Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Abandoned

Mark

The scene was perfect, but then, he'd known it would be. He'd planned it, curating every moment of Hannah's experience.

He'd chosen how much sedative to give her. Not enough to cause any long-term harm, but a dose sufficient to knock her out for several hours. That had given him time to bundle her body into his trunk and drive her the distance to the coastal home he'd rented.

Well, perhaps ‘rented' was the wrong word. The truth was he'd found the property abandoned on the far end of the desolate coastline, and after days of reconnaissance, he'd taken it for himself. Squatter's rights said possession was nine-tenths of the law—and Mark intended to employ that philosophy to both the worn house he'd occupied and the unconscious woman he'd brought there.

He'd carried her sleeping form over the threshold under cover of night, making sure no nosey locals were loitering as he locked and bolted the door. The rest had already been prepared before Hannah had come to be back in his possession—the large lounge overlooking the gray ocean set up with the second-hand dentist's chair he'd acquired online. The internet had been nothing but a friend since his release. Its anonymity provided him with all the bondage and equipment he desired, as well as the net that had helped him recapture Hannah. All he'd needed to do was ‘borrow' a few credit cards from new acquaintances and use false identities. Getting the place ready for his little girl had taken less than a fortnight.

Hannah had been strapped into the chair long before she woke, and he'd relished every moment of her confinement, taking care to undress and position her just so. Removing her skirt had been a must for what he had in mind. While the garment had been scandalously short, it was too restrictive for the adaptations he'd worked into the dental chair. His new and improved version separated the ‘patient's' legs and, rather like the stirrups female patients sometimes endured for gynecological procedures, forced them apart.

He'd maneuvered her into place, grazing his fingertips over her soft skin. It was as hot as hell to have her there and know she was utterly helpless. The last time they'd met, he'd had to share her with his partner and their loyal assistants, but now all of his peers were gone. It was only him and the delectable Miss Bowman, and his straps and modifications would give his captive nowhere to hide.

Hannah was his until such time he said otherwise, and that was never going to happen. She would only leave over his dead body.

Mark had spent another hour or two waiting for her to wake, slipping in and out of consciousness as he dozed in the solitary nearby chair. Naturally, he'd considered getting to know her again while she slept. She would never know if he fondled her breasts or enjoyed her warmth—but he'd resisted the primal need.

Better to wait, he consoled. Better when she's awake, and I can savor all of those little gestures.

It was impossible to say how long he sat there except to say the room was flooded with pale light as he roused to find her eyes fluttering with awareness. Exhilaration spiked as he contemplated what that meant. Hannah was waking up!

"There she is." He rose from his chair to take in her expression, watching as it morphed from relaxed to concerned. "My Sleeping Beauty."

"Who are you?" Her eyelids flickered but didn't open, the wordless gesture both raising and dashing his growing excitement.

"Who am I ?" If she didn't know his identity, then she soon would. "That's rather insulting, Miss Bowman." He watched her body stiffen. "Given everything we've been through together, I would have expected you to know me."

Her eyes opened slowly, but he could tell from her darting gaze to her rapid breathing that the veil of anesthetic remained heavy over her. She wasn't entirely conscious yet.

"It's okay." He found he wanted to offer reassurance, an odd reaction to observing his captive awake to her new life of subjugation, but the idea didn't rile him. They had history, he and Hannah. It was natural that he cared. "You're okay. It's only the sedative wearing off. Be a good girl, and look at me."

Be a good girl.

She was his little girl—she always had been and always would be—but there was something sublime about being able to say so out loud again. The chemistry between him and Hannah had been undeniable, but this time it would be uninterrupted.

Right on cue her head fell in his direction, though still he didn't think she truly saw him. Her gaze searched his torso for clues about who he was, but there was no recognition in her eyes.

"My face, little girl." He laughed, reaching for her chin and compelling her attention to his chosen destination. Her body tensed, her hands trying to rise from their binds, but the leather straps he'd added to the arms of the chair held her easily in place.

"Here." Taking a step closer, he ensured she finally got the view of her captor. "That's better."

"Lawes." Her jaw fell open as she processed what his presence meant.

She was his all over again.

He took his time, reveling in her minute reactions, until he decided to respond. In the end, he chose to rebuke her; Hannah knew better than to refer to him by his surname alone.

"How quickly you've forgotten the rules." He sighed theatrically. "That's not how you address me, Hannah, and you know it."

"I…" Bewilderment gleamed in her gaze as if she couldn't make sense of what was happening.

He suppressed his amusement. The last time she'd seen him, he was being convicted of her abduction, yet there he was, alive and as unscathed as any man could hope after years behind bars.

Still, he wanted the rules to be clear right from the get-go, and that started with how she spoke to him.

"How do you refer to me?" He tapped his foot against the hard floor, hoping to amplify her apparent anxiety.

"Sir." She was just as he remembered her being, as though the intervening years had made no mark on her at all. If anything, Hannah looked younger… lither… readier to be his plaything. "How are you here?"

