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It takes another hour of waiting in the drizzling rain before the front door swings open and Gabriel himself swaggers out alone. I’ve seen him with women, with groups of people, and always a car picks him up each night.
Somehow I never manage to follow the car, getting lost in the tangle of downtown traffic.
Tonight, he’s got the collar of his jacket tugged up tightly against the September wind and his hands in his pockets. His black shirt is unbuttoned to the center of his pecs. He takes a look around and, seeing nothing, saunters down the sidewalk toward the side alley where the club takes deliveries.
A flash of excitement zips through my system. This might be the break I desperately need.
Maybe my luck isn’t as shit as I think.
Corner him, I tell myself, inching out of position and straightening. My muscles protest from the movement after so long spent in a single position and I crack my back. Find out what I want to know, and then get back to work.
What do I want to know?And why does it feel so imperative for me to figure it out from him?
I push the thought from my mind. The lighter. I want to know about the lighter and how and why the design matches the tattoo on his back. I’ll find out about that and be done.
Gabriel glances up at the sky and the ominous clouds bubbling overhead, promising more than just the soft drench of rain. Finally he strides to the left and I make my move. Making sure to keep my distance and follow him as he traverses the street. He walks right into the alley along the side of the club. Every instinct in me is screaming not to follow him.
A different sort of insistence has me overriding my intuition. Follow him, get my answers, figure out what he knows and be done.
Be done.
I’ll never be done.
I round the corner—and he’s waiting for me. Slamming right into his chest, I barely have a chance to react before he shoves me down onto my ass. Off balance, I catch myself at the last minute and rear up, intent on ramming my head into the underside of his jaw. Fighting back.
His hand wraps around my wrist and he steps out of the way before I can make contact. Pivoting on the ball of my foot, I swing around with the opposite leg to knock him in the knees. He stands at least six and a half feet tall and most of him is rock-hard muscle. Unyielding and unbreakable. I figure that should make him slow to react, especially when I train every day for an attack.
But Gabriel is a step ahead of me at every turn. Each punch I throw his way is countered, not retaliated.
He covers my mouth with a hand and slams the back of my head into the building hard enough for me to see entire galaxies this time.
I claw at his skin even as he slams my head to brick a second time.
The world goes black.
* * *
It’s a slow spiral back up to consciousness, and the moment my wits wake, I’m greeted with pain. A sharp ache from the back of my head all the way through my skull until my teeth throb. I crick my neck from side to side, even when the pain deepens.Holy fuck.
There’s got to be an ostrich egg back there.
I try to feel for it but discover that ropes bind my hands to the arms of a wooden chair.
It’s not the first time I’ve woken up tied, but this time it seems the binds are tighter. My reaction time is slower.
I don't recognize the basement space. Dull gray cinder block walls are devoid of decoration and there are no windows. The floor is stained concrete with a drain in the center of the room.
My mouth goes dry.
The first time I woke up in such a position, it had been a game of cat and mouse between me and a boyfriend. One where I realized quickly that I never wanted to be on the receiving end of a Dom/Sub relationship.Ihold the cards,Imaintain control, and all is decent in the world.
That night, I’d ripped out of the fuzzy handcuffs, kicked the chair aside, and left, not even the buzz of alcohol in my veins enough to get me to give said boyfriend another chance.
Now, I don’t have the luxury of walking away.
Rather than panicking, I push those sensations to the side and focus on what I can see. The ropes are rough and the knots professional and well done. There’s only one exit.
There’s also a man standing in the corner with a knife sliding beneath his fingernails, pointedly not looking at me.
