by Sam Crescent
He pulled to a stop in his driveway and got out, uncuffing her from the handle and pushing her to his front door. Inside, he continued guiding her from behind until they stood in the dining room. He’d moved the table and chairs over to the side earlier, easily shifting them due to the rug beneath, and now the trap door to the underground room was in plain view, open and ready to accept her.
“You know where you’re going, don’t you, Margaret?”
She nodded, not a frisson of fear evident, gaze unwavering, chin set, mouth an angry slash that made him want to hurt her. Time enough for that later. For now, keeping her below the ground would appease his anger. He rather looked forward to imagining her crying down there, pining for a man she’d never have again. Oh, the heartbreak! Oh, the sublime pleasure of seeing her twisted up in pain—inside and out!
He bobbed his head in the direction of the trap door and she moved closer to it without complaint, taking the wooden steps down into the darkness. He followed, battling with the voice inside his head telling him to push her, let her tumble over the steps and land on the cement floor.
At the bottom, he reached out to his right and found the hanging light cord. He tugged it and a low-watt bulb sprang to life, illuminating the tunnel-like passageway where a metal door stood at the end. Margaret walked towards it, back straight, spine full of the courage he’d beat out of her, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next week. He hadn’t decided yet.
Once they reached the door, she moved to one side so he could insert the key. He shoved her into the large room, bare of any comforts, the floor the same rough concrete as the tunnel, the walls coarse, unpainted beige plaster.
The perfect prison.
She walked to the centre and turned to face him, eyes blank and giving nothing away, her body seemingly at ease. He wondered if she was screaming inside, imagining where Harry was and why her gallant knight hadn’t yet come to find her. Whether he would even bother once he discovered she wasn’t in the dungeon cage anymore. Master anticipated a visit from him, one where he allowed Knowles into his home to search for Margaret, laughing with glee inside when he showed him into the dining room, the man completely unaware the entrance to finding her was right beneath the rug.
Master laughed—hard and hearty.
“Goodbye, Margaret. I’ll be back at some point to check whether you’re sorry. If I find you’re not, I’ll leave you again. Eventually, you’ll give in and comply. Hunger and thirst will see to that. And oh”—he rubbed his arms in an exaggerated manner—“it’s awfully chilly down here, don’t you think?” He glanced around. “And no blankets or anything. Oh dear.”
He backed out, studying her one last time before he closed the door.
When he returned later, he would expect that look of hatred to be gone, replaced with relief that he’d come back to let her out.
Chapter Thirteen
Ruby watched as Master closed the door on her prison. Although this was only the second time she’d been down here, memories from the last time came flooding back. How long did he intend keeping her here? It could be an indefinite length of time—no one, as far as she knew, was aware of this basement—and she realised no one except Harry would miss her. She’d cut herself off from her mother because of Master, so Ruby being incarcerated for months on end wouldn’t be noticed.
A horrible thought hit her then. What if Master’s friends knew of this room? What if he told them she was here and had the insane idea of sharing her with them? He’d shown possessive tendencies in the past, so she could only hope he still wanted to keep her for himself, but she didn’t know him, not really, and with Master, anything was possible.
Having him touch her again had almost made her sick. In his car, she’d gone inside herself, to that place she’d inhabited before she met Harry, where she kept her self secure, away from Master. When he’d beaten her, put his hands all over her, his fingers in places she didn’t want them to be, she’d switched off. Now, though, down here, she struggled to reach that safe place. Having been caressed in a wholly different way by Harry, she couldn’t seem to erase Master’s recent handling. Shuddering against a wave of revulsion, she simply stared at the wall, her body dead inside and in hateful contrast, alive on the outside with his touch. It was still on her, a tangible imprint of his hands on her skin, buzzing and squirming as though alive.
Unable to stand thinking about it anymore, she turned her mind to other things—anything to keep herself occupied.
What has he done to Harry? Is he okay?
She couldn’t bear to think about anything happening to the man she loved. Had she fucked up big-time in keeping hers and Master’s identities a secret?
Maybe I should have told Harry who I am, who Master is. He would know, then, where to come and find me, but now? Shit!
Panic settled in her gut, a heavy stone that exploded into fragments and spread to the rest of her body. She shook from the force of it and folded her arms, hands over her elbows in an attempt to stop the shivers. Her teeth chattered, the sound reverberating inside her head, and she closed her eyes to ward off the beginnings of a stress headache that threatened, a nasty little twitch at the base of her skull that would bloom and spread much like the panic had done until she gave in and huddled in the corner. She didn’t know what to do or what to think and turned on the spot, knowing there was no way out except through that door. Master—
Stop calling him fucking Master. He’s a pompous prick who deserves a kick in the teeth for what he’s done. Call him by his proper, shitty fucking name!
She blew out a breath, pleased she hadn’t caved in, that she still had fight left in her. She had Harry to focus on, to live for, and if Master thought he could break her again, he had another think coming.
