his property forever.
“No, no, no.” The word comes out over and over again before I start begging. “Please, no. Please, stop!”
He laughs. His eyes gleam red, matching the red glow of the coals. He brings the brand up to my breast—
“Lexi!” A male voice shouted at me.
In total darkness, a heavy body pinned me down against something soft. Still I fought, and the man gave a loud “oof” sound when I rammed my elbow into his belly. His shin was hard against my heel and he said, “Lexi!” before holding me tighter.
“No!” I shouted. “Not the brand! I won’t let you do it again!”
I fought and screamed with everything I had. For some reason my right arm wouldn’t move, but my left elbow worked real well.
“Lexi! Stop.” The male voice gave another grunt of pain as I rose and slammed the back of my head into his forehead.
“No,” I screamed again. “Get it away. Get it away!”
The man practically growled, “It’s Donovan, Lexi. Donovan. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”
I still struggled, but my movements were more feeble as my mind started to clear.
Donovan. His scent. The hardness of his body. The way he held me so tight, but trying not to hurt me.
The mattress was soft beneath me as my whole body went limp. Reality crept to my consciousness. I was away from Cabot. He couldn’t brand me.
Again.
I pressed my hand to the bandage over my belly button. His initials seemed to burn as hot as the brand that had burned me in my dream.
When I swallowed my throat hurt, probably from screaming.
“Hey.” Donovan’s voice, softer now as he let up his tight grip on me. “It’s going to be all right. It was just a nightmare.”
“His brand is there. It’s never going to be okay,” I whispered.
“We’ll make it okay.” He pressed his lips to my temple and gave me a soft kiss. “But we’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“Hold me. Please.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Donovan wrapped his arm around my waist and spooned himself against my back. “I’ll hold onto you while you sleep. You’re safe.”
“Thank you,” I whispered before I eventually slipped into a dreamless sleep, secure that for the rest of the night Donovan would keep the demons away.
CHAPTER 32
Kristin
April 23
Tuesday
“Now that you’re broken in,” Michaels said with a smile, once the chain was affixed to a jumbo-sized hook installed in the floor, “I’ll let you have free range in the kitchen and dining nook. With the collar and chain on at all times, of course.”
Kristin thought of knives. Kitchens usually meant knives.
He chuckled as if he could read her mind. “I’ve taken out anything lethal. Just in case you get any kind of strange urges that involve pain for me or death for you.”
Kristin blinked. Suicide? That was something that had never come to her mind. She always held tight to the belief that Nick would find her.
She was a psychology major and a realist. She knew she wasn’t going to get out of this mentally intact. It would take loads of therapy, but one day Michaels would be dead or in prison, and she’d be fine. She might not want to have sex for the rest of her life. But kill herself?
Michaels looked her naked body up and down. “Beautiful, as always.”
Every time he did that—appraised her like a prized mare and complimented her—her skin crawled and she wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.
“Fix my breakfast.” Michaels waved toward the fridge and stove. “I don’t have much time. My first class is in an hour.” He strode away through the swinging doors that were a good ten feet from the end of her chain.
Classes. The semester was nearly over and here she was.
Kristin wasn’t in the mood for the thin belt Michaels had used on her when he was ticked that she hadn’t done what he said. She had to make this fast.
She looked around a large kitchen filled with cherrywood cabinets, a granite island, and stainless-steel appliances. Unlike Nick, her cooking skills were so-so, but she could get by. She headed for the pantry. The obviously expensive tile had an uneven texture beneath her bare feet.
Windows. What about the windows?
There were plenty.
All shuttered. And her chain didn’t reach that far.
For a moment she could only stare at another bit of freedom, so close, but just out of her reach.
Something hard lodged in her chest. She wanted to throw one thing after another at those windows and shatter them all.
But that wouldn’t do any good if she wasn’t close enough to them to scream for help, and wasn’t able to get herself out of this collar with its freaking heavy, thick chain.
Still—she would keep them in mind.
Kristin pulled her long hair back and twisted it into a knot so that it would stay out of her face.
After searching through the fridge and pantry—the entire time looking for anything that could be used as a lethal weapon—she found pancake mix, frozen sausage links, and eggs.
She scavenged through the utensil drawer. All plastic utensils, like spatulas and spaghetti spoons. Pretty useless if she wanted to inflict any damage.
But in one corner in the back was something Michaels didn’t think would matter—or he didn’t see.
A small, flat, metal punch can opener. The punch opener was about three inches long, with a triangular point on one end and a bottle cap opener on the other.
