by Vonna Harper
12
“It’s not working.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“It’s me. I’m not as much of a bastard as I thought I was.”
“So what are you saying?”
As little as possible. Restless, Reeve stepped outside, his cell phone at his ear. The moment he did, the afternoon’s heat slammed into him. How the hell anyone survived living in the desert in the summer was beyond him. Oh yeah, there was AC but who wanted to spend months locked inside?
“I’ve been thinking about the trade-off,” he told Agent J. Much as Reeve wanted to go back inside, he also didn’t want to take a chance on Saree hearing. Just because he’d left her in the training room didn’t mean she might not somehow pick up on what he was saying. Besides, thinking was marginally easier when he wasn’t near her. “All our focus on shutting down The Slavers, we didn’t adequately address the issue of what would happen to the woman we needed to get us in the door.”
“You’re doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Giving me that we shit. I’ve never met the subject. What is it? She’s putting up more of a fight than we anticipated? Maybe having to put your hands all over her is asking too much of your cock? Damn it, Reeve. You said you could handle it.”
Because I believed I could. “I was wrong,” he admitted, his eyes on what he took to be a solitary buzzard high above. From where he was standing, it didn’t look as if there was a single other living creature for miles. Maybe the buzzard was waiting for him to keel over from the heat.
“What do you mean, wrong? Damn it, Reeve, don’t make me pull this out of you. Play that damn silent macho role with someone else. I need honest.”
No arguing there, which whether he wanted to admit it or not was why he’d called J. One of the most complex operations The Clan had ever been involved in called for complete cooperation between the various players.
“She’s getting to me.” He forced the words. “Never saw it coming.”
“Shit. Okay, back up here. You’ve been trying the techniques we agreed to, taking her through the same steps we know are being used on the women The Slavers have gotten their hands on, right?”
“Up to a point.”
“What point?”
“I stopped at hurting her. I’m not going to put whip marks on her, I’m not.” An image of Saree getting off on the whip play they’d indulged in floated through him.
“Reeve. Damn it, do you think I like this any better than you do? You know how many strategy meetings we had discussing this. But no matter how many ways we twisted things, it came down to believability. The Slavers are going to see right through an act. Fear and defeat can’t be faked.”
He knew that in spades because he’d been in on all of those strategy meetings. Back then, feeling the eyes of other agents on him and believing he was dead inside, he’d agreed that one woman would have to be at least temporarily sacrificed if others were going to be saved. There’d be counseling for her afterward of course, they’d all agreed. As for whether the counseling would help…Find another subject, he wanted to throw at J. “There has to be another way. The video feed made it into their site; we know that. What’s so damn hard about locating the physical operation?”
“Because they’re that good,” J said, as Reeve knew he would. “Just because they roam the net for recruits doesn’t mean they’re going to open a real door. Damn, it’s too late to change plans. Get that through your head and do your job. Go to confession or whatever you have to once it’s over.”
“What about you? No trouble facing yourself in the mirror knowing you had a hand in ruining Saree?”
J’s silence lasted just long enough for the point to be made; this devil’s decision hadn’t been any easier on him. “She’s not going to be in any worse shape than those we hope to save. Never forget, they can be salvaged, if we get there in time.”
“Maybe.”
“All right,” J allowed. “Maybe. That’s up to the shrinks.”
“Yeah, it is. The thing is, we didn’t have a hand in what’s being done to those other women. We’re the solution, not the problem—except with Saree.”
For the second time, J didn’t hurry his reply. Leaning against the door and sweating, Reeve wondered what Saree was doing. He’d untied her within moments of their explosive fucking and then watched as she half stumbled, half walked into the bathroom. As intriguing as the idea of joining her in the shower was, he’d been unable to summon up the energy to get off the bed.
When she finished, she’d returned to him. She’d made sure he saw her looking at the locked door before climbing onto the bed next to him. Only then had he given into the need for a drink of water and a pee. She was more asleep than awake by the time he’d finished. Knowing he wasn’t in any better shape, he’d chained her foot to the bed before stretching out on the bed next to her. She hadn’t touched him but then neither had she turned her back on him.
“Look, I didn’t want to have to tell you this yet,” J said. “You have enough of a job getting her prepared.”
“Tell me what?”
“A certain video has shown up on the net.”
“What are you talking about?”
Because he’d never professed to be a computer or Internet expert, Reeve missed some of the details of how a techno-geek member of The Clan had found the video that had recently been released to several underground sex sites. So far the geek hadn’t had any luck tracking down the video’s source, but one thing J was adamant about, the contents had shaken everyone who’d seen it.
“I’ve already sent it to your computer,” he said. “Watch and then tell me you’re turning your back on your part of our operation.”
“Don’t do this to me.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
Reeve turned on his computer and went on the Internet but not before pouring himself a drink. He’d seen and participated in some things he knew would follow him to his grave, but that didn’t mean he’d just sit back and calmly wait for the video to begin.
