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Nothing!
Where the fuck is she?
Minutes passed quickly as he searched over the tops of heads, his height advantageous. Lubinsky, who had been nearby, called out and bolted down a passageway. Jason dodged through the crowd, shoving one vendor out of his path. That memory lurked in his head—the one of his wife being escorted out of a ballroom at the point of a knife. Lubinsky stopped and pointed to a familiar figure, several metres away, facing the opposite direction. Jason took off again, passing the guard. Unperturbed by obstacles, he knocked a walking stick out of his way with a kick.
Breathing hard, Jason grabbed her hard above the elbow and spun her about sharply.
“Jason!” Gemma gasped and threw herself at him. His arms encased her trembling body.
“Shhh, baby. You’re safe now,” he soothed. “Let’s get out of here.”
With an arm tight about her waist, he steered her to where they had entered the maelstrom, the edge of the market. Lubinsky hailed a cab, and they bundled her into the back and rode, shoulder-to-shoulder, to the docks.
Jason said nothing to anyone. He didn’t alleviate his wife’s nerves with a cuddle, instead he folded his arms across his chest and stared out of the window. She remained quivering against his shoulder. His opinion of Lubinsky and Dufour, he kept to himself, suppressing the temptation to rail at the them in the confines of the car.
In general, Jason had no criticism of the two men. However, he’d noticed they didn’t talk to each other much. Did they dislike each other? The specialist marine security firm who employed the men had assured him they were of the highest standard.
The professionals could wait. His immediate priority was his wife.
***
Jason didn’t let go of Gemma until they entered the stateroom and stood by the window bay. Releasing his grip, he flicked the switch to close the blinds. The room descended into a dim light. She shut her eyes and sank to her knees. His face, in the low light, was the one she hated to see. A grim scowl with lips tightly pressed together, cheeks unusually red.
For a few minutes, he paced up and down before flinging off his shoes and jacket. His sweat-dampened shirt clung to his chest and armpits.
“I don’t believe it. You were told to keep us in view at all times. I let go of your hand on the basis that you would not stray. What the fuck got into your head?”
Gemma buried her face in her hands. How could she have been disorientated so quickly and easily? She tried hard to think where she had gone wrong. At what point had she lost sight of Jason and his guards. All she could remember was blind panic and the terror at being alone in a strange place. The suffocating presence of so many people, the heat, the dust, and the smell.
“I’m sorry. Sir,” she squeaked. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“What did I tell you I would do to you if you broke a rule? A vow of obedience you made to me. A vow you would take your safety and well-being seriously. Well?”
“You would punish me severely, Sir.”
“Cane you. Thrash your sorry arse to hell.”
***
Jason stood over her pathetic body, her shoulders quaking and head bowed. She wasn’t arguing with him, no back chat, defensive or mitigating statements pleading an alternative perspective. She appeared contrite and resigned to her fate, having knelt without prompting. Was this behaviour authentic? He was taken aback by her meekness. It wasn’t what he expected from her. In the past, she had used her lack of liberty as a means to rebel against him, to make her mark and push his buttons. Either for some underhanded purpose or simply because she couldn’t tolerate his rules. Her submissive side would lose out to her dormant disobedient nature.
“Go wash your face. Take a few minutes to collect yourself. Go!”
Jason leant back in his chair, sipping a glass of water as he analysed the catastrophic walk in the market. His fear of losing her filled him with dread. With his wife out of sight, he pressed a hand to his sweaty forehead, dragging the palm down his face, and drew in a slow breath of relief. Dealing with her disappearance had opened him up to lack of control. He rarely felt panic or fear. He had that afternoon, as he had many moons ago when he’d thought a lunatic had attacked his then girlfriend, or when he had been told his wife had been strangled The unwanted sentiment reminded him how important Gemma had become to him. Not only as his sexual submissive but as his lover, spouse, and friend. She encompassed all the elements he needed in his female companion. She was irreplaceable.
When he opened his eyes, she had returned and knelt nearby. Her breathing had calmed although her cheeks remained pale and her eyes darted about.
“Do I need a reas
on to punish you?” he asked.
“No. I accept that you are punishing me, and I’m grateful,” she intoned. Her resignation was complete. He had brought her on vacation to have a relaxing, sensual, and sexy holiday. “For the rest of the cruise, I will try harder, to please you, show my gratitude and my love.”
Her gaze flickered for a second. The cane hanging from his hand, tapping the calf of his leg in a mesmerising swing. Shutting her eyes, she waited for her punishment. The silence continued, and she remained unmoving, breathing deeply, meditative. Jason made his decision.
He laid the cane on the table at the foot of the bed and rested his hands on its surface. “I’m not going to punish you. For one thing, you have punished yourself. Your fear and terror at being lost in the market must have been unbearable. Fear is a powerful deterrent. I don’t think you will be quite so silly next time we are in a crowded location. Will you?” he asked softly.
“No, Sir.” Her voice broke.
