Chapter 34

She'd forgotten how thick his accent was, and how broad and heavily muscled his shoulders were.

She hadn't forgotten that odd gleam in his eye. A look that was either madness, intelligence, or an unholy combination of both.

"Damien," she said softly, adopting the Irish accent that went with her Colline identity.

He sat on the side of the bed, one arm stretched towards her, hand flat on the mattress, fingers nearly touching her toes.

Colette pulled her legs in tighter.

He smiled while shaking his head. "No, wife. Do not be afraid of me."

"But I am afraid of you." She kept her voice soft and neutral. Though she said she was afraid, and that was certainly true, there was no fear in her voice. She was stating a fact, nothing more.

"Why? Why would you be afraid?" He was no longer smiling. "Did I rape you? No. Did I beat you? Only once."

He grabbed her ankle, big hands nearly wrapping all the way around. Colette relaxed her legs a bit, because tucked up like this, her ankles were close to her sex, and she didn't want his hand near that part of her.

"You're smart. I only had to beat you once." He rubbed her ankle with his thumb, a tender caress that made her skin crawl. How long until he put a chain around her ankle again?

She had no idea how he wanted her to behave. He clearly had an image of her in his mind, and she had no idea what words or actions would keep her body and soul safe just a little bit longer. Colette looked down at her knees.

"It doesn't matter. You're back now." He tightened his grip on her ankle and pulled, slowly straightening that leg.

Colette focused on taking steady, measured breaths as fear tried to choke her.

"What if I promise this? A promise from husband to wife, that I won't beat you tonight? Even though you ran away from me." He leaned in, his hand sliding from her ankle to knee to thigh. "Even though you went to Interpol to try and get protection from me."

At that Colette looked up, shocked.

"Did you think I wouldn't know?" He laughed and grabbed her other ankle, yanking that leg straight too. "How do you think I found you?"

"I heard you hired bounty hunters." Colette let her hands casually drop onto her lap, hiding her sex from his view. It was foolish, she knew, because she was only delaying the inevitable.

He frowned, staring at her breasts, and she wondered if he understood the term "bounty hunter" in English. But then he nodded. "Yes. I did. And they failed me. I had to find you myself."

Damien rose from the bed, circling to stand at the low foot board.

She knew what he'd do next, and steeled herself, managing not to scream when he leaned forward, grabbed her ankles, and yanked.

Her ass and legs slid across the mattress, her head and shoulders falling back with a soft thump. He kept pulling, forcing her body into a straight line, the cuffs digging painfully into her wrists.

He stopped pulling, releasing her ankles.

"I need to look at you. Make sure no one has touched what is mine."

Colette closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek to stop her lower lip from trembling. Would he be able to tell that she and Landon had marathon-fucked earlier today?

…Or maybe it was yesterday.

What would he do to her when he decided she was no longer a virgin, and therefore not his wife?

"I cannot see," he snapped.

She opened her eyes. He was bent over her, frowning.

"I need more light." He straightened up. "I said more light!" He was looking at her as he yelled. Colette twisted, trying to spot a light switch. Not that she was in any position to flick it on.

Damien whirled, yelling about lights to the empty room. He whipped back to her.

"I will let you pee, while we wait." The flip from yelling at nothing to solicitous made her nauseous.

Damien unlocked the padlock holding the cuffs to the short length of chain. When he held out his hand, she accepted it, her fingers in his as she gingerly slid to the edge of the bed and stood.

"Hmm." He cupped one breast, sliding his thumb over the inner curve and nipple. She flinched slightly, so he flicked her nipple a second time.

"Go. The bathroom is there." He pushed her gently towards the open interior door. Colette closed the door, but didn't dare lock it.

Then she ran to the sink, bracing her hands on cold marble and dry heaving. The chain between the cuffs clinked against the stone as she lurched and heaved.

She wasn't sure if it was fear or the drugs they'd given her that caused her stomach to try and escape out her mouth.

The urge passed, and she washed her hands before splashing cold water on her face.

She didn't have time for this. Damien could burst in here at any moment, and she did need to pee.

After relieving herself, Colette desperately wiped, trying to make herself as dry as possible in hopes he'd reach the same conclusion now that he had before.

She washed her hands one more time, then looked in the wide mirror over the sink.

And froze.

Her breasts.

Fighting back a sob, she touched the faint love bite below and to the left of one nipple. It had been glorious when Landon had put it there. She'd begged him for more. Begged him to mark her.

And he had, as evidenced by the smattering of hickies on her tits.

Whirling, she checked her ass, but evidence of her spanking was gone, with the possible exception of one small bruise high on her thigh, but unless someone knew she'd been recently spanked they would just assume she'd bumped into, or sat on, something.

But no one would mistake the love bites on her breasts for bruises.

Colette faced front, blinking back tears. Damien had already seen them. That's why he'd touched her before letting her in here.

Still, Colette wet a washcloth with cold water, holding it against one of the pink marks, as if that would magically make it go away. It didn't.

Throwing the washcloth in a momentary fit of fear-born frustration she gave herself another moment to hide before straightening.

All she was doing was delaying the pain.

Before she went out there to face what came next, she reached up into her hair. If they'd found and removed the key, it would mean losing any hope of freeing herself.

It was still there. If she wanted she could undo these cuffs right now.

There was no point—the bathroom was windowless, and walking out uncuffed would make everything worse. Still, she had a way out. It had saved her before.

