There’s no arguing with him. If I try, he’ll just cut me out completely, and Dahlia Rose will die. I cross my arms and stare out the window as he speeds through the streets back to my small apartment.
I just hope I can keep her safe. If not...I might as well let Ricci kill me. My life won’t be worth shit if I fail.
8
Aiden
Lurking in the shadows of Dahlia’s hotel room, I watch her sleep. For two hours, I spied on her from a rooftop across the street—until Sylvio and Paulie showed up and told me to get a move on.
Every minute only ratcheted up my desire for her. Not only for her body, but to understand what’s going on in her head.
She drained more than half a bottle of wine before stumbling over to the window and closing the drapes. Tears shone on her cheeks, and she looked so lost.
Now, she sleeps on her side, delicate ankles crossed at the edge of the mattress, poking out from under the blankets pulled up to her chin.
She started dreaming a few minutes ago, her face screwing up, making her look so much younger than her twenty-seven years.
I could have taken her hours ago. I should have. Spirited her far away from San Francisco and the Ricci family, but I don’t know if I’m being watched, and since I couldn’t risk more than a dead drop down my apartment building’s trash chute, I’m on my own.
The pilfered hotel master key let me into her room with ease, and now, I withdraw the syringe from the inside pocket of my jacket. I can’t give her a full dose. Not with the amount of wine she’s had. If I don’t time this just right, she’ll scream, and then...I’ll have to hurt her.
The sedative should keep her mostly compliant. Though I’d much rather she fight. The idea of her struggling...whimpering as I bind her like she did three years ago...my dick twitches in my pants.
Stop it. You’re here to keep her as safe as you can. Not fuck her. When did you lose all objectivity?
I have to stifle my snort. This hasn’t been just a job since I first laid eyes on Dahlia Rose Ryan. She’s haunted my dreams every night, and more than once as I recovered, I wished I could reach out to her and tell her how sorry I was about her father. To atone somehow for my part in his death.
Or...whatever happened to him.
Double checking all of my supplies, I take a deep breath, and her scent fills my nose. Do it.
Kneeling next to her bed, I try to still my pounding heart. Clamping one hand over her mouth, I jab the needle into her neck and depress the plunger. She comes awake with a jerk, then a scream builds in her throat, but I drop the needle and wrap my fingers around her neck, squeezing hard enough to cut off her air.
“Quiet now, sweetheart. Or I’ll be forced to silence you for good. You do what I say, you’ll live through this.”
Panic swims in her unfocused eyes as I wait for the sedative to take hold. Loosening my grip so she can suck in a shallow breath, I watch her pupils dilate, and her scream quiets to a whimper.
“Good girl. Now you’re going to do exactly as I say.” Straddling her, I stifle my curse. Tears spill over as my hard length presses to her thigh, and she struggles weakly, but I can feel her body succumbing to the sedative.
“Not a sound,” I warn as I remove my hand from her lips. The rubber bit slips between her teeth and buckles behind her head. I can’t use duct tape. Not with the sedative. Too much of a chance she’ll vomit.
The bit gag will hurt, but that’s good. Though I doubt she’ll stay conscious for long, she needs to fear me and what I’m going to do to her.
Pulling a long length of hemp rope from my bag, I loop it quickly around her wrists and knot it. She whimpers and twitches weakly, but she can’t do much with the drugs and my weight pinning her down. Tears glisten on her cheeks, and I take a second to dash a few of them away.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Cry for me.” I want her scared. Terrified even. And I hate myself a little. Or a lot. I wish I could explain why. But if I do, I’ll blow my cover. I just have to do everything I can to keep her safe—and compliant. I have less than ten minutes to get her into the car downstairs before Sylvio and Paulie come looking for us.
Working quickly, I bring her arms down over her chest and try not to think about how her nipples tighten under her pink tank top. Knot after knot, I bind her with a series of inescapable ties before sliding my arm behind her back to lift her up so I can continue the intricate pattern around her torso.
