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Chapter 3
DARREN
Present
Irelease her hair and her head falls toward the table I tied her to. Stepping back, I survey her body stretched across the surface, her dress bunched at the hips, exposing her ass. It’s a little more supple than I remember it, but it felt as good as before. Tight, too. So maybe she was telling the truth when she’d said she hadn’t let anyone back there since she left me about two years ago.
“Wh-Where’s Josh right now?” she asks.
I had let slip the name of the guy back in Denver whom I had paid off to secure a date with her. After Josh had cut short their date, claiming his grandfather was ill, one of my men, pretending to be a cab driver, was waiting for Bridget when she walked out of the restaurant.
“You think I give a fuck?” I reply. “What’s the matter? You worried about your boyfriend?”
Jealousy roars through me. It feels like she cheated on me, even though we aren’t together. I know a guy who used to run extortion for the Jing San Triad and who shot his girlfriend for cheating on him. The basement we currently occupy is a good place to kill someone. Old Dog, a hired hitman in the triad, owns the house and told me he tortured a triad traitor for days in this basement. There’s a drain in the floor, and a hose that can attach to the concrete sink in the corner. Ideal for washing away the evidence.
I’m not that cold-blooded, though I wish I were right now. But when I’m through with Bridget, she’s going to wish she never crossed me.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she denies. “He’s just some guy I met at a cafe.”
Her protestations only make me angrier. Moments ago she had claimed to miss “us.” Which was bullshit. If that was true, she wouldn’t have left. She would have told me that I had a son.
“Yeah?” I ask as I survey the basement for something I can work with. Earlier, I had her wrists tied to the exposed pipes above. It must have killed her feet to have to stand in the heels she’s wearing. I remember how she hated wearing high heels, which she deemed misogynistic. So it’s her own damn fault for wearing them now.
She turns her head to look at me. “I wasn’t that interested.”
“Not interested? That’s why you got all dressed up for him, why you were wearing lacy panties?” I walk over to where her ass rounds the edge of the table and sink my fingers into a lush sphere. “How far were you planning to go with him?”
“I wasn’t!”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Bridge.”
“I’m not!”
I shake her ass to rattle the Ben Wa balls still in her pussy before slapping a cheek. “Lying is going to get you a serious punishment.”
“What about what you’re doing? Kidnapping and…”
“And what?”
She hesitates before spitting out, “And sexual torment.”
“Torment?” I echo. “I thought you missed this. You said you missed all the crazy shit I did to your body. Or was that a fucking lie?”
She lowers her gaze. “It wasn’t.”
“And you came just now. With my cock buried in your ass.” I slide my hand between her thighs. The wetness there makes my head spin. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re just racking up the punishments.”
Even though her arms are stretched in front of her because her wrists are secured to a leg of the table, her shoulders seem to sag.
“I forgot our rules. I’m sorry, sir.”
Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore.
I saunter over to a suitcase I had Marshall bring down to me. I review the BDSM paraphernalia and ask, “So what punishment do you want to start with?”