Kristin looked over her shoulder, her heart racing. It wasn’t much, but maybe she could use it to pick at the leather collar, under the strap. If she only had someplace to hide it on her body. The only thing she had on was the halfinch thick, inch-wide leather collar, and it wasn’t big enough. The collar was made of a material that was soft and didn’t chafe her, and he didn’t seem to think she needed balm beneath it.
&n
bsp; But she still couldn’t hide the can opener there. Instead she’d find someplace he’d never look. She had to get his breakfast done or she’d end up with strap marks from that belt. She ducked under the sink—the idiot had actually left stove cleaner, another thing to think about. She tucked the can opener so far back in the cabinet that she was positive it would never be seen. For good measure she pushed the spray stove cleaner back, too.
Now cook. Fast.
While she made breakfast, the normally delicious smells made her stomach cramp, but she wouldn’t throw up.
She had puked on Michaels the first time he’d had her suck him in the bedroom and forced her to swallow. All these weeks later and she swore she could still feel his fists. Who’d have thought a man with zero muscle tone could pack the kind of punch he did?
She flipped a pancake. Food was something she didn’t care about anymore. She just ate because she had to. Not just because Michaels insisted, but she had to be ready and well for the first opportunity she had . . .
Whatever that might be.
What was it that Michaels had said? Now that he’d broken her. It had been only a couple of days since he’d let three other professors have her at once, and she wanted to throw up at the memory, and roll up into a ball and stay that way forever.
The green fluid Michaels had shot her up with had made her dazed, but also made her respond sexually to the men, as if she enjoyed it. The whole thing was like something had taken her over and she’d been on the inside watching out. The way she had responded made her feel like she needed to be scrubbed inside and out, and never stop.
She didn’t want to remember but the images of herself and the men wouldn’t go away, and a tear tried to escape from the corner of her eye.
Grease splattered her naked breasts while the sausages popped and sizzled, and she yelped from the sting. The burn was welcome as it took her away from thinking about things she wanted to forget.
Kristin stared at the pan. A hot pan. It was lightweight, cheap—he probably thought she couldn’t hurt him with the single pan he’d left in the kitchen.
Her heart beat faster, like it had when she found the punch opener and the oven cleaner. Somehow she could use these things. She just needed a plan. A good plan.
She flipped the last pancake. She’d get away, yes. But even when she was far away from this monster, she knew she could never forget everything he’d done to her. Everything about him was branded into her permanently.
Michaels walked into the room just as she finished putting out a paper plate and plastic spoon for him. He sure wasn’t taking any chances by giving her only plastic spoons.
The collar didn’t chafe her but she hated it. Hated everything it represented. She tugged at the leather collar before she picked up the plastic tray of pancakes, sausage links, and fried eggs that she had prepared for Michaels. Not professor. Not Professor Michaels. He was nothing.
The chain jangled as she moved from the stove to the kitchen table. No ordinary chain. It weighed her down, not only physically but mentally. It was so large it would take an elephant to break away from it. A tractor might be able to move the hook he’d had installed.
When she reached the table with the tray, Michaels looked up at her and smiled. “Breakfast smells wonderful.”
I hope you choke on it.
Kristin had a hard time keeping her lips from trembling as she forced a smile in return, like she was expected to, as well as responding with “Thank you, Professor.”
Kristin carefully used the plastic spatula to move four pancakes, six sausage links, and three fried eggs to his plate. Maybe he would die of clogged arteries.
“I’m in the mood for a little something extra this morning with breakfast.” He studied her naked body again, hunger in his small eyes.
Blood seemed to drain from her scalp, through her body, and all the way into the floor.
Oh no. Oh, God, no.
Michaels pointed down. “On your hands and knees.”
Kristin trembled so hard the chain links rattled as they scraped against the floor when she obeyed. This was something he’d never made her do before. Another degrading act that sent acid washing through her.
The horror filling her was like someone was taking knives to her body as she watched him unfasten his slacks and release his erection.
Maybe death was better.
“Crawl.” He indicated to her to come to him by crooking his finger. “And suck.”
Kristin couldn’t have stopped it if she wanted to. Right now she welcomed it. That acid she’d felt in her chest bolted up her throat. Her stomach heaved and she threw up all over his cold tile floor.
She felt his kick to her belly before she realized he’d moved.