Her ankles are next, and the knotwork covers her bare, shapely legs all the way to mid-thigh. She’s trussed so tightly, she can’t do more than shudder and cry.
As I work, she floats between sleep and terror, the drugs trying to drag her down, but her sense of self-preservation pulling her back to consciousness with some regularity.
Her breathing turns frantic as I slide the blindfold over her eyes, and she’s in danger of hyperventilating. “Can’t have you seeing where we’re going.”
A weak, slurred word tries to escape around the bit, and her chest is stuttering so rapidly, a heart attack isn’t out of the realm of possibility. “Is it the blindfold?”
Her nod is almost imperceptible, but as soon as I remove the black silk, she calms slightly, and her eyelids flutter a few times before closing.
Whatever fight she had left in her fades away, and I rise and take a step back. The sight of her lying on the crisp, white sheets, the black ropes dramatic against her skin, her lips stretched by the gag, and tears shining on her cheeks makes my heart race. I could have just duct taped her wrists and ankles and tossed her into the laundry cart, but this...the ropes are not only beautiful, but effective. They won’t cut off her circulation, and she won’t be able to struggle and rub her skin raw.
Pressing a kiss to her parted lips, I whisper, “Time to go, sweetheart. Remember...not a sound and keep your eyes closed.”
I lift her carefully, then set her in the empty laundry cart I wheeled in with me. She only whimpers once before I pinch her nipple, hard, and her entire body jerks.
“There’s more where that came from.” She shuts up as I drape a sheet over her, leaving her face uncovered so she doesn’t panic. Security won’t pass through the halls for another thirty minutes, and by that time, we’ll be far from here.
My captive doesn’t make a single sound as I take her down the service elevator and into the garage. But as we approach the SUV, I glance down and see her eyes open. “Tsk, tsk, Dahlia,” I say quietly. “I will punish you for that when we get to your new home. Close your eyes. Now.”
Her lids snap shut as Sylvio jumps out of the passenger seat and opens the back door. I use the sheet to keep her hidden as I lift her into my arms and then lay her across the back seat before climbing in next to her. She shudders when I belt her in and then draw the sheet higher, covering her entire head. But then I slide my hand under the thin cotton so my gloved fingers rest on her bare shoulder.
The contact seems to calm her. She can’t see, can’t move, and from the outside, through the tinted windows, no one will ever know she’s here.
“I hope you’re comfortable,” I say as Paulie pulls out of the parking spot. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. If I were you, I’d stop fighting the drugs and let yourself sleep.”
“What the hell, man?” Sylvio hisses. “She was supposed to be out.”
“She had half a bottle of wine tonight.” I punch the seat in front of me. “You want her dead? Or merely compliant? She didn’t make a sound, now did she?”
He shoots me a dirty look, but then sighs. “Whatever. You can explain to the boss why she’s conscious when we get there.”
Dahlia’s body relaxes, her head on my thigh, and I snort. “I won’t have to. Pretty sure she just passed out.”
By the time we hit the highway, she’s so still, I pull off my glove and check for a pulse. Steady. Just unconscious. Thank God.
I’m going to Hell for this. But it’s better than the alternative—having to watch this beautiful flower die.
&nb
sp; 9
Dahlia
The dream was so real. A man’s hands on me. Terror as I met his cold, blue eyes. I can still feel the ropes on my skin. As I drag myself from sleep, I lament the second…and third glass of wine I had after visiting my father’s grave. It’s still dark. Too dark. I can’t see anything.
Panic seizes my heart, and I struggle to breathe. I can’t be in the dark. Not anymore. Not after being trapped in that dumpster for so long. I blink rapidly—or try to—and my eyelashes rasp against something soft. Silky. But the pure terror that consumes me as I try to lift my arm, to get whatever the hell this is off my face, and can’t…I start to wheeze, and a scream wells in my throat, but when I open my mouth…it hurts. Something pulls my lips wide.
This can’t be happening. No. It’s a dream. It has to be. My voice is weak, almost a croak, and my chest is so tight. The sound that escapes…it doesn’t sound like me, doesn’t feel like me.