To make herself angry, she thought of the real name of the man who had almost succeeded in turning her into a shell of her former self. Nigel. The prick used to disappear for hours on end, and now she knew it was most probably to the club. But shouldn’t members of the club be under some kind of code? How had he been able to get away with taking her like that? Hadn’t it been clear she was Harry’s sub? Why hadn’t someone stepped forward and stopped her leaving with Nigel? Or was that how it worked there, men and women could arrive with one person and leave with another? From her understanding, though, when a sub belonged to a Master, they remained with that Master until they were released, until their collar—
Fuck. She no longer wore a collar…
There was no way Nigel could have done anything to Harry, was there? Not at the club. He must have been bluffing. She’d noticed there were cameras all over the place, and someone must have seen what happened—or at least they would when the videos were looked over.
But do they even watch the videos? How long will it take for them to see what happened? It could be a weekly thing where they scan the footage. I could be here for days!
Fuck. She was such a fucking dim-witted idiot. Yes, she’d agreed to leave with him because of his threats to Harry, but would Nigel really have seen them through if she’d let someone know she was leaving against her will? She’d been convinced back then he would have, but now she wasn’t so sure. He was just a bully towards women, only able to threaten and hurt them. If it came to standing up to a man, she wasn’t convinced he had the balls.
Smacking her head with her hand, she cursed everything she could think of. The weather, the day, even the bloody time. There was no way he would have hurt Harry.
Going to the door, she tightened her hand around the metal knob, jerked and twisted it, anything to make a noise. But what was the point? Only Nigel would hear it, and knowing she was trying to get out would undoubtedly give him some kind of sadistic pleasure.
Despite that, she kicked the door and screamed at the empty, dark room.
“You fucking coward!” she yelled at the top of her voice.
Not caring about the pain, she continued to kick the door, to rant and curse the bloody thing for not opening. She’d get out of here
somehow, get away from Nigel again if it was the last thing she did. For once in her life she was going to stand up to this bastard.
“Come back here, you prick!”
She slapped her palms on the door, wincing at the sting.
“See! I’m talking like a tramp. Come down here and beat it out of me. Make me speak like a lady if that’s what gets you off. Come on, Nigel!”
Calling him by his name gave her a sense of control, of liberation. It would piss him off, possibly get him flinging that trapdoor open and barrelling down here, rage fuelling his steps.
“You’re nothing like Harry, do you hear me? Nothing! He’s a real Master. Knows how to paddle my arse properly. Not like you!”
Anger and rage built inside her, and she continued throwing taunts and insults until she heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.
She was ready for this. Nothing like a rude awakening for a person to suddenly open up and take notice of the abuse they’d suffered. And fuck had she suffered.
No more!
The door swung open, and she stared at him, wondering if she rushed at him whether she’d catch him off guard for long enough to make it along that tunnel and up the steps. He filled the doorway, put his hands on the jamb either side of him, anticipating what she’d planned to do.
Shit.
“So,” he said. “You refuse to behave.”
He closed the door, locked it, then walked towards her. Ruby refused to look away or give in to the fear that had returned, bluntly and without warning. Facing him took a great amount of risk and courage, but she’d do it. She’d get out of here, find Harry, and tell him exactly what had happened. He was a lawyer—he’d help her bring charges against this sick fucker, wouldn’t he? She swallowed past the knot in her throat and glared at him harder, pure defiance against the man and his regime.
“What have I told you, Margaret?”
“How a Master is not supposed to act.”
He bit his lip, in an attempt to contain his anger she’d bet. Enlightenment hit her and she finally, truly saw past his suave outfit, his impeccable outer appearance, to the brute beneath the surface.
“I see Knowles has been filling your head with rubbish. The whole ‘A sub is the true Master in any relationship’ bullshit.”
Ruby refused to bite back. It would serve this man right to be at the other end of a beating, to have the whip lash out at him and beat the living shit out of his hide, but now wasn’t the time. She’d wait, see how things went and choose the right moment to strike.
“I’m going to have to train you from the start again.” He shook his head as though weary.
She no longer cared what he thought. No one was going to destroy her ability to speak her mind or be a true sub with all the power.
“He is the better man,” she said.
Nigel lashed out, slapping her cheek with such force her head snapped to the side. The contact stung—Jesus, it stung—but she refused to cry out. He turned abruptly and left the room, locking the door behind him.
Had she succeeded in getting one over on him? Had she actually rattled him?
She had no time to think further. The key scraped in the lock again and he slid back inside, a baseball bat in hand. He relocked the door, put the key in his pocket, and she wondered whether she could get it out at some point. She backed away to the rear wall, ready to defend herself from the blows that were sure to come. He advanced towards her, too fast for her to knock him down, grab the key and rush for the door.
“He is not the better man!” he screamed, smashing the bat against the wall beside her head.
She opened her mouth to scream insults back at him, but he gripped her throat with his free hand and squeezed. Her heart rate soared, and she breathed through her nose, short, shallow intakes of air that weren’t enough for her greedy lungs. She went to wrestle his hand away but the thought of touching him stopped her. She sensed he wouldn’t kill her, that he was just doing this to show her who was boss. And what was a squeeze around her throat? Nothing compared to the shit he’d put her through before.
