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“Wait!” Mara cried. “Now I’m really freaking. You have to tell me.” But the others had already filed out of the bathroom. Not knowing what else to do, Mara trailed after them, jumpy and miserable, terrified of whatever was going to happen next.
She could barely eat breakfast, but forced herself to have some yogurt and fresh fruit, along with a cup of strong coffee. After breakfast, they were transported en masse in a large golf cart that had four rows of padded benches. Ronaldo was once again at the wheel, Dawn in the seat beside him.
“What’s to stop us from running?” Mara asked in a small whisper, leaning her mouth close to the ear of the girl on her left, Cassie. Ronaldo was driving slowly enough that she could have tumbled from the cart and run, losing herself in the thicket of scrub pines and live oaks to the left of the path.
“Where would you run to? There’s no way off this island, unless you want to swim out into the ocean. The boats are kept under lock and key. And if you do try to make a run for it, you can bet they’d catch you, and then you’d be put in the box, or worse.”
“What is this box?” Mara blurted, forgetting to whisper.
Alarmed, Cassie put a finger to her lips.
Lowering her voice to a whisper again, Mara persisted, “Dawn said something about it, too. A punishment box. It sounds horrible. What is it?”
But Cassie just shook her head and turned away, the conversation clearly over. Mara hugged herself miserably, trying not to envision lying curled in a tiny, metal box left out in the sweltering sun.
They stopped in front of the two-story building that had been deserted the morning before. Now there were at least half a dozen men, all of them in the same uniform of white shirt and black shorts as Ronaldo wore, some toting luggage, some with boxes in their arms, one carrying a huge bouquet of brightly colored flowers. Ronaldo drove the cart around the back of the building and pulled to a stop. The girls filed out of the cart and followed Dawn into the building.
Alex stood just inside, and Mara jumped at the sight of him. As he regarded her with an impassive gaze, she could almost taste the saltwater in her mouth, feel its burning sting in her eyes and nose. Her pussy pulsed and contracted at the muscle memory of his riding crop, her stomach curling into a hard knot.
Dawn, her hand on Mara’s arm, forced her to stand in front of Alex. “Here she is. Have fun.” Turning away, Dawn gestured to the rest of the girls. “Time to transform you into geishas and nymphomaniacs. Let’s go, my darlings.”
The girls followed Dawn down the hallway. Only Esmé looked back. “Good luck,” she mouthed. Mara shivered.
“Did you sleep well, Mara?” Alex asked in a pleasant voice. He was holding what looked like a dog leash in his hands—a loop of leather with the lead attached. His tone hardened. “I asked you a direct question, girl. Have you already forgotten my instructions from yesterday?”
Why was he asking her? Why was he pretending to care about her well-being? The guy was so fucking creepy, but she knew she had to answer. “I slept okay, I guess,” she replied breathlessly, remembering at the last second to add, “sir.”
“Good.” Without another word, he slipped the yoke of the leash over her head and gave it a yank as he began to walk. Mara had to nearly jog to keep from stumbling again as he tugged her along the hallway.
Alex stopped at a door and punched in the code to release the lock. He turned the doorknob and entered the room, pulling Mara in behind him. The space was long and narrow, both side walls completely covered in mirrored glass.
A bondage chair made of steel with a padded leather seat had been set close to one of the walls, facing the mirror. There was a metal collar welded onto the center of the back of the chair, as well as steel wrist cuffs on the armrests and ankle cuffs on the legs of the chair. There was other furniture in the room—a couch and a few easy chairs, as well as a galley kitchen and bar.
“Welcome to the observation room.” Alex lifted the leash over Mara’s head. He touched a wall switch, causing the lights in the room to dim. At the same time, the mirrored wall in front of the bondage chair turned from opaque to clear glass, revealing a large living room on the other side decorated much like the bungalow where she’d first met her captors, with white wicker, plump cushions and bright throw rugs over tiled floors. The man she had seen carrying flowers now moved about the room setting out vases. Another man behind the bar was cutting lemons at the counter.