“What did you fuckers do?” a deep voice snaps. “You can’t blindfold her!”
Quick footsteps approach, and whatever’s over my eyes is ripped away, the sudden light blinding me until I squeeze my eyes shut. I whimper and try to shrink back from the man, but I can’t move. The ropes. They’re real. My wrists are crossed, elbows bent, my hands over my heart.
I’m lying on something soft, but it’s so cold in the room, and sounds echo off the walls. Where am I? What are they going to do with me?
The light dims, but doesn’t go out. “Dahlia, open your eyes now.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see any of this. If I keep them closed, maybe it will be a dream. Except, I can smell him. Something warm and spicy, like bergamot and sandalwood, and the heat of his body seeps into my arm.
“Dahlia Rose, open your fucking eyes,” he snaps, his fingers around my elbow, squeezing to the point of pain. “I own you now. Every order you fail to follow will earn you a strict punishment. Disobey me, and you’ll regret it.”
You’ll regret taking me, you sick bastard. No one owns me.
I can’t say that—the gag makes it too hard to speak, and despite what my inner bitch wants, I do have a decent sense of self-preservation. So I wait, my breath coming in shallow pants, praying he’ll give me some indication of what’s going on and what he’s going to do to me.
“Last warning.“
I risk opening my eyes, and dark hair around a ruddy face swims in my vision. The whole room is blurry, like I’m looking through a greasy window, and I blink hard to try to focus.
“Good girl. You’re going to be woozy for a while. Don’t fight it.” He presses warm fingers to my neck, and I don’t struggle. What good would it do me? I’m trussed up like a Christmas goose, and I heard at least one other man in the room.
Footsteps thud overhead, then a door opens, and someone clomps down the stairs. A shadow appears behind the man at my side.
“Awake, is she? Good. It’s time to get her pretty face on camera.”
Camera?
The man tending to me stands, his back to me now. “She’s not ready. She needs another half an hour for the sedative to wear off. If we push her too far too fast, she won’t be responsive. You want the most bang for your buck, don’t you?”
“And I suppose you know how to get it out of her?”
“I do.” He lowers his voice before he continues, “I need time to get her ready, and most of all, I need privacy.”
My heartbeat thuds so loudly, the rest of his words fade away. Ready for what? This man knows my real name. My father died three years ago. Even as Dahlia Rose Ryan, I shouldn’t be worth anything as a hostage. Mickey Ryan’s holdings were seized by the FBI. He’s dead and buried. What possible use would they have for me?
Oh, God. Are they going to…sell me? The second man. He has an accent. Italian. The Riccis. My father’s lifelong enemies. They’re known for trafficking women. I start hyperventilating again, and my captor returns to my side and puts his hands on my bare shoulders.
“Dahlia! Listen to me. You will breathe. Now.”
I don’t want to. Just…let me die. It’s better than being sold. I don’t even try, and he gets angrier, jerking me up by my bound hands and throwing me over his legs. My hair hangs so low, it brushes the floor, and when he pulls down my skimpy sleep shorts and panties, exposing my bare ass, I scream.
“Ten strikes for not listening.“
He counts each one, and by the time he’s done, my ass is on fire and I’m sobbing, but the hard weight pressing down on my chest has lifted.
“Every time you disobey, you will be punished.”
I try to say no, but the gag makes my attempt come out garbled.
As he lifts me back upright and lays me on the bed, he bends down so his lips brush my ear. “I can only protect you for so long.”
Protect me? You just spanked me, asshole.
“I’m sorry for this,” he whispers. “For what’s coming next. But until Ricci gets what he wants, you’re going to suffer. Do as I say, and I’ll make sure it’s only my hands on you. Trust me. You don’t want the others getting a hold of you.”
His truth bleeds through my fear, and I nod as I make a sound that’s almost “uh huh.”
“You’re not going to like this next part. But once it’s over, I’ll get you some food and water. And a blanket. I know it’s cold.”