The quality was better than he expected, proof that expensive equipment had been used by someone who knew what they were doing. There was no slow pan across the opulent room furnished with leather recliners and heavy drapes. Instead, the first thing Reeve saw was four men with their faces in shadow, each with a naked woman kneeling at his feet. The men were all in recliners, drinks and cigars at hand. Because of the way the chairs had been grouped, each man could see what the others were doing. When the camera closed in on the women, he saw that they all had collars on their necks and S brands on their left hips. Unlike the men, no attempt had been made to hide their identities. Chains led from the collars to their owners’ hands. The fact that they weren’t restrained in any other way told Reeve they were intimidated—that and their trembling bodies and fear-filled eyes.
They were beautiful, at least they’d been back when they’d cared for their hair, worn makeup, and pampered their bodies. Every girl bore signs of having been whipped, ranging from red-laced backs to legs, even breasts. Looking too much like well-trained dogs, they sat on their haunches with their hands resting on their thighs as they looked up at their masters. Although the men seldom paid them any attention, the girls’ gazes remained locked on those they believed would punish them when and if it occurred to them to do so.
As for why the men were otherwise occupied—
Pushing PAUSE, Reeve took a deep and hopefully calming breath. A fifth woman who’d been in the process of crawling on hands and knees from one man to the other was frozen in midcrawl. A few strands of dank hair had fallen over her face, but he could still make out her features.
The dead woman whose body had shown up a few days before he’d captured Saree.
Hating everything with a cock, himself included, he forced himself to hit PLAY. The woman wore both handcuffs and ankle restraints designed for visual appeal as much as practicality. The metal around her slender wrists and ankles was at
least twice as wide as necessary and included large, serious-looking locks. As for the chains binding her limbs together, unless he didn’t know what he was looking at, they were gold. Nice touch, unless you were on the receiving end.
Like the docile pet-women, she’d been fitted with a collar to which a good five feet of chain had been fixed. He’d already seen one man hand the chain to the man on his left.
The final touch to her captivity, or maybe it had been the first, consisted of an O-ring gag. The damnable thing wasn’t going anywhere as witnessed by the elaborate leather harnessing around her head. The ring itself had been shoved deep into her mouth, keeping it open. Thanks to the O’s generous size, the average man would have no trouble fitting his cock inside it. That done, all he’d have to do was sit back and relax while she struggled to suck him. She’d already enticed one man to climax and was making her way to the second so she could repeat her earlier success.
She’d been crying as witnessed by the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, and her eyes had a defeated look he’d never be able to forget. She too had been whipped, on her back and buttocks and maybe elsewhere.
But she was alive. Back then, damn it, she’d been alive!
The moment Reeve walked in the room, Saree knew something had changed in him. The complex man she’d had sex with had disappeared. In his place was the near robot she’d briefly believed him to be earlier. No, she amended as he stared at her, he wasn’t a robot after all. And complexity was there all right, only it was different from what he’d revealed before.
Despite what had taken place between them, they weren’t equals because of her restraint and lack of clothes. Yet that wasn’t what kept her silent. Making no attempt to hide her scrutiny, she stared as he locked the door behind him, folded his arms across his chest, and stared down at her.
“What happened earlier isn’t going to be repeated.” His voice held no warmth. “My task is to train you. That’s what I intend to do.”
Although she tried to prepare herself for whatever he had in mind, he only continued to stare at her. Both unnerved and turned on by everything he represented, she willed herself not to move. After what seemed like a vast stretch of time, he stalked over to the dresser and selected several items. She spotted more of the short leather straps that he’d fastened to her wrist and ankle cuffs earlier.
Why are you doing this? There was something between us, I know it.
He was on her before she knew what he’d intended, easily knocking her back before forcing her onto her back. Instinct took over, and she fought his hold on her arms, but of course he won. Deceptively quiet clicking sounds told her what her muscles already knew; he’d cuffed her hands in front.
When he lifted his weight off her, she turned onto her side in preparation for sitting up. He reached for her free leg.
“No!” she yelled, and aimed her bare foot at his crotch. The blow missed its mark but connected with his inner thigh. Taking a deep breath, he clamped a hand around her calf. Pain marched up her leg. By the time she realized he’d driven his thumb into her calf, he’d fastened leather to the anklet. Using the leather as his anchor, he forced her leg close to the one already fastened to the bed. She sobbed when she heard yet another click, didn’t have to see her legs to understand that he’d hobbled her.
“You don’t have to do this,” she snapped. “Don’t you understand, I wanted what happened between us.”
“I don’t.”
Liar. You can’t mean—Stifling the words that would make her sound even more vulnerable than she was, she forced her thoughts off herself and onto him. Shorts again masked what made him a man, but he couldn’t completely hide the look in his eyes. Something had happened while they’d been apart, and all she could do was wait for him to reveal whatever it was. In the meantime—in the meantime, what did he intend to do with her?
“You suck cock,” he said. “I’ve seen you do it.”
Did he expect her to respond? Suddenly something she’d long enjoyed and saw as yet another element of job security seemed shameful.
