Stan grabbed her ankles and dragged her across the hard wood floor, not stopping even as he pulled her down the rickety wooden steps that led to his basement. The pain of the roughshod flooring was nothing compared to the agony of her head and back bouncing down the steps until her head smacked against the cement floor at the bottom.
As her vision blacked out, the last thing she saw was dim yellow lighting when he pulled a string that hung from a single bulb in the ceiling. As the light flickered on and off, on and off, she closed her eyes and gave in to the welcome relief of unconsciousness. Anything had to be better than the pain he’d already subjected her to.
He worked quickly, laying her out on the floor and stripping her so he could prepare her properly. Body hair was a no-no these days, so he applied a depilatory cream to her legs, under her arms, and between her legs. Then he hosed her off, letting the water swirl down the drain conveniently located in the middle of the floor. Then he got her into position.
The stocks he’d made were crude but would do the job. He’d had the foresight to bolt them into the concrete floor along with a padded sawhorse/bench. The two pieces were positioned in a ‘T’ formation, with the stocks parallel to the wall. The sawhorse was kitted out with a simple saddle, as well as straps and ringbolts. By itself, the sawhorse could also serve as a spanking bench for customers with a little more imagination.
It didn’t take him long to finish his preparations. He checked his watch and nodded; he had everything ready right on time. Tonight’s group would be arriving soon. He stepped back and admired his handiwork. He was a fucking genius.
The girl was lying on her stomach along the length of the sawhorse bench, her ass positioned perfectly at the end of the bench. Each ankle was strapped to the bottom of one of the structure’s wide, V-formation legs. Her neck and wrists fit perfectly in the stocks. Anyone standing at the back of the sawhorse wouldn’t be able to see her head because the two wooden panels were securely bracketed together at her neck to hold her in place. She wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.
She was still out of it, which was probably for the best. When she woke up she’d be facing the wall, away from the door. The customers wouldn’t have to see her face unless they had business at that end. He’d leave that up to them; he couldn’t care less. In her current position, there would be plenty of holes to go around. Three; his favorite number. It was a good omen.
When he’d first rented the rickety, old house out in the middle of nowhere, before he’d even secured the job at the hospital, it hadn’t occurred to him to put the damp, dank basement to any kind of use. It had turned out to be exactly what he needed: a true, authentic dungeon; the perfect haven for clients who preferred a no-frills, no-holds barred approach to their bondage fetish. He had the dungeon, he had acquired the equipment, such as it was, and now he had the girl.
It was all coming together perfectly. He’d already confirmed that the girl could suck cock, so he had no worries there. The customers wouldn’t be concerned about whether she enjoyed her work. It wasn’t like she was going to ever talk to anyone beyond these walls or complain to the management about the long hours or the working conditions.
This must be what it was like to have complete control. It was intoxicating. Stan felt unstoppable. With his business up and running, he would soon be able to turn his attention to Harley. Then he’d be in the perfect position to complete his ‘business’ with the cartel and retire a very rich man. But first things first.
He double-checked her restraints, then turned toward the stairs and pulled the string to turn out the overhead light, going through the sequence three times, of course. Four was too many; two, not quite enough. As he released the string, the tension in his chest eased and he felt utterly calm again. He found comfort in his strange little quirks.
With his preparations complete, he headed toward the stairs. Three slow knocks at the front door brought a smile to his face. Showtime. He paused on the bottom step as he wondered if she was scared of the dark. Oh, he hoped so. If she wasn’t yet, she would be by the time he was finished with her.
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, Harley rested her forehead on her hands as she clutched the steering wheel. When had her solitary life gotten so out of control? The moments alone were becoming more and more rare.
She’d managed to talk King into letting her go into work today, but it hadn’t been easy. He was a man driven by primal impulses and a deeply protective nature – a combination that appeared to have ignited some profoundly predatory instincts. She knew perfectly well that he was tracking her every move, whether it was via phone, computer, or GPS. During quiet moments like this, she could practically feel his eyes on her.
She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She missed things being easy, when her anxiety had usually stemmed from concern about a patient or taking too many double-shifts at the hospital. External factors were one thing, but inner turmoil was something else entirely.
She lifted her head and rested her chin on the steering wheel to stare up at the hospital’s impressive brick façade. She’d have to deal with Stacy today and she was dreading it. Their last conversation had ended in an argument. Awkward… It was yet another example of how the simple things in her life were suddenly not so simple.
Her phone chimed. She looked down to see a text from King:
My sweet Summer, things won’t always be this complicated. I’m sorry, baby, for bringing all this drama into your life. I promise I’ve got your back -- and I’ll make it worth your while.??
She couldn’t help but smile at the pet name he’d given her and that winking emoji. The man could read her mind; she hoped that was a good thing but sometimes she wasn’t so sure.
Harley took another breath and grabbed the door handle before she could change her mind and beg for another day off. It was time to face her best friend. Surely they’d be able to find common ground and move on. She got out, pressed the key fob to lock the car, and dropped her cell phone into her scrubs pocket. Steeled with a new determination, she strode toward the hospital door.
“Hello, Harley,” the receptionist said, looking over her glasses at her as she entered the hospital lobby.
