Chapter 13

13

Months go by in this new normal. Declan was right, it wasn’t me. Seven grows distant at times, but he always comes back to me, giving me that glimmer of the man I first knew.

Each morning passes much as any ordinary couple might pass it—except that it’s three instead of two. Every day we have breakfast in a strangely comfortable silence at the kitchen table, they kiss me, and they leave. Then I go about my day.

I’ve gotten to know the names of most of the staff as they come and go. I still don’t know what Seven and Declan do, though I’m certain it’s some kind of organized crime. On the second day of our new arrangement, I learned they have security that goes well beyond electronic. Guards. And it’s really a full-on security team. No wonder they weren’t afraid I’d ask the staff for help. The guards stay outside and work in shifts. There are two security buildings, one at the front near the gate and one at the back end of the property.

That, combined with the occasional unsavory visitors who come to the house, retreating always to a private study to talk business with Seven, and it’s not as though I need a diagram. Many of these men look at me with clear lust in their gaze, knowing exactly what I am to my masters, and also knowing they will never be allowed to touch me no matter what they did with the others.

I wonder what happened to the others? And did Seven and Declan start with the same game they did with me? Or did they go a different route? Did they use their money from the very beginning to simply buy what they wanted? Did they want my submission to come from a different place? After all, when they first offered me my freedom, I only took it because it seemed I didn’t have the option to stay. And when I came back, I thought I was going back to the cell. So it wasn’t for their money.

For the first few weeks, I used my outdoor kitty time to shop and take in some movies, and of course, the spa. But it got boring. I missed work. So I started working on setting up my own ad agency.

It’s not a traditional agency. I don’t have the necessary freedom to do that. I redid the penthouse to function as a place to meet clients. I’ll only take a few at a time, and my availability is by appointment only. But it seems to be working out.

When I get home in the evenings, we eat. I’ve since learned that actually they do have a cook who comes in several days a week to prepare meals. Though they also like to cook part of the time and always for breakfast.

After dinner, things stop being quite so benign. They torment me endlessly with pleasure while demanding the same from me along with my absolute obedience. They use me in whatever way pleases them, but no matter what they do, my body always hungers for more. Sometimes I sleep in my own bed, but more often than not, I’m invited into either Declan’s or Seven’s bed for the night.

I look down at my phone to check the time and am filled with horror. It’s almost six. I’ve never been late coming home. Will they think I ran? Will they come after me? I’m so scared of how they might punish me for this infraction that I can’t think straight. I’ve come to trust over time that as fucked-up as they are, they really do seem to feel something for me and to not want to cause me actual harm.

At the same time, that doesn’t stop the fact that they are terrifying, and I’ve disobeyed their orders. I try to think of an appropriate lie, even though I know I’m not a good liar and that will probably only make things worse.

Hell, maybe I should wreck the car so I have an excuse. The fact that I’m even thinking such crazy thoughts is a testament to how wrong I am now. I’m so... wrong. But if they took the collar off my throat and told me to leave, I would beg them to let me stay. There’s no saving me anymore. My body, mind, and soul, have long been theirs.

And when I don’t judge myself or think about how society would feel about this, how they might judge or pity me, I think I’m actually happy. But if I’m so happy, why am I so scared to go home so late?

Aside from what they’ve done to twist my mind, they truly have never harmed me. They’ve never lost their tempers with me. The only reason I’ve ever felt my life was in danger at their hands was because of what I know about their lack of remorse. They don’t have the same leash on them that other people have.

It’s not so much that they’re evil—at least not to me—it’s that they’re wild. They’re like wild animals. You can work with a wild predatory animal every day for years... You can believe you’ve built trust, that the animal sees you as a friend. And then one day, out of nowhere, the tiger mauls you to death. This is what I worry about. That they’ll get bored with me, and that one day that switch inside them will flip, and their predatory gaze will settle on me, and my number’s up.

But I’m too fucked-up now to live outside their cage. I tried. I do believe they care for me, probably more than they’ve ever cared for anything besides each other. But am I fooling myself? Is it a false sense of security that every time I walk inside the tiger’s cage, I’m certain I’m getting out alive?

Yet I’m sure I’m the equivalent of the serial killer’s wife of two decades. He will never ever harm her. He will wear that mask and make her feel loved, and maybe she’s the one person who can make him feel anything. I like that feeling. Being that one person that someone cares about. There’s no other human being who can turn their gaze or hold their attention, and there’s a rush of power in that which I’m ashamed I like.

Even if they ever let me go, even if I somehow could go on without them, I would be lonely for the rest of my life. They have ruined me for any other relationship, no matter how healthy and good and true it might be. I’ve become twisted in the tangled vines of their darkness, and there’s nowhere left to go but down.

Maybe I should call and apologize, explain to them that I just lost track of time. I left my cell phone in the car and wonder if they’ve already tried to call or text. My hands shake as I fumble with the key fob to get into the Porsche. I stumble back as a hand with a foul smelling cloth goes over my mouth.

* * *

When I come to,a blindfold covers my eyes, and my hands are tied together over my head. I’m still wearing my sundress, but my shoes are gone. My bare feet are cold under the hard floor. I still feel foggy from the drugs. Why the fuck did they drug me? Did they really think that was necessary?

