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“Or what? You'll do something heroic? Kate, what did I say about names in here? I distinctly heard you say his name in the bathroom. If you're smart, you will step out of his arms and beg me for mercy.”
Seven's grip on me tightens like he's just made up his mind to never let me go, to never let our captor have me. I wish it were that simple, but I know it's not.
Our captor comes closer, standing on the side my face is turned toward.
“Open your eyes, sweet whore.”
I bite back my sobs and open my eyes to see that cold gray gaze sliding into me. Something dark inside me awakens, and I feel the throbbing start between my legs. I try to make it stop, but it won't, even as I'm so fucking scared of him.
My gaze drops to the cane in his hand.
“Master, please, please...”
But he's not concerned with me right now. He's turned his attention to Seven. He props the cane against the wall and pulls a syringe out of his pocket. He removes the protective cap from the needle and pushes the air out, tapping the side of the needle.
“You can release her to me, or I can inject you with a sedative and take her. She'll be punished worse if I have to do that.”
I feel Seven's arms slacken around me in defeat.
“Good. Now, Kate, come, throw yourself on my mercy.”
I know what he wants from me. There is this almost psychic link that formed between us that day in the dungeon. I've had to start trying to think like him to survive this total mind fuck he's got me under. I pull myself from the warm, safe circle of Seven's arms, turn away from him, and kneel in front of our captor. I think of him as our captor, but the thought that really keeps coming to the front of my mind ismy master.
I've been trying so hard for days to not think that phrase, to not let it burrow inside my soul and set up camp there. But it's useless. This man owns me, and both Seven and I know it. He may also own Seven in a sense, but he has this twisted desire to bring my would-be protector over to his side of the good and evil divide, leaving me alone, helpless, and at the mercy of both of them.
I want to convince myself that this isn't possible, but look at how he's already conditioned me. And I know how much Seven wants me and how the wordMasteraffects him. It's only a matter of time before my one safe haven is gone.
I let the tears fall because there’s no point in being brave. I don't think bravery wins me points with this man. He wants to watch me break and crumble at his feet. And so I do. I give him what he wants. I let him see this absolute vulnerability and how broken I am. I think that if I do this, somehow I can hold onto a small piece of myself and hide it and keep it safe within me.
“Master, please. I beg you. Forgive me. I'm sorry I disobeyed. Please... spare me.”
He chuckles. “Oh, yes, my sweet whore. You know exactly the way I like it.”
He derives a real pleasure from these words I speak, these tears I cry, my total despair kneeling at his feet. He seems to get the kind of satisfaction from this that most men get from a blow job.
I flinch when he starts to stroke my hair.
He reaches down, takes my hands in his, and pulls me to stand. Then he spins me around so that my back is pressed against his front, so that I'm exposed, facing Seven. He holds my throat in a possessive grip with one hand as the other moves slowly over my body—as though he's displaying a pretty object he intends to sell for the right price.
“Look at her,” he says to Seven. “She’s so fucking perfect. Already she's so perfect. You will soon come to appreciate all the work I'm doing. Watch her.” Then he whispers in my ear. “Look at him. Do you see the lust? He's not your hero. Remember that, Pretty Toy. Remember that when he goes dark. Because he will.”
There’s anger at our captor in Seven's eyes, but beneath that I do see it. I see the lust. I see the animal way he wants me. One side of him wants to break free of these chains and protect me—and he does make a valiant effort as he pulls on them with all the strength he has. But the shadow inside him wants to feed.
“Now, I need you to be a very good girl for me and go stand next to your chains facing the wall. It's time for your punishment.”
“Please,” I whimper. I'm falling apart in his arms. I can barely hold myself up as the terror of that cane grips me.
“Shhhh,” he says, “I'm very pleased with your begging.” He cups his hand against my mound, pulling me back against him. I feel his hard length pressing into my bare skin through his pants. “You've earned some mercy. Now go, before you lose it again.”
He releases me, and I stumble a few steps forward. Seven reaches out and catches me. His thumb strokes over my arm—a barely perceptible gesture of comfort. I look away from his gaze, right myself, and go to the other end of the cell, turning to face the wall.
When our captor comes to me, he's collected the cane and the silver key. I think I may hyperventilate as he unlocks the shackles and locks my wrists into them. These are smaller than Seven's for much smaller wrists—like mine.
“Press your hands flat against the wall, up near your face to support yourself,” he growls in my ear. “And do not move them. You're getting five.”
I whimper as he slowly and gently drags the tip of the cane over my back. I find myself arching toward these soothing pleasurable sensations, but then he pulls away.
The pain from the first strike across my ass makes all of my nerve endings cringe, trying desperately to escape his reach. The instrument he just used to give me comfort has transformed back to its true form—a thing to be feared. My scream bounces off the walls of the cell. There’s no way I can handle four more of these.
