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“Shut up, queer.”
He can’t kill me. I know that simply because whoever bandaged me up didn’t do it just so this damaged mind could have his fun. It’s a slim hope to hold onto, but it’s all I’ve got. What kind of punishment would Red bestow on The Executioner if he killed me unintentionally?
No. From that brief flash of fear I saw, I have to believe this guy wouldn’t want to get on Red’s bad side.
“I have a very important message for him.”
The Executioner grunts in frustration, eyes narrowing to slits. “I said, shut up!”
The whip is around my throat. I don’t even know how he could move so quickly, but I couldn’t have stopped him if I wanted. Not bound spreadeagled to the fucking wall.
I choke as he tightens the leather, and have to force myself not to panic. No one wants to be denied air. All I can think about is all the times I held Charlotte by the throat. Had she felt this fear too? This near claustrophobia?
But I can’t let Red’s sycophant know that he’s getting to me. I force my eyes open, even manage a partial smile. From his growl, he doesn’t like it one bit.
My entire body seizes up when he grabs my dick and balls in his hands.
Fuck.
My jaw clenches, sending another flash of pain through the cut on my face.
“Yeah, your mother liked doing that too,” I say through clenched teeth. “Right before I put it in her mouth and made her suck it.”
I expect him to maim me, right then. Any sane person would have. But I also know this man isn’t mentally stable. Red seems to attract the kind of damaged personalities and broken souls that attach to him like barnacles on a ship’s hull.
He doesn’t twist my balls into a pretzel. Guess yo mamma jokes aren’t going to do the trick. The Executioner lets out a harsh sigh that I’m sure I would have felt on my face if the hood hadn’t been in the way. Then he starts stroking me, like he’s trying to get my dick hard.
Good luck, freak. If I ever, ever need to stop an erection in its tracks, this memory will be my first resource.
“You know your way around a man’s jewels, don’t you?”
The Executioner’s frank eye contact makes me want to puke more than the way he’s fondling my dick.
“Look, if you won’t get Red for me, then at least pass on the message?”
Those brown eyes relax, a touch of curiosity in them now. “Why would he care about your message, queer?”
The guy decides there isn’t enough skin-on-skin contact, so I have to fight down the bile that rushes up my throat as he shoves his hands down the foreign boxers I’m wearing.
“Oh, he’s definitely going to care.”
“Then what is it?” The Executioner leans his hips in closer, the hard ridge of his dick pressing into my thigh.
Bile burns the back of my throat. “Tell him I’ll give all his customers fifty percent off their next therapy session with me if they don’t mind me filming the entire thing. For educational purposes, of course.” I wink at him. “We can talk about your relationship with your mother.”
22
CHARLOTTE
Red doesn’t make a sound as he sips on his glass of wine. Or maybe my senses are dulled to the point that I just can’t hear it. Red weaves his hand through my hair and urges me a few inches closer, until my head rests in his lap. I let out a sigh of relief that I don’t have to try to keep my head up anymore.
“Don’t nod off now, dolly. Our guest will be upset.”
I would have laughed, if I’d had the motivation to do anything but kneel here at Red’s feet while some unnamed stranger rails me from behind.
My cheek rubs over Red’s thighs with every thrust, and maybe he likes that, because he starts stroking my head. My eyes flutter, wanting to close, but the last time I nodded off, Red backhanded me so hard I landed on my ass.
Gaze moving around the room instead, I take in the maroon upholstery on the wingback chair Red sits in. How the dark, richly textured wallpaper makes this already intimate room seem so much smaller.