She opened the bathroom door, stepping naked into a room that was now lit with a dozen lamps and even a scattering of candles. Floor lamps were crowded against the edges of the bed. Two men besides Damien were present, one of them balanced on a chair at the foot of a bed, hanging a caged bulb that looked like it belonged in a mechanic's shop from the sprinkler in the ceiling.

Colette frowned. She hadn't noticed the sprinkler before. Usually things like that were only present in commercial property. Like hotel rooms. Was this a hotel room? She couldn't see the door, so didn't know if there was an emergency information and escape map posted on the inside.

There'd been no mini shampoo in the bathroom, but those were easy-enough to remove. The towels had all been white, which weren't a deciding factor either way.

"Come here, wife."

Trying to decide if this was a hotel room gave her something to focus on as Damien pushed her down onto the bed, once more locking her cuffs to the chain. This time he grabbed her knees, forcing her to bend and spread her legs.

She closed her eyes, the light above her so bright it hurt to look at it, but hope blossomed inside her. The heat from the bulb would set off the sprinkler. In the chaos that followed maybe she could uncuff herself and get away.

What if it's an LED bulb, and doesn't give off heat?

"Beautiful, yes?" Damien said, tracing swirling patterns over her inner thighs.

The two other men were still here. One responded in a Slavic language, and Damien answered in the same tongue. She recognized that man, both from her first time as Damien's captive, and from the recent kidnapping. He'd been the one wielding the syringe.

"I'm glad she's back," the other man said in accented English. "You'll have to make sure she knows she's yours now."

"Ahh, I know what you like to do to them." There was a smile in Damien's voice.

The mattress dipped as Damien sat, then dipped more as he lay down beside her. Colette's breath hitched as he ran his hand over her breasts.

"I know where you were," he said softly. "I know where they were keeping you. What kind of place it was."

Colette's breath caught. He knew not only about Interpol but about Club Alibi?

"I promised not to beat you." A thin line of anger laced through his words, and Colette opened her eyes, looking at him. He was so close she could clearly see the ring of darker blue around the outside of his irises.

"You shouldn't have let anyone touch you. You know that." He placed the tip of his finger against one of the love bites, then traced the outline of the small oval-shaped mark. He was being so gentle. It terrified her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice shaking.

"I know."

He gripped her breast, squeezing hard. Her flesh plumped between his fingers, and she winced at the odd, deep pain.

"I heard you were their slave," Damien whispered. "Their whore."

"No." She made the word firm. A fact. "I served drinks."

"Topless?"

She nodded, playing into whatever assumptions he was making.

"Other men wanted you. Tasted you." He gripped her other breast, treating it to the same brutal squeeze.

She breathed through the pain, knowing it would end. It had to end.

Finally he released her, and she slumped into the mattress.

"I know how it's done," Damien said after a moment. "Even the ones who aren't for sale are there to please men's eyes. And it's good business to let clients have a taste of exactly what they'll be allowed to do once they pay."

Colette wondered how many brothels he ran. How many women he trafficked into those places. How many had done what she was doing now, trying to divorce themselves from their own bodies as a man put his hands on them.

Damien lowered his mouth to her breast, and bit her. Hard.

He took his time, obliterating each of the marks Landon had made with one of his own. But his bites were savage, bringing tears to her eyes, and sometimes she couldn't help but look, sure he'd broken her skin and there'd be blood on her breasts. She stayed silent, only the occasional gasp escaping, though she couldn't stop herself from crying, the tears sliding into the hair at her temples and ears.

Her whole chest throbbed by the time he was done.

Damien propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her with satisfaction.

Colette stared at his chin, happy to be emotionally numb.

That didn't last.

Damien's hand slid down her body and between her legs.

She cried out in pain when he tried to force a finger into her, and then let out a second cry when he managed it.

"Oh, my sweet wife. Still so tight for me."

Colette nodded, agreeing with him, as tears of mingled pain and relief sprung to her eyes.

She whimpered when he withdrew his finger and tried to close her legs, but he slapped the inside of her thighs.

"You didn't let them fuck you, because you knew who this belonged to, but you did let them touch your breasts."

"I'm sorry," she whispered through a tight throat.

Damien sat up, his hand now tracing the line of the cut he'd made on her side. There were band aids still covering a few spots—replacing them had been part of one of her and Landon's many aftercare sessions. Damien slowly pulled them off, inspecting every inch of the wound. She had a terrible vision of his tracing the line with his knife, cutting through tender, freshly healed flesh. Cutting deeper to ensure it left a scar that would never heal.

"You broke the pretty jewelry."

You broke it when you cut it off me, you psychopath.

"It can be repaired," she said, trying to find the lecturing tone he'd so liked before. "High quality pearls aren't just strung together, they're knotted between each pearl. That piece had the same technique used. It will have to be taken apart, each knot cut, but it can be restrung. And if you want it stronger, a thin flexible wire instead of string might be better."

Damien squeezed the inside of her thigh. "Do you see?" he said to the other men. "She's brilliant."

"Worthy of you," the English-speaker said.

"Yes." Damien rose to his knees on the bed, looking down at her breasts. His smiled switched to a frown and he grabbed her nipple, twisting viciously.

She screamed, in surprise as much as pain. He'd bitten almost every inch of her breasts except her nipples.

"Sensitive," the other man said.

Colette looked over. He had a wide face with cruel eyes, a gold chain necklace, and a pronounced bald patch that made him look like a tonsured monk.

Tonsure smiled at her, his gaze sliding down to her exposed sex. Her leg muscles trembled with the desire to close her thighs, but she forced them to stay spread.

Damien drew her attention back to him when he traced her lower lip with one finger. "My wife…Have you heard of permanent jewelry?"