by AJ Adams
"Corazón."
"Brave girl."
"Quiet now, fresita."
The words winged back into memory, along with the tenderness. He'd been gentle because he thought me brave. I knew I wasn't. I couldn't go through that again.
Gazing at the leather cuff on my wrist, I wondered what he would do next. He was different from Kowalczyk, subtler and much, much more intelligent but that just made him more dangerous. A very long, very painful lesson he'd said, and it hadn't been an empty threat. The Zeta was pacing himself, alternating pain and gentleness so that I'd be in good enough shape to suffer when he got round to torturing me on tape.
The prospect of that was so horrendous that I got the shakes. It was pure fear. The thing is, panic doesn't get you anywhere. And although I wanted to cry, I knew that wouldn't help either. "Get a grip, Persia," I scolded myself. "First things first, get rid of that bloody collar!"
I stood up and looked in the mirror. The collar circled my neck, black and menacing. Amazingly, there were no burns. From the pain, I'd expected open bloody sores, but all I saw was a light redness.
Turning it round and round didn't give me any ideas. There was a little metal box, with two prongs resting against my skin, and it was part of a metal band, set into thick leather. It was an inch wide, solidly constructed, and well padlocked. Tugging and pulling made no difference.
I rummaged through the boxes from the medicine cabinet and found nothing useful. Discouraged, I perched on the edge of the tub. Perhaps fragrant salts would cheer me up.
And that was my lightbulb moment.
I ran a bath, shifting from foot to foot with nerves. Some years before, I had dropped my hair straightener in a sink full of water. It had been trashed, instantly. So, I knew for a fact that nothing electrical works once it's been dunked. Even so, I hesitated. If I jumped in, wetting the collar might shock me first, and then I'd drown.
To be certain, I cupped a little water in my hand, said a quick prayer and splashed it all over. Nothing. No zap. No fire. Encouraged, I did it again. Not even a tingle. Feeling confident, I climbed into the bath and slid into the suds. Unshocked, I lay with my neck under water, giving the damn thing a good soak.
After that, it was a matter of waiting.
I swear, that day was one of the longest in my life. I saw the sun come up and then it was hanging around for seemingly ever. I had another go at breaking the cuff chain, I tried again to smash the window, throwing a bottle of codeine at it, and finally, I got so bored that I did four dozen press-ups, sit-ups and stretches. Being sweaty meant another bath, more hair washing, and then I fiddled about with everything in the medicine cabinet.
All that time I was distracting myself from the fears of what he might do to me. Beating my arse with a belt seemed the least of it. Having seen that big knife, I wondered if he would cut me.
The knife scared me most because I knew of several models who'd been attacked by insane exes, stalkers and plain nasty blokes. Some girls were cut in the face and others all over. We'd supported them, we models stick together, but too many couldn't take it. Some killed themselves and others disappeared from public view.
Yes, it would be the knife. Or if he didn't disfigure me, he might invite his mates to a gangbang. Naturally, that brought back memories. I'd managed to suppress them for years, but now they were winging back.
It felt like midnight when I heard noises. He stomped right in, dressed in jeans and a blue shirt that was ripped down the side. He'd been fighting again. Like last time, he had carryout. Unlike last time, he just handed it to me. "Eat, fresa." Then he ducked out again. From the scent that drifted through the flat, he was cooking himself a steak.
My dinner was cold mushroom pasta and fruit salad from a supermarket. Not fancy but delicious. From the silence, he was eating in the kitchen. After the day's long silence, part of me was relieved at having another body nearby, but most of me was worried at what was to come. I told myself that giving me food meant he was in a good mood and that a torture session wouldn't begin with dinner. I wasn't believing a word of it, though, and my stomach was churning with funk.
A clatter of dishes and then he marched into the bathroom. He stripped, dropping everything to the floor, and stepped into the shower. From the new bruises on his hips and back, someone had gotten him good, perhaps beating him with a bench. One purple contusion ran all the way across his shoulders, yet he didn't wince or even move carefully. This was one dangerous bugger.