“Hi, Ellen. How are you?” Harley smiled in greeting as she passed the reception area and the gift shop. She picked up her pace when she saw the elevator door was still open and the ‘up’ arrow was blinking.
“Wait, please!” she said as she hurried across the floor in the hopes of catching a ride to her floor. A hand reached around to hold the door open. When she saw the lone passenger on the elevator, she inwardly cringed and her steps faltered briefly before she recovered. She smiled brightly at him as she stepped inside and the doors slid closed behind her.
“Good morning, Stan. How are you this morning?” As the elevator lurched into motion, he kept his eyes focused on a spot on the floor, like he couldn’t quite meet her eyes.
“I’m fine,” he replied quietly. “Um, thank you so much for asking,” he blurted just before the elevator doors opened on her floor.
“Will you be getting off?” she asked, smiling at him over her shoulder when she stepped out.
“Oh, no, no,” he said hurriedly, his cheeks turning pink as he reached up and jabbed at the button for a different floor.
“Okay, then. Well, have a good day, Stan. Thanks for all you do.” When the doors began to slide together, something made Harley look. At the last possible second before the doors clanged together, Stan’s head shot up and he looked straight at her with eyes that were strangely intense.
Even though the elevator was already well on its way to its next destination, Harley took an involuntary step back and swallowed hard. It was all she could do not to run the other way to avoid him at every opportunity, but she had no intention of falling into that trap. Yes, he was positively creepy as hell, but what if he was just a shy social outcast? In her mind, it didn’t warrant being unkind to him.
She’d always been the defender of
those who weren’t welcomed in society. In high school, she’d been the same way; rather than making her a target for bullies, she had won the respect of other students. Harley didn’t let anyone tell her who her friends were – not that Stan was her friend. She did, however, find it strange that he didn’t push an elevator button until she got off. And the way he’d stared at her as the elevator doors closed – so creepy. She tried to dismiss the suspicions that entered her mind whenever Stan was around. Maybe he was just strange.
Stacy rushed down the hall toward her with her arms open wide. “I’m so sorry,” she said before colliding with Harley and wrapping her in a warm hug.
Harley felt all the tension and dread from their last conversation melt away as she returned the hug. She didn’t want to lose her friend, but she also wasn’t going to allow Stacy to dictate whom she did or didn’t date. Whether Harley wanted to admit it or not, she was becoming rather fond of King. He was growing on her. Despite their unconventional beginnings, it was easy to connect with him -- not to mention the sex was off the charts. The thought sent heat scorching a path through her.
It was the first time any man had ever taken the time to please her sexually without expecting anything in return. The man was all about her pleasure. King was quickly becoming an intoxicating drug running its course through her veins. Their chemistry offset any reservations she may have had about his cartel connections and his inherent intrusiveness. King’s unpredictable nature made life exciting. She was enjoying the adrenalin rush, even if she didn’t completely understand it.
“Maybe you’re right,” Stacy continued, “maybe I’ve been a little jealous of your relationship with King. I’ve always had you to myself and everything with you guys has happened so fast. Is this serious? I mean, are you falling in love with him?”
The question hit Harley like a sucker punch, stealing her breath. She wasn’t ready to think about what their relationship was or wasn’t. It was much easier to think of them as two entities being forced together by fate or destiny. She’d never been a believer in love at first sight and had always considered anyone who did to be weak. But weak wasn’t a word to describe a girl who’d grown up entrenched in the biker culture.
Harley clasped her friend’s shoulders and said softly, “Let’s just forget all about it and move on.”
“That works for me,” Stacy answered with tears in her eyes.
“Great! Well, let’s get to work. Fill me in on what’s going on.” Harley was determined to get Stacy’s mind off King. She’d learned all too well that piquing her friend’s curiosity was way too risky.
“You know the woman, Lonny Brooks -- the one who comes into the ER on a regular basis and whose husband passes her injuries off as her just being ‘chronically clumsy’? She came in again last night and had to be kept for observation; a head injury this time.”
Harley shook her head sadly. “What’s her excuse this time?”
“She fell down the steps,” Stacy said and rolled her eyes. “I’m saying something this time, Harley, I mean it. I’m sick of looking the other way. Her husband’s all sweetness and light when he’s here with her, but you can just see the hate seething inside him, can’t you? He’s beating the shit out of her and I’m not going to stand by and let him kill her.”
Harley stopped and took her friend’s arm. “You’re walking a fine legal line here, Stacy, and I must encourage you to be very careful – for your sake and the hospital’s. Now, I agree with you; she’s obviously being abused. Just be careful and refer her to all the agencies that can help her. Talk her into getting help without being too pushy or putting yourself in the middle of their drama. He’s proven many times already that he’s capable of inflicting harm without thinking twice about it. If you steer her toward the professionals who are trained to deal with spousal abuse, then you won’t get yourself in trouble – or worse.”
“Are you insinuating that I’m too pushy?”
“Nooo, not you,” Harley answered, rolling her eyes.
As they approached Mrs. Brooks’ room, both women mentally braced themselves for what they knew they would see. It still didn’t help when they entered the room and saw her. She appeared to be sleeping so Harley was able to assess the damage without being observed, and there was no candy coating the situation: Lonny Brooks was a mess.