"Close." He appreciated her effort, but she must realize ‘sir' was never going to be enough to satisfy him. "It's Mr. Lawes, sir, little girl, but I'll offer you one reprieve since I know you're not fully conscious yet."

That would be the last olive branch he offered, though. Surely, Hannah recalled what happened to little girls who refused to cooperate. Did she really want a dose of his discipline so soon?

"What's happening?" Her body lurched as if she was in pain, although naturally, his binds ensured she never actually moved to reduce the hurt. A pang of concern washed over him, a sensation he was frankly unused to. Years of incarceration had reinforced how to watch his back and look after himself, and it had been a long time since he needed to care for anyone else.

Once again, he was struck by how much he did care. She should mean nothing to him—just another woman he'd taken and used—but that was far from the truth. He'd never been able to stop thinking about her. Every night in his cage, he'd closed his eyes and seen her face in his head.

It had always been about Hannah.

"I feel sick." She heaved in a breath as though the admission itself was painful.

"You're okay." He hoped his voice was reassuring, though whether she could have solace from the man who's snatched her for a second time was debatable. "It's another byproduct of the sedative, that's all." He rested his palm on her temple. Once the sedative was out of her system, she'd be fighting fit and able to serve him.

"What do you want?" Her voice was miniscule in the vast room, her croaky tone imploring as if she was wordlessly begging for release. Mark had news for her, though—no amount of begging would save her this time. There was no cavalry coming around the corner to provide rescue. He'd been too damn careful.

"What do I want?" He chuckled at her naivety. How could she not know what he sought? She was a smart woman. He remembered that much. She must know why she was there. "What I want right now is for you to address me correctly. Last chance, Hannah."

His heart sped up as he upped the ante between them, his eyes flickering closed at the rush of power. Aside from the irrefutable sexual attraction they shared, this was what he'd missed. He knew he had all the control in their dynamic, the affirmation tightening his balls with anticipation.

"What do you want, Mr. Lawes, sir?"

"Better." He didn't much like her terse tone, but he acknowledged her compliance as a small victory. "Now we can talk about what I want. Although I would have thought it was obvious to you." He paused, enjoying the look of her helpless body. Women were always so much better when they were powerless. "Despite everything, I have missed you."

He hadn't permitted himself to admit just how much until that moment, but brushing his fingers over her silk blouse, the concept was overwhelming.

"Please tell me," she whimpered. It was that same breathy noise he used to fucking adore. "I don't know why, Mr. Lawes, sir."

He watched as she squeezed her eyes closed and turned her head away. Apparently, the idea of waking up to him wasn't as alluring as he'd hoped, but that was all right. They had time, and he knew he could remind her of all the dark and delicious reasons she did enjoy his company.

"Don't upset yourself." His hand grazed her exposed belly where the buttons of her blouse had come undone before rising to her arm. "There'll be plenty of time for that later." He needn't have jibed her that way. It was unnecessarily cruel, yet he couldn't resist. This was their dynamic—the push and pull between them was inevitable as the tide rushing to shore beyond the window.

"I don't understand." She heaved in air. "If this is really happening, then why am I here, sir?"

If this is really happening? Was she crazy?

Perhaps the treatment she'd received at his and Fuller's hands had pushed her over the precipice of sanity. He'd never really considered her mental health when he plotted her downfall, but looking at her, the idea was pertinent. She'd seemed okay during their online chats, but her creasing brow and vacant stare suggested she truly did think he was an apparition of her mind and nothing more.

She probably told herself that was true when she saw me in the club . His lips twitched at the memory. Deluding herself that she was safe when nothing had been farther from the truth.

"Oh, this is really happening, little girl." His hand rose to her face, demanding her attention even when she tried to glance away. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment."

Months and months of soul-destroying planning. Even when the outcome had seemed impossible, he'd never given up hope of leaving prison and making her his.

"Why, sir?" Her focus flitted to his face. "Why are you doing this?"

Say it. He cocked an eyebrow at her error, knowing instinctively that the gesture would be enough to help her rethink her sentence. Refer to me properly, little girl.

"Mr. Lawes, sir." Resignation echoed in her tone. "Why am I here?" Her eyes darted around the space as though she was still expecting to wake up in her bed, but she'd never be going back there.

"There's nothing honorable about my plan, I'm afraid." His hand slid to her nape. "It's just good old-fashioned revenge, little girl. You hurt me, so I'm hurting you back."

Her breathing sped up as she processed his words. "Are you g-going to harm me?"

"You know, you really are going to have to start speaking to me properly." He smirked. "Much though I'd love to pull you out of there and tan your pretty little behind, you're far too weak right now, and anyway, that would be jumping ahead of the plan."

"Plan?" She swallowed. "What plan, Mr. Lawes, sir?"

That was more like it.

"Let's not ruin things by giving away any clues." Releasing her neck, he glanced at the small table behind her, which housed the tools he'd need next. "All you need to know is that I'm thrilled to have you here. You are positively incandescent, little girl, which confirms all that I already know."

"What's that?" Her hesitation suggested she was truly too afraid to hear the answer, but being a generous master, he gave it to her, anyway.

"You were made to be mine."