I watched, my imagination running riot. I remembered that belt and saw that massive knife again. I was between throwing up and tears. But pride gave me a backbone, an effort that was helped by months of hiding my feelings from Kowalczyk.
He stepped out of the shower, not bothering to towel himself dry. "Come on." He unlocked my chain, picked me up, and three steps later I was flat on my back in his bed. "Turn around. Face down this time."
Oh hell. He wanted to bugger me. The one sex act I couldn't take. Deep breath. "No."
He shrugged and reached for the control box. "Have it your own way."
I lay there affecting boredom but honestly, I was scared to death.
"Last chance." Amazingly, he was hesitating. "Come on, don't be difficult."
"Fuck you, Santos."
"Right." The eyes flashed. "You asked for it." And then he pressed the button.
I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath. An age passed, and I was wallowing in pain-free relief.
"What the?" He was shaking the box. "Mierda!"
Unholy glee washed through me. "Trouble, sweetie?"
The cartel man was in a right royal snit. "What did you do?" He had the collar off in a jiffy. "It looks okay." Picking up the box, he tried to zap himself.
My relief was loud and sassy. "You'll have to lay in some new stock, Santos."
"Pinche puta!"
He still didn't bash me. Jorge was thinking. He eyed the collar and then his gaze switched to the bathroom door. "Joder," he sighed. "You short-circuited it."
"Yes. I'm clever as well as pretty."
The jet eyes were flat. "As the English say, so sharp that you'll cut yourself."
I was pushing him too far. Hastily, I smiled. "Look, let's talk. This has gone -" and then I blanched and almost fainted: he had opened the drawer and taken out the knife.
It was even bigger than I remembered. The blade was an inch wide and there were grooves in the handle. Without having to ask, I knew their purpose was to drain the blood away from the hand wielding it.
"Wait," I said desperately. "I owe you an apology."
I was about to suggest we play perverted sex games, bum fucking with flogging, anything his black heart desired, but he wasn't listening. "It's too late for that."
This was it. I felt curiously distant, as if I were fading away. "You're going to carve me up."
He was silent.
"Go on then. See if I care." But I couldn't help a sob escaping.
His voice was gentle. "Chica, I'm just checking the contact."
"What?" The shakes were back and my breath was a squeak. "What did you say?"
He stuck the blade into the leather collar, running the metal over a small section. "No," he sighed, "it's screwed." Then, to my relief, he threw the knife back in the drawer and tossed the collar in after it.
When he just sat there, looking blank, I couldn't help but babble. "I was having flashbacks to the Joker." He didn't seem to twig. "You know, the villain in Batman who slices up people's smiles?"
"You're too beautiful, fresa. I couldn't do that."
"Yeah, I'm pretty." The clapback was automatic. Then, with sudden hope. "Really?"
He ran a finger down my face. "You're a brave girl. As brave as a Zeta."
If he didn't have a clue, I wasn't going to tell him.
"That collar packed a punch, but you didn't give an inch."
No way was I telling him I'd been dying to beg for mercy.
"You're a fighter, and I admire that."
&
nbsp; I was not but if it meant he respected me too much to torture me, I was all for it.
"I should beat the hell out of you."
Oh-oh.
"But I suspect it won't make a difference."
Phew.
"And I've had a long day."
Even better.
He sighed. "Just stop fighting, okay?"
"Absolutely." I went back to Plan A: hand him my body to play with and persuade him into being nice to me. "How about I apologise?" I put a careful hand on his cock. "You said you had a wish list? And I believe you like dirty girls."
"Now you're talking."
Reprieve. More than that, if I was lucky, I could try to steer him away from bum fucking, too. "You're tired and I do an amazing blowjob."
He tousled my hair. "Sounds good." He retrieved the pillow from the bathroom. Tossing it on the bed, he settled next to me. "Come here."
Eager to keep him happy, I nestled into his side. As he flinched, I looked him over properly and winced in sympathy. I'd messed him up, but he looked ten times worse than when he'd left the night before. "You've been in the wars, huh?"