“Please... I’m sorry...” I whimper. The tears are already rolling down my cheeks. “I... I lost track of the time... please forgive me, Master.”

A hand grips my throat, hard. Harder than normal. I gasp and choke for air, struggling against the ropes.

A laugh. “Master? My, what fucked-up games has my frigid little bitch been playing?”

My heart sinks. Andrew.

“You LIED to me,” he hisses in my ear as he rips off the blindfold.

I look frantically around. We’re in an abandoned meat-packing plant. The ropes tied around my wrists are looped up over a hook that once held dead animal carcasses.

“You were never going to be homeless. You tricked me into caring again and coming to your rescue, and you were gone. Why didn’t you answer my calls and messages? WHY? Too busy laughing with a new lover? You obviously found someone very well off with that car you’re driving,” he sneers.

He looks crazed. I have no idea what to say to him. He won’t believe me if I tell him I was kidnapped. What kind of kidnapper lets their victim go and furnishes them with a Porsche? I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m not tied up for punishment from my masters but for some kind of revenge from my ex-boyfriend.

It sickens me to think I voluntarily dated this piece of shit for as long as I did. He was a mean asshole and bad in bed, but I didn’t think he was a violent criminal. I hold onto the small thread of hope that he’s bluffing or can’t bring himself to do whatever it is he’s psyching himself up to do.

“Andrew, this is crazy. It’s not what you think. You need to untie me.” It takes everything in me not to say the word Master again. Not because I would ever think of Andrew in that way but because I’ve been so conditioned these past few months to respond with that word when afraid, when tied up, when at someone else’s mercy.

And then I see the knife, and the real panic begins.

“Andrew... please.”

“Andrew, please,” he mimics in a high voice. “This is the only way you’ll learn not to be such a lying fucking bitch.” He slices my sundress in several places and rips it off me. Then he does the same with my panties. I’m not wearing a bra for him to destroy.

He goes for my collar, fumbling for a clasp or way to get it off. “Why won’t this come off? Why is it locked on?”

The collar. It’s become so much a part of me that I forget it’s there half the time. I silently pray Seven and Declan are on their way. But how long will they wait before thinking I’ve tried to run and come for me? And how do I even know there’s really a tracking device inside? How would a tracking device be inside?

The tears slide down my cheeks as I realize it was probably just another mindfuck—just something to scare me, to train me and make me obey. What if there isn’t a tracking device? And even if there is, what if they haven’t gotten concerned enough about my absence to bother coming after me? I could be dead long before they even leave the house.

Andrew takes a step back and stares at the collar, then back at me, then at the collar again, then back at me as he finally puts two and two together.

“Oh. My. God. You fucking whore. This is delicious. I’d fuck you before I killed you, but we both know you’ll be dry, you frigid fucking bitch. How on earth did you get some man to play kinky sex games with you when you can’t even come? Does he just keep you around for blow jobs? I recall you’re actually talented there. Maybe I’ll let you blow me before I cut you up.”

I’m crying seriously now—not just a few delicate tears sliding down my cheeks but full-on sobbing. I no longer have just basic fear of punishment for getting home late, but terror as the reality of who has me and why he’s taken me has finally clicked inside my drug-addled brain.

“Andrew, please... please, I’m sorry, please... don’t hurt me.”

I want to spit in his face. I want to swing back and kick out at him. But I want to live more. I want to see Seven and Declan again. I want to be back home with them. I rack my brain, trying to figure out how to calm him down and somehow get out of this.

I flinch and try to pull away as he presses the tip of the knife at my throat and slowly drags it downward, not drawing blood, not yet. He wants me as afraid as I can possibly be. Maybe he’s bluffing. Maybe he just wants to scare me. I hold onto this thought because I still just can’t believe he’s a killer. I can’t believe he would cut me.

“Y-you don’t want to do this. I’m not worth prison.”

He laughs again. “Trust me, baby, I won’t get caught.” He makes a small, shallow cut across my collar bone, his eyes lighting with delighted malice at the sight of my blood.

I yelp at the thin burning streak. Then my gaze shifts as I catch movement in the shadows. It’s them.

I catch Seven’s eye. “Master, please...”

“I’m not your Master,” Andrew says. “You’re not worth that much investment, you little freak.”

A throat clears, and Andrew nearly jumps out of his skin as he realizes we aren’t alone.

“I believe she was referring to me,” Seven says, stepping out of the shadows.

Andrew turns wildly, this time holding the knife up like he thinks he’s going to fight him with it.

Declan joins Seven, and the two of them throw the full force of their dark, blank stares on Andrew. They are terrifying when they drop the masks and let that cold, menacing darkness swirl out of them.

“Andrew, Andrew, Andrew,” Seven says. “This is awkward. We were grateful that you practically gift-wrapped a girl with nothing to lose and nowhere to go for us to just pick right up. But she doesn’t belong to you, pal. She belongs to us, and I’m afraid touching our toys is a killing offense.”

“Indeed,” Declan says.