“You fucking bitch.” He brought his face inches from hers. “You’re my woman, my slut, and I’ll use you however I desire.” He smacked the bat on the wall again and a split from the impact made a deep crevice down the bat’s length.
It showed Ruby the true extent of Nigel’s aggression, how he expected to possess her in every way.
He’s fucking crazy!
“You know, you’re so desperate for him to love you…” Nigel laughed, the sound out of place and scary. “If he figures out I’m your Master, if he comes here to rescue your sorry little arse, all it will take is a few words from me for him to believe you’ve gone back to your whore of a mother. Yes, I’ll tell him you’ve gone back to your mother’s. He’ll buy it. He’ll see your childhood home, see where you came from, what and who you really are, a scumbag common bitch!” He breathed over her face and waited for her to respond.
She held back a shudder from the warm, stinking air hitting her skin. “It doesn’t matter,” she croaked out. “Harry said he loves me exactly as I am.”
But it does matter what Harry thinks of me. It does. I love him with all my heart and would do anything for him, but if he goes to my mother’s and sees…I’ll lose him. No matter what he’s said about my past, how it makes no difference to him, I’ll lose him…
She couldn’t give in to her fear, though, and right now she had to think about her safety. All she wanted was get out of here without any trouble—but if she had to fight she would.
“Let me go,” she choked out. “You can find another person who wants to be your special someone.”
Reason with him. Play up to his narcissistic side.
“There’s someone out there who will worship the ground you walk on, Nigel. Why do you want me?” God, her throat throbbed from his hold. Her voice was coming out odd, broken and raspy. “I’ll never be able to give you what you want, so what’s the point? Don’t you want adoration? A woman who thinks you’re a god?”
That’s exactly what he wants, but he’s hell-bent on making me be that person. Jesus, what was I thinking when I first met up with him? Why didn’t I see him for who he really is?
“Do you think I want to train someone new, woman? Why should I bother when it will only take a week or so to have you back to normal? I don’t deny I could have any woman I wanted, but you—you’re something special. There’s something about you… I enjoy you hating me, Margaret. When you showed signs of caring for me at the start, didn’t you notice how I beat it out of you? And this is where you’re dumb. Another woman might have realised what I was doing, but not you. No, you hated me even more, doing just what I’d planned all along. Your hate makes my cock hard.” He pulled the key out of his pocket and dropped the bat, kicking it out of reach. “I’m going to show you how special it can be between us, how that hate of yours can make my cock so hard you’ll think I’m fucking you with metal. And even that can be arranged…”
Ruby looked at the crazed man. How had he managed to get away with this shit for so long?
Because I let him. I played right into his hands. Fuck!
Licking her lips, she thought about her life with him over the past few years and couldn’t find a single memory where the pain and torture had been a form of affection. Nigel was a sadist—nothing more and nothing less.
“We are going to play,” he said, removing his hand from her throat and gripping her hair in his fist.
Ruby struggled to get out of his hold despite her earlier thoughts of remaining calm until she found a chink in his plan that would enable her to escape. Instinct took over and she made to run, not caring if she left a handful of her hair in his hand. He caught her around the waist and threw her against the wall. The pain in her temple from the contact was instant and shocked her system, but she wouldn’t be contained. Even while her head ached and submitting seemed like the easiest option, at the same time she was determined to b
e free.
He thrust her up, hand to her throat again, blessed relief on her scalp as he let go of her hair. She gasped and lashed out, smacking the side of his head.
Nigel growled, covering the spot she’d hit. “That’s it, you bitch. Hate me, hate me some more. My cock’s hard for you, see that?”
Strength infused with revulsion filled her. She shoved at his chest and smacked at his arm until his hold on her throat weakened. She fought until he dropped his hand, then charged past him to the door, her legs wobbly, head pounding.
“Give me the fucking key!” she shouted, knowing her request would be denied. Why had she gone against her earlier plan? Why had she allowed instinct to overrule her like that? Yes, she needed to escape, to get out of this place, but he wasn’t going to just hand over the key and allow her to walk away. She damned herself, could have kicked her own arse to kingdom come for this massive error. Now she’d just given him something else to get hard over, more hatred, more of what he wanted.
He stalked to her, grabbed her around the waist again and threw her against the wall next to the door, landing a punch to the side of her head. A cry erupted from her lips before she had a chance to stop it. Stars glittered, her vision faded, and she panicked at having lost control. She should have remembered what he was capable of, but her newfound confidence from being with Harry had masked the utter horror of her past with Nigel. God, she knew exactly what he could do, but now she was in the thick of it again, she realised some of his punishments had faded in her mind—the terrible nastiness of them, how they had hurt…
He clamped a hand around her throat again, menace clear on his face, the veins in his neck protruding through his skin.
She clawed his hands.
“Do you see what I can do to you? I can squeeze the life out of your useless hide. You mean nothing to me. Do you hear me? Nothing! You’re just a vessel, a body I can abuse.”