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“I d-don’t understand. What do you want from me? I t-told you…”
“Don’t play games with me, Ruth. You won’t win.”
“I’m not playing games. I came here searching for my sister. Please, you can’t do this. It’s…it’s…”
“Are you going to tell me that beating you would be illegal? An assault, perhaps?”
“Well, isn’t it?”
“Have I somehow given you the impression I might care? You need to understand, Ruth. Here, I make the rules.”
“You’re a—”
“An animal. Yes, you mentioned that already. Five strokes, then I’ll ask you again. Perhaps you’ll be more cooperative once your arse is throbbing nicely.”
“I was looking for Naomi,” she sobs. “My sister… Aaagh!”
The first stroke brings her even higher onto her toes. She dances on the spot, dangling from the ring as the force of my blow expels the wind from her lungs.
I pick my spot, just below the crimson ribbon already blooming across both cheeks of her pretty arse, and deliver the second stroke.
There’s another ragged scream. She jerks hard, fighting to be free, but her plight is hopeless. I wait until her struggles subside, then swing the belt again.
She’s sobbing loudly now, her bottom glowing from my attentions. I take a moment to check that her skin isn’t about to break. That would leave scars and really shouldn’t be necessary. I may be a hard-nosed bastard, I know that, but I’m not clumsy.
Satisfied that all is well, I move into position for the fourth stroke.
“P-please, don’t. I swear I’m telling the truth. My s-sister, I thought she was here…”
“Why did you think that, Ruth?”
It’s a lie, I’m still fairly sure of that, but she’s sticking to the story, so it’s worth exploring.
“I… I traced her here.”
“How?” I ask.
“H-her father was a landlord. He ran pubs.” She’s babbling now, can’t get her tale out fast enough. “He had a pub in Newcastle, but he died.”
I wait, allowing her the time to tell me whatever her story is. She rattles on about a house for sale, and Caernbro Ghyll being mentioned in the sales pack. None of it makes sense. The Savage organisation runs lots of pubs but none of them in England. And I don’t know any Naomi.
I let her finish, then, “Cool story. Needs more dragons.”
“It’s true,” she wails. “You have to believe me.”
I shake my head. I don’t have to believe shit, and every logical bone in my body is screaming that this is pure fantasy. But there’s something about her, something in her demeanour, that makes me doubt my own logic. I cup her face again in my palm and raise her chin so she has to meet my gaze. Her pretty blue eyes are filled with tears. She’s shaking, biting back sobs.
“Tell me again,” I murmur. “Slowly. Take your time.”
She drags in a strangled breath. “Naomi was adopted, as a baby. I never met her, didn’t even know she existed. My mum, Naomi’s birth mother, asked me to find her. She was adopted by a family who ran a pub, so I’ve been tracing them across England, following her.”
“You fancy yourself as some sort of detective, then?”
“I just asked people and checked the records.”
“Records?”
“Electoral roll. And births and deaths…”
