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Voices talk all at once.
They all rush to get on the dais, some for Charles and others for her. My heart pounds in my chest as I digest what the fuck is happening.
Glancing back to the edge of the room, the mystery guy is gone. Most likely slipped out during the commotion. Glancing between the empty space and where people are fluttering around Leather, I decide that she’s my current priority.
“Everyone get back!” I shout, my voice thick with the demand. Hustling to the stage, Prez is elevating her head. There’s a small trickle of blood from where she crashed. Prez jerks his head at me, and I move to Charles.
“I don’t know what happened,” he panics, his body shaking harshly. “She was fine one second, then glanced back there and lost herself. I have only seen her like that once when…” he trails off, shaking his head and biting his wobbly lip.
Fuck’s sake.
Roughly shaking my head, I undo the ropes around his wrists and ankles, helping him down. I blow a short whistle to one of the monitors, who throws a towel our way. Charles quickly covers himself while shaking like a leaf.
“Move,” I demand, roughly shoving people aside. They move easily as I shoulder check them out of the way.
A rag quickly replaces the sudden pouring blood from her head, the sleek hardwoods suddenly staining red.
“What the fuck happened?” Prez mutters, putting pressure.
Confusing thoughts spin in my head, different scenarios playing out as I wrack my brain for what could have possibly caused this.
“Charles said something about seeing her like this before,” I murmur in return. His head snaps up, eyes narrowing on the male mentioned. Prez catches Charles' eyes, jerking his head to come here. He kneels next to us, placing a gentle hand on her leg.
“What did you mean?” Prez's forehead vein is protruding, his face red with what I’m assuming is anger and worry.
“Her ex, man.” He shakes his head, running a sweaty hand through his short hair. “I can’t remember his name…Heller? Henchman…” His eyebrows crease with concentration, focusing on the woman before us.
“Heckles,” another deep voice adds, stepping up behind us. “His name is Heckles.”
Chapter Eight
Leather
“Such a good girl, Blaine. Who knew you’d look so good in leather?” His voice echoes around my head, the sickly sweet tone like honey wrapping around my heady-mind.
“Thank you, Sir,” I purr, my core hot and ready for round two. His wooden paddle drags along my welted and bloody skin. It stings, but I won’t cry or whine. That’s how you get into more trouble.
He grabs a gleaming knife off the table, holding it to the light as I refrain from struggling against the bindings. My muscles tense all over my body. In quick succession, he drags the knife through my leather top, digging the metal deep into my skin. Slowly as he goes, fire erupts on my sternum, right between my breasts.
Internalizing my pain, my teeth bust through my lip. The tearing of the skin sounds worse than it is, probably because it’s so damn close to my head. That or the fact that blood is rushing to my ears, the whitewater sound whooshes through my head.
I definitely don’t want to get into trouble again.
“You’re just a dirty little blood whore.” Whipping the paddle down, he slams it on the open wound, a splatter of blood coming off. I can’t help the shriek that escapes me due to the overwhelming urge to scream gripping at my vocal cords.
Remember the line: Pleasure and pain…
Silence will get me punished, but he doesn’t like when I scream. He only likes it when he sees tears. Tears are easy, but silent tears are near impossible.
“Tsk, tsk, Leather.” His boots pound around me, the sound near silenced by the scorching pain. “You’re mine.”
“Leather?”
“No one would ever want you.”
“Come on, wake up!”
“How could they when I have marked you so prettily.”