"Hmm." His cock was standing to attention, but he hesitated and ran his hand down my spine - down to my arse.
Convinced he would demand the nasty, I gave him my best smile. "Just sit and relax." Those dark eyes weren't looking relaxed at all. "Promise I won't bite."
"I'm not worried." He settled back and closed his eyes. "You're a vegetarian."
My heart was banging away in relief because I knew I would do well for him. I'd had years of knob bobbing practice and now my life depended on it, I put every tip and trick I'd learned into one spiffy package. I stroked, rubbed, licked, sucked, and I did it super slowly.
Thankfully, he loved it. Within a minute, one hand was brushing away my hair so he could see the show while the other ran across my shoulders. The tender touch was a welcome change from Kowalczyk's customary fistful of hair and forcibly deep-throating me.
It surprised me so much, that I didn't switch off and when he gasped and began to move his hips, I took him in as deep as I could and rubbed his balls as he came.
It earned me another pat. "That was good."
"A sample of what's to come."
"Hmm." Instead of messing about with chains and threats, he just stared into space. I recognise deep thinking when I see it and kept quiet. He blinked and returned to earth soon enough. He didn't say a word, but he tugged my curls in a friendly way. "I'm looking forward to the rest of the apology."
As that dangerous anger had vanished, I took my chance and went for it. "I'm really not Kowalczyk's girlfriend."
"It doesn't matter if you are or not. He wants you."
It made no sense that the putrid Pole was looking for me, but I kept my eye on the ball. "Everyone wants me. But I can go tomorrow, right?" I remembered the plan. "After I apologise for being mean to you. In proper, super slutty style."
"Slutty is good but you're staying."
I knew the answer to that one. "Because you want to use me to get to Kowalczyk."
"Exactly."
I held on to the fact that he'd promised not to hurt me. "But he really doesn't care about me."
His tone was final. "Give it a rest."
I bit back a protest and focussed. "Right, you get slutty for as long as you like. But you promise you won't cut me? And no more beltings."
A grunt and he was working that bloody chain through the bed frame. "We'll see."
"I work better when I'm relaxed."
"This is not a negotiation. You'll do as you're told."
"Absolutely. We agreed a truce." The flashing eyes suggested rolling over completely. "I mean, whatever you say."
"That's better."
I didn't resist as he cuffed me but I had to ask, "Please, will you check if my family's okay?"
"They're fine." The sarcasm was unmistakable. "No evil shylocks are kicking them out of their home. Your restaurant is still open too."
Like a fool, I didn't question how that might work. I was just relieved that Colin was able to keep up payments. "I wasn't lying."
"Just quit, okay, fresa?"
He would not listen. "That's strawberry, right?" I'd seen it on yoghurt pots. "Because I'm sweet?"
The eye-roll was spectacular. "A fresa is an arrogant girl. She's thinks she's better than others."
"A stuck-up cow? Well, I guess I deserve that."
Surprisingly, he smiled. For a moment, he looked like a regular bloke, nice even. "Fresas also dress well. Like, expensively."
"Yeah, well dressed and pretty. I'm famous for it." Because cheeky is part of my nature. "That's okay, then. Fresa's better than the other things you've called me."
He turned off the light and didn't answer but I was cautiously optimistic. I'd made it through the night unscathed and if I kept him sweet, I would stay that way. Probably.
He'd said he wasn't going to scar me, that he couldn't do it, and he'd meant it. Thinking it over, I decided that he was lethal but not vicious. He was shit hot on respect, that was clear enough. Insulting him had been a massive and painful mistake for me and I had no doubt that Kowalczyk would pay with his life.
But personal slurs aside, the Zeta had not minded me standing up to him or getting one over him. I'd fought him and ruined his collar but there was no sign of that rage that had sparked the belting. Actually, he'd liked me for it.
I settled onto my side, not minding the long chain anymore. If I made a spectacular apology and did some extra crawling, he'd forgive me. And as Colin was keeping house and home together, my family would be okay. Maybe even better if the Zetas were out to destroy Kowalczyk.