One eye was black and blue, and swollen shut. One arm was in a sling and sporting a wrist brace. Her lip was cut and swollen with a raised purple bruise forming. Her blonde hair was matted with blood on the side of her head and there was a large bald spot where her head had been shaved to enable the ER docs to staple a laceration closed.
Both women were surprised when Mrs. Brooks opened one eye and spoke. Her speech came out rather garbled due to her swollen lip, but they could make out her words nonetheless. “My face must wook wike def warmed ober.” She winced and gingerly took a steadying breath.
Harley was the first to speak. She stood next to the woman and stroked her hand. “You’re still beautiful. By the time we get you out of here, you’ll be ready for a beauty pageant.”
Mrs. Brooks laughed, then groaned and lifted her uninjured hand to her mouth. She stilled and gave each of the women a steady, knowing look. “You must tink I’m terribull por putting up wit dis.”
Harley had to listen carefully to decipher the woman’s garbled words, but she could understand her well enough. She was more interested in the fact that the woman was admitting her husband had been abusing her. It was the first time she’d ever acknowledged it, so Harley listened and said nothing, not wanting to risk interrupting Mrs. Brooks’ moment of truth.
“Ip jus dat we’b got two kids. I got nobere to go.” A single tear rolled down the woman’s swollen cheek. There was more pain in that one tear than a full-blown ugly cry. Harley’s heart ached with compassion for the woman – and her blood boiled. For the first time since she’d met King, she entertained the thought of asking him to kill for a cause other than cartel business.
Deciding to try for the moral high road, Harley slid her hand into her pocket and retrieved a business card. She slipped it into the white plastic Patient Belongings bag on the bedside table.
“There are places that can help you and your kids, Mrs. Brooks. They can protect you. When you’re ready to get help, you call me.”
“Pwease, call me Lonny. And tank you,” she winced, “dat’s bewwy kind--”
“Sweetheart, I came as soon as I heard. Excuse me, Miss.” Stacy was practically picked up and set off to the side as Mr. Brooks approached his wife’s bedside. He placed a bouquet of flowers in her lap on the bed and clasped her hand between both of his. But Harley didn’t miss the steely glare he directed at her and Stacy from across the bed before he directed a saccharine sweet smile at his wife.
She guessed he was about 6’3” and maybe 250 pounds, and not an ounce of fat anywhere on his massive frame. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt with steel-toed boots. If she was remembering correctly, he owned a construction company. With the real estate bubble bursting and construction companies suffering under it, it was likely they were having financial problems, which would add to any couple’s stress. It was no excuse for what he was doing to his wife, of course. That shit needed to stop.
Harley could see the fear in the woman’s eyes as soon as her husband walked in. In that moment, she knew: if something wasn’t done, he was going to kill Lonny.
“What on earth happened?” he asked solicitously.
There was a long silence, during which Lonny looked into her husband’s eyes. “I fell down da stairs,” she said slowly, as if reading from a script.
He laughed indulgently. “What am I going to do with you, huh? I leave to go to work and no sooner do I get there, than I get a phone call that you drove yourself to the ER.” His eyes heated with displeasure that he couldn’t hide. “I had to get someone to cover for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart. Just try to be more careful.�
��
Harley abruptly began fiddling with the IV in Mrs. Brooks’ arm.
“What are you doing there?” he asked, his voice clipped.
Harley smiled coolly at him as he lowered himself into the chair next to the bed. His wary, bloodshot eyes missed nothing as he looked between the nurses and his wife. “Just doing my job, sir. She’s been through a lot, but she’s a strong woman and I’m sure she can handle whatever comes her way.” She directed her next words at Lonny. “How you doing on pain meds, sweetie?”
“I’m fine.” Lonny’s voice was meek and barely audible.
“I’ll have them get you something, just in case. It’s best to stay ahead of the pain and not let it get the best of you.” She patted Mrs. Brooks’ hand and glared pointedly at Mr. Brooks. She lifted her chin at Stacy, who was observing the scene from her position by the door, and the two left the room.
They stopped at the nurses’ station to order Lonny’s pain meds. The least they could do was keep her comfortable while she was in their care. She would be on her own again soon enough, unfortunately.
Stacy waited until they were out of earshot to speak. “That bastard had the nerve to bring her flowers.”
“It’s all part of the abuse cycle.” Harley shook her head. “What’s his name?”
“Jack-off Jerk Wank Wannabe, that’s his fucking name.” Stacy laughed at her own joke, then got serious when she saw that Harley didn’t find the remark particularly funny. “No, really, his name’s Bobby Brooks. Can you believe that shit? Who names their kid after the lyrics to a John Mellencamp song?”
“The lyrics were about a brand of clothes, Stacy.”
Stacy frowned. “Oh. Really? Go figure. Hey, I thought I was supposed to be doing the talking,” Stacy said, as if just realizing that Harley had taken the lead in the previous conversation.
“I was concerned you’d get pissed and say the wrong thing.”
Daring Summer (Colombian Cartel Book 5) Page 9