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“I haven’t,” I whisper.
“That doesn’t make sense, Bridge. When would this miscarriage have happened?”
“Um, a year and a half ago.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
I try to hold his gaze but I can’t.
“See, if it’s true,” he continues, “then that means you were carrying my baby, and you never bothered telling me. If it’s not true, and this ‘miscarriage’ happened more recently, then you gave away pussy that belongs to me. Either way, you lied. And either way, your punishment is going to be extra special.”
He releases me as if disgusted and picks up a nipple clamp.
His switchblade is still on the table next to me. If I can get ahold of it somehow, I might have a chance. I hope he doesn’t decide to replace it in his pants.
Pulling aside the cut fabric, he applies the clamp and lets the weight dangle off the side of the table.
Holy crap.
I think all the nursing, which wasn’t easy and hurt like hell at the beginning, has made my nipples extra sensitive.
“You can make things easier on yourself by telling me the truth,” Darren tells me while I do my best to breathe through the pinching and the pain of having my nipple pulled to the side.
He sees the pain in my face and reaches for my clit. I hone in on his touch like a bee to pollen. I’m going to need every ounce of arousal to see me through this. As his fingers caress me, I hold on to this small gesture for hope. It could be that he’s only setting me up for the torture of orgasm denial, but he could also be granting me pleasure to ease the pain. I pray it’s the latter.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, fondling me as only he knows how.
“Yes,” I murmur. “Thank you, sir.”
He frowns and stops. “You know how hard it was to find you, Bridge?”
Oh no.
“You think it was nice of you to just disappear on me? To not pick up my calls? Not bother to tell me anything?”
Part of me wants to crumble and tell him the truth. But if he knows that I know that he’s part of a triad and that I know that Amy’s death wasn’t accidental, then I’m definitely a goner. I might be doomed anyway.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t myself after what happened to Amy.”
I could also say I had survivor’s guilt, which I do. Or I could say I had a nervous breakdown, which I also felt that I had at times. But he’s staring at me with such intensity that I worry saying too much will give me away.
“That’s it?” he prods. “You have nothing else to say to me?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“A lie of omission is still a lie.”
My pulse quickens. Does he know something? Does he not believe the lie about the miscarriage and actually knows about Ethan? Or did Felipe give me up and confess to having told me the truth about Amy and the triad?
“Well, Bridge?”
I play dumb. “I’ll say whatever you want me to say, sir.”
My response seems to anger him more. He applies the second clamp to my other nipple. I release a cry. I’d use my safe word if it was of any use.
This is for Ethan. I have no idea what Darren would do if he knew about Ethan.
Darren goes back to the briefcase and holds up a zapper. “Remember this? We had fun with this, didn’t we, Bridge?”