Jorge Santos was hellbent on making the pestilent Pole suffer. After months of humiliation, I didn't have a problem with that. The sun would shine brighter with him gone. It was a happy thought. One that floated me right into dreamland.
"Wake up." I started out of a sleep so deep, that I felt disoriented. It was pitch-black outside but Jorge Santos was fully dressed and ready to be off. "On your feet."
I had the presence of mind to grab the pillow and snag a book from the stack on the bedside cabinet.
"Put that down." He was brusque, not a morning person.
"I just want to read it. It's boring sitting chained in the bath all day." As he hesitated, I leaned up against him and begged. "Pretty please?"
"Okay, fresa."
Victory, just like that. "I'll be extra nice tonight." And it wouldn't hard because he smelled good; amber and lime, masculine yet fresh.
"You better be."
He was definitely not a morning man but now he had sworn off the vengeance, it didn't worry me. I curled up in my nest of towels and went straight back to sleep. Then I spent the day filling up time. The books proved to be an eye opener. Hearts and Minds was all about psychological warfare. In a phrase, the sneaky stuff.
I made the mistake of skipping right to the chapter on the psychology of hostage taking. The intro that listed ways and means to scare the victim was bad enough, but when it got down to using systematic torture and disfigurement, I shut the book hastily, feeling sick.
Lying in the bath, I fiddled with the chain and knew I'd come off very, very lightly. Jorge Santos knew this stuff backwards, but he'd held his hand. Whatever he was up to, he wasn't going all out. The memories of those beatings back when I was a kid, faded and died. I wouldn't be going back into hell.
Putting the book aside and counting my blessings didn't last long. Boredom had me picking it up again. By judiciously skipping the gorier parts, the rest was much less personal.
I read about tactics certain to demoralise the opposition, so they were too messed up to fight properly, about false flag operations, where you pretend to be other people so that your enemy doesn't realise who the real culprit is, and about all the different ways you can use information to fuck up the enemy's mind.
I'd never come across a book like it and I was fascinated. So much so that when he c
ame back, I was reading a chapter about black propaganda and thoroughly enjoying myself. I teased without even thinking about it. "Hello, darling. How was your day?"
Jorge was looking thoroughly corporate in a black suit and purple shirt but he was as bad tempered as before. He dumped a bag at my feet. "I should gag you."
As he was just moaning, and I spotted several pots of my favourite yoghurt, I was nice. "This is me, shutting up."
"Huh!" He stomped off, still in a snit. Maybe under the expensive suiting, he was feeling the pain of those bruises.
I was cheery. The bag contained yoghurt, mushroom wraps, a boxed salad, granola bars and some hot chili peppers. Aside from the peppers, I recognised it as a snatch and grab from the vege section in the supermarket. I knew, because I'd done the same thing for myself loads of times. "Thank you," I sang out. "This is delish."
He didn't answer but from the ping of the microwave, he was nuking his.
"I have your peppers here."
He appeared a second later. I was holding out his peppers, ready to be very nice but seeing him, it was no effort to smile. He'd taken off the jacket and tie, leaving me to eye up broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs and great bones.
"You know, you could model." Yeah, cheesy, but I meant it.
He rolled his eyes. "Whatever it is you want, it's no."
"Cynic." But he vanished again. It didn't matter because I was beginning to understand how he thought. The grumbling showed he took my backchat as a sign of bravery. For once, my mouth would work for me. And the food proved he wasn't looking to be nasty. As I had some good ideas about apologising, I wasn't worried.
I gorged on the wraps and then contemplated the granola bar. I love them but they're loaded with honey and that always means a boatload of hidden calories. Still, my ribs were showing too much. I decided I was allowed a treat.
I was licking my fingers and sucking the wrapper to get the last sticky goodness out of it when there was a clang of dishes and running water from next door. "Can I have a cuppa?" And remembering he wasn't English. "Of tea, I mean."