CHAPTER 33
Nick
April 23
Tuesday afternoon
As they settled down in what Lexi called Nick’s “war room,” Lexi swiveled on a chair beside him and held her cast to her belly. He was so damned thankful they’d found her, he wanted to hold her and not let her go.
He met her green eyes as she said, “Thank you for finding me.”
Nick grabbed her chair and pulled it toward him, the rollers making it easy for him to reach her. He captured her small chin in one of his hands. “How could I let down the best partner I’ve ever had?”
She grinned. “You just missed the sex.”
He almost laughed. “There is that.”
One of his cell phones rang and he released her to draw the phone out of its clip, then set it next to a monitor as Lexi rolled her chair back a little.
He pushed the speakerphone button, his eyes still on Lexi. “Donovan,” he said.
“Is this Nick Donovan?” a young woman’s voice said over the speakerphone. “Kristin’s brother?”
Nick’s attention snapped fully from Lexi to the cell. “Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Carlene.” The girl hesitated. “You asked me some questions about Kristin weeks ago, after she disappeared. I was with her that night.” Her voice sounded hopeful as she added, “Have you found her?”
Nick rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger and he sighed. It was just a friend asking after his sister. “No,” his tone was sharp. He sighed again and said in a calmer voice, “We’re still looking for leads.”
“I wish we would never have talked her into going to the club.” Carlene sounded bitter. “She had a paper due for her abnormal psych class. Professor Michaels is a real dickhead.”
“I’ve got your number.” Nick was already turning his attention to the surveillance monitors. “I’ll let you know when we find her.”
“Wait.” The girl rushed to get her words out. “I’m on my cell phone and late for class because I just heard a conversation that I think might be important. What I overheard, well, the whole thing didn’t sound right.” Carlene paused for only a moment. “One of the agents with you mentioned sex slave stuff—that right now there’s a huge market for it in Boston and women were being kidnapped from clubs.”
Carlene had Nick’s full attention again. “Go on.” He gritted his teeth, trying to remain calm, but the sex slave reference wasn’t making it easy.
Carlene started talking faster, “I’d dropped my backpack by a faculty lounge in the psych building—you know, WJ Hall.”
“I interviewed Kristin’s teachers there after she disappeared,” Nick said. “Along with as many students as I could track down.”
“This was creepy and strange,” Carlene said and Nick had the urge to tell her to hurry. “Okay, so I dropped my backpack. It’s a Louis Vuitton and I’d been in a hurry and hadn’t latched it right, so my books fell out.” She took a deep, audible breath. “Anyway, I heard voices. Men’s voices. I wasn’t paying attention until they said something that freaked me out.”
A sensation like flames licking his skin raced down Nick’s spine. “Go on.”
“I heard one man say he wished he had a student who’d drop out of school just to, uh, we
ll . . .” she cleared her throat. “What he said was a student to drop out to ‘fuck’ any time he wanted to.”
Nick stood, his back completely rigid as he stared at the phone, those flames along his back turning into pinpricks of fire. “What else?” he asked.
“A couple of other men were talking, too.” The girl started to sound a little frightened. “One man said something about how hot the student was last night. They couldn’t believe how excited the cute little blond slut was to have three men, uh, screw her, all at the same time. That she liked doing it while—I didn’t catch a name—watched.”
Nick dropped back into his chair and his stomach churned. He braced his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands, his mind suddenly swimming. His voice was hoarse as he raised his head and said to Carlene, “Did any of the men add to that?”
“I don’t think—” Carlene paused for a moment. “Wait. They said that the ‘professor’—so it was one of them—told the men the girl seemed kinda out of it because she liked to do a little coke before she got it on. One man laughed and said fine by him. He’d sure like to find a piece of ass like that himself.”
“Anything else?” Nick was finding it hard to talk. “Are you sure you didn’t catch any names? Recognize any voices?”
“No. The psych department is huge and I’ve only studied under a few of the professors there.”
“What happened next?” If it was his sister—goddamn fucking sonofabitch. Then what she was going through was unthinkable. He’d gut every fucker who’d touched her.
The line crackled with a little static. “One of them sounded closer to the door when he talked so I grabbed everything I’d dropped and got out of there.”
“That was good.” Nick took deep, measured breaths as he continued to bend his head and brace his elbows on his knees. “You sure no one had any idea you heard them?”
“Positive,” Carlene said. “A class let out the same time I scooted around the corner so I was sort of in the middle of them before any of the professors could have come out of the lounge.”
“Thank you, Carlene,” Nick said and he couldn’t have helped holding back the pain in his voice if he’d tried.
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