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“Mercy,” Montana groaned. “Work with me here. I know you’re fucking pissed at Largo. I get it. But I need you to dig deep in that fucked-up head of yours and remember what your wife was like around the scholarship applicants. I don’t want to explain to Illyria why several of her girls are in the ICU.”
Pushing off the door frame, I shrugged. “Not my problem. Bitch knows the rules. She breaks them. She deserves to be punished. Call me when Romano gets here. I’ve got work to do.”
I ignored Montana when he yelled out my name while I walked away.
I didn’t want to hear any more.
I knew what the fucker was worried about, and even I would admit I was kind of curious to see what the hell she’d do.
Would she or wouldn’t she? That was the question.
On the one hand, if she did anything knowing she was on probation, then she deserved whatever punishment she received. On the flip side, if she did nothing, then she wasn’t the woman I remembered. She was going to be walking a slippery slope tonight, and I couldn’t wait to find out if she was still standing by the end of the night or if she was going to be bent over a table with a red ass.
If I had half a fucking brain, I would have already punished her ass for leaving and moved past everything, but I couldn’t get a handle on my anger, and there was no fucking way I was going to touch her in my current state. Of course, the longer I waited, the angrier I got, which only added more fuel to my already flaming inferno.
So, I did the only thing possible.
I stayed away.
Only coming to the clubhouse when it was absolutely necessary. I worked from my home office and left Largo to herown devices, knowing she was watched like a hawk at the club. It also helped that I had Shame direct her feed to my phone and laptop, so I could watch her myself, which turned into an obsession; I lapped up that feed like I was dying of thirst.
I couldn’t stop watching her.
Everything, from her restless nights, to watching TV, brushing her hair, painting her toenails, to her showering. Everything she did had me jerking off like she was the best live porn feed I’d ever seen.
Yet nothing quelled my anger.
To make matters worse, lately the only thing to get me off was imagining her ass beat red with my whip marks, amongst other dirty things.
Fuck. Just thinking about her ass was getting me hard.
Grumbling, I slammed my office door shut and just managed to hide my ever-growing erection behind my desk when Malice kicked the door open, growling.
“What? What’s wrong with you?” I groused, rolling my eyes and turning on my computer. When the club enforcer didn’t say shit, only stood there glaring at me, I groaned, “What now?”
“You know what?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, brother.”
“How long, Mercy?”
“How long what?”
“How long since you’ve been to the playground?”
“I haven’t had time lately, but I think my mom took Sophia the other day. Why?”
Malice menacingly took a step forward before slamming my office door shut as he sneered. “You fucking know damn well I wasn’t talking about that playground, asswipe.”
Fuck.
The playground Malice was referring to would bethePlayground.
The city’s newest BDSM Club, of which he and I were co-owners. Well, I was a silent partner. I tried to get Malice to buy me out, but the stubborn fuck flat-out refused.
Originally, the Playground was a dream of Largo’s. A place where she could go to and relax. She wanted an environment where everything she desired, all her deviances and perversions, were not only tolerated but also embraced as completely normal. A place where no one would judge, ridicule, or give a damn if she sat at my feet with her head in my lap while I petted her. Mainly, it was supposed to be a place where she didn’t have to hide who she was or act like someone she wasn’t.
When Largo did her runner, everything stopped. And when I put the brakes on my participation in the club, Malice refused to let me and demanded I moved forward with my life... only I never really did.