“That’s what you’re going to do to me, now, the way I tell you to.”
Since he’d seen her at work, he surely knew she’d been told that or versions of that particular line any number of times, and that although she’d usually pretended to put up resistance, in truth she’d loved the act.
Leaning over, he freed her from the bed but left the hobbles in place. “Follow me,” he ordered. That said, he headed toward the door. After a numb moment, she slid off the bed. Forced to shuffle, she was torn between anger at him for putting her through this and wondering if she deserved her treatment.
Was that it? He might have wanted sex as much as she had, but in the aftermath, he’d come face to face with how many other men there’d been. As a result, had she become less than human to him, a piece of garbage who needed to be taught her place?
He sat down in an overstuffed chair, his long legs splaying out as he rested on his spine. “Not like that, slave. On your hands and knees.”
“Don’t call me a slave! Not after what—”
“What happened? I took advantage of what you’ve always given away. What man wouldn’t?”
“There wasn’t anything—”
“On your knees, now.”
Stopped from trying to ask if there was still something, anything, between them, she did as he’d ordered. Kneeling before Reeve was different from those times when such behavior had been part of a scene. Always before, she’d been secretly amused. Now she felt, what, less than human? Ashamed?
“Crawl to me.”
Doing so with limited use of her legs was awkward and ungraceful. She who knew how to present her body as something sensual for the camera was now inching forward like a worm. It might not have been that way if she could make herself believe the sight of her in all her subservient nudity was turning him on, but he’d only glanced at her before turning his attention to the wall behind her.
His expression, so complex, emotions determined to stay hidden but breaking through anyway. When she was so close she could rest her head on his knees, she stopped and settled onto her buttocks, waited. She continued to study his expression.
She’d sometimes seen that look in the eyes of would-be models. They’d come to The Dungeon full of curiosity about public sex and interest in the considerable paycheck only to discover they weren’t cut out for S and M. Reality set in as soon as the first ropes went around them: they didn’t want to be doing this, wanted out, now!
That’s what she saw in Reeve, not the fear element but the reluctance and regret.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said.
“The hell I don’t.”
“You’re serious? You truly believe you have no choice but to do what you are doing to me?”
For a moment she thought he was going to strike her. Instead, he rested his head on the back of the chair. His eyes closed to slits. “Lives are at stake. At least one has already been lost.”
Shocked, she rested her hands on his knee. Instead of responding to the touch, he rubbed his eyes. The wrong words and he’d slam a door between them that might never unlock, but if she didn’t try to reach past his barriers, they’d never have anything. Even worse, she might never know freedom.
“You feel responsible for that life, do you?” she ventured. “Who is it? Can you at least tell me that?”
“Not her name because it’ll mean either too much or nothing to you.”
“I might have known her?” A woman. At least she now knew that.
“Maybe.”
Maybe. What deep pit of a nightmare had she fallen into? The world she’d always lived in didn’t have room for the murder of someone she considered her friend. In the wake of her parents’ death, her quota of bad things happening to good people had been met. “How did she die?”
“Beaten. Strangled.”
Appalled by the thought of so much violence, she snatched her hands from his knee so she could protect h
er vulnerable throat. She was still trying to put the pieces together when he opened his eyes, straightened, looked down at her as if he’d never seen her.
“What?” she asked.
“Don’t speak, all right. There’s—yeah, I don’t have a goddamn choice. You have to view this.”
Had she ever seen anyone look as tortured as he did right now? Scared and hurting for him, she snagged his left hand and turned it so she could kiss the back. Briefly, the barest touch, and yet she’d always remember the way his just-kissed skin felt as he rubbed it against her cheek.
Then he reached into his pocket for the key, took hold of her hands, and freed them. Leaning over, he did the same to her ankles. And yet although something had once again changed in their relationship, she knew better than to tell herself they’d become equals. Taking that to heart, she followed him into the dining room where a laptop was set up on the table. He pulled up a chair next to the one already in front of the laptop. “Sit down.”
She did so, trying less than successfully not to think about how the sleek wood felt on her bare ass. Not trusting herself to keep her hands off him, she tucked them between her legs. After turning on the computer, he sat down and together they watched it power up. Another kind of power had taken up residence in her simply because he was sitting so close. If learning what he intended to show her wasn’t so important, she’d, what, throw herself at him? Beg him to fuck her?
Probably.
“This was sent to me earlier today. I’m sure my colleagues never thought I’d show it to you, but they aren’t here. I have to play it my way. If it backfires…”
Although she was accustomed to bondage videos, no way could she have prepared for what she was looking at; bottom line, this was no staged presentation. Not only didn’t the actors know how to work with the camera, the faceless men were hardly worthy of what the word dom signified. They were all past their prime, their bodies mushy, muscles nearly nonexistent. They muttered instead of speaking clearly. One thing about them, however, was so real that just the thought made it nearly impossible for her to swallow. They were arrogant, filled with the confidence born of money.