They are both so calm, and I swear it’s a thousand times more frightening than the erratic insanity that just came out of Andrew.

“Drop the knife and step away from our girl,” Declan says.

Instead, Andrew moves behind me, pressing the tip of the blade to my throat. “I’ll kill her.”

Seven laughs. “And what will that get you? Longer torture, probably. Kill her, don’t kill her. Either way, you’re ours now. And we aren’t nearly so gentle with men.”

Andrew presses the blade harder against my skin. I cry as another small trickle of blood flows out.

“Master... please.”

Neither Seven nor Declan flinches. Nothing changes on their impassible faces. Both men charge so fast toward Andrew, that he actually takes a step back and drops the knife. I can’t see what happens behind me, but I hear the scuffling, Andrew’s yelping, some punching.

They drag him around in front of me, forcing him to his knees. Declan holds the knife at his throat.

“Beg for forgiveness,” Declan says.

“P-please, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. D-don’t let them kill me,” Andrew sputters.

Seven hauls him off the ground. “That’s fucking pathetic. We don’t need to hear any more of that. And let us kill you? Please.”

Seven holds him while Declan takes out a coil of rope from his inside jacket pocket. He ties the ropes so hard and violently I flinch. They hang him from a meat hook so that he’s facing me.

The two men take a couple of steps back. They look back and forth from Andrew to me. Aren’t they going to untie me and let me down? It hurts that they acted like they didn’t care if Andrew killed me. I know if they’d shown that weakness or hesitation that I’d be in more danger, but it still hurts because a part of me is scared that was the truth—that I’m only a toy to them, only a pet, and they would be barely bothered if I died.

“Now, Andrew,” Seven says, but he’s circling and looking at me. “Let’s talk about this frigid bitch comment.”

Declan moves up behind me, his mouth peppering kisses across my throat as his tongue slips out and licks the spot on my neck where Andrew pressed the blade.

I can’t stop the small whimper as my fear shifts to arousal. I’m sure most people couldn’t make such a swift mental shift, but I’ve been making that shift for so long now that it feels like my default factory setting. Suddenly, the adrenaline inside me has a safe place to land.

“Who do you belong to?” Seven asks.

“You and Declan, Master.”

Declan’s hands have snaked around to begin to rub my breasts. I arch shamelessly into his touch. I know this is sick and twisted, but my head falls back against his shoulder, and I close my eyes, letting him fondle me however he wants.

I jump at a hard slap. But there’s no pain because I wasn’t the recipient. Seven just slapped Andrew.

“Keep your eyes open. Watch. Her. Before you die, you need to know that she was always perfect. The problem was always you. You are the failure. You are the one who doesn’t know how to touch a woman and keep her happy. You destroyed her life because you are a fuck up. Watch how responsive she is. Look at what you could have had, you fucking fool.”

There is malice in Andrew’s gaze as it meets mine. And the part of me that my masters have twisted beyond repair loves it because there isn’t a goddamn thing he can do to me now. It hurt every time he called me frigid, every time he acted as though there was something wrong and broken with me that I couldn’t come with him. And I don’t just mean on the inside, I mean at all. I couldn’t come at all with him. And now he’s getting a front row seat to the truth and what he could never have.

Maybe it should bother me more that he’s watching this, but he’s seen me naked hundreds of times. He’s never seen this, though.

“You will not say a single word while this is happening,” Seven tells Andrew. “Otherwise, we’ll keep you alive longer, and trust me when I say you don’t want that.”

Declan strokes between my legs, pushing two large fingers inside me. He rubs my inner walls, knowing exactly how and where to touch me. And then Seven joins him, and he kisses me, his hand gripped possessively around my neck while Declan continues his relentless finger fucking. It doesn’t take long for me to come. They’ve trained me too well. Seven pulls back to allow my screams of pleasure to fill the abandoned factory.

Declan doesn’t stop until I beg him, pleading that I can’t take anymore.

“What do you say to me?” he asks, still gently fondling me, not ready to stop yet.

“Thank you, Master,” I say on a sated sigh. I give him this without shame or fear. He pulls his hand away, pressing his wet fingers into my mouth. I suck on them without prompting.

“Such a good girl,” he soothes, stroking my hair.

I can only whimper in reply.

When I come down off this high, I open my eyes and look over at Andrew. I expect to see shock or disgust on his face. But instead, I see raw lust and anger, as though I had been somehow selfishly withholding this from him all this time.

My gaze shifts to Seven. He’s standing next to Andrew again, but he’s watching me.

“Take her to the car,” Seven says.

Declan lifts the ropes binding my arms off the hook. I’d lost track of how much that hurt, hanging there, but now I’m newly aware. He unties the ropes and rubs my wrists, then he brings each one to his lips, kissing the chafed skin. He lifts me up and carries me out of the factory. The sun has disappeared behind the trees, and I shiver against the chill in the air.

He settles me in the car and takes off his suit jacket and puts it on me. He takes a first aid kit out of the glove box and rubs an aloe gel into my wrists where the ropes rubbed me raw in my struggle.

Classical music flows into the car as he turns the key in the ignition. He turns the heat on.

“Stay,” he orders.

I nod. Why would I run now?