Food means he’ll have to take the gag off. I don’t know what time it is. How long I was unconscious, or even whether it’s day or night. My vision clears enough to see the room I’m in as I force myself to calm. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a basement. Concrete walls, unfinished. Exposed wooden beams in the ceiling, and very little furniture. Just the bed I’m lying on, a chair, and a little half-finished room in the corner with a toilet and sink.
Stairs lead upwards, with a door at the top. Closed.
I turn my gaze back to my captor, so many questions pinging around in my head. “Who are you?” I try to ask, but it comes out more like “Ooo aaah ooo?”
He smooths a hand over my hair, almost reverently, tucking a thick purple lock behind my ear. “You can call me Sir. No one has names here. Not to you.”
Sir? Like hell. Asshole is more like it. Jerk. Shithead.
His eyes are almost kind. The color of the sky before a storm. They crinkle around the edges a bit as he reaches for something on the floor, and when he comes up with a pair of scissors, I stop breathing.
Please, don’t. Whatever you’re doing…don’t.
My sleep shorts are still off-kilter, and he slices through them with ease, one cut at each hip, before tossing them to the floor. My tank is next, the straps, then up the sides, each movement precise, keeping the ropes binding me in place, and soon, I’m naked except for my panties. My breasts are pushed up, pillowing above my bound hands, and I whimper as I fight against the tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Now, don’t move,” he warns as he crosses the room.
How the hell would I move? My legs are bound all the way down to my ankles. The bed is narrow, and if I roll, I’ll hit the concrete floor with no way to brace myself.
Sir—the idea of calling him that, even in my head, disgusts me, but somehow it’s the only word I can conjure—drags a chair over to the closest wall. A spotlight on a metal stand is next, and it’s so bright, I have to look away.
“Dahlia,” he says quietly as he sits next to me once more. “My boss doesn’t care if you live or die. But I do. Just remember that.”
I don’t know why, but I believe him. Even if I still expect him to kill me at any moment. He gathers me into his arms. Once I’m seated, he pulls a length of rope from his pocket and lashes my torso to the back of the chair. The room swims in and out of focus, and I think I moan as my head falls forward. I’m too tired, too scared to fight any more. I just want to sleep because maybe there, I’ll be safe.
And then the gag is eased from my mouth, and cool water laps against my chapped lips. “Just a little bit,” Sir sa
ys. “Otherwise, you could get sick.”
I should scream, but the water tastes like heaven, and I swallow all he offers until he sets the bottle down next to me.
“In a minute, I have to gag you again. Then comes the hard part. But afterwards, I’ll unbind you and make you more comfortable if you’re obedient. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” I whisper. When he stares at me like that, a little voice inside my head urges me to do whatever he wants, even though I know I should fight. Should do…something. “What do you want with me?”
His fingers tighten on my jaw, forcing it open, and the rubber bit slides between my teeth before he buckles it around the back of my head. I refuse to let myself cry anymore. He doesn’t deserve my tears. Doesn’t deserve to get off on them again.
Sir presses a kiss to my cheek. “I want your submission. I want you to belong to me, body and soul. But my boss…he wants a lot more. And he’s not afraid to kill you to get it.”
I can’t see with the bright light shining in my face, and bound, gagged, and shivering, I listen as Sir climbs the stairs then slams the door.
10
Dahlia
Sitting in the hard, wooden chair, my ass burning from the spanking Sir gave me, I test my bonds. I was hoping when he pulled off my shredded tank top, he’d have loosened the ropes a little, but he clearly knew what he was doing, because I can’t move at all.
The light hurts my eyes, but at least I’m not in the dark. I keep my gaze lowered, fixed on the knots around my thighs. The pattern’s familiar. And hauntingly beautiful, if I weren’t terrified I’m about to die.
I’m still woozy, and I tip my head back so it rests against the wall. No one will even be looking for me. My few friends in Seattle? They know I’m out of town. The manager at Sotheby’s? Maybe. The auction is in five days—I think. Based on how my stomach is twisting in on itself, it’s probably mid-morning by now. And Sir…he said something about a long drive.
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 74