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4
Cole
The girl on the bed was close to bleeding. The ladder on her ass, up her hip, down along her thighs, was bright red and already trying to bruise. There were flecks of blood along the edges. I'd have to discard the cane afterwards. Maybe force her to take it with her.
She'd like that.
Her name was Marilyn. She was tall and strong and took care of her body. Every bit of her was toned and sleek, hairless and shiny. Whatever it was she was atoning for, she'd been coming to me since we met in a bar three months ago. There'd been a break when Annie was first in residence and I needed to concentrate on her, but now Marilyn was back. Back and screaming against the gag, lunging against the restraints that held her up on her knees, on the bed, her arms tugged back behind her. It wasn't an ideal position for caning but I'm damned good at it and it had the added benefit of being horribly uncomfortable for Marilyn.
I was striking where I meant to hit. Laddering her. Leaving stripes so close together there'd be no safe place for her to sit tomorrow.
Three last strikes, so close together she didn't even have time to catch her breath. She screamed hard against the gag, thrashing in the restraints, and I moved up behind her, rolled on the condom and took her from behind. My hands went round and pinched, punched and slapped her breasts, making them bounce against her thin frame. There was nothing of kindness in anything I did and nothing but acceptance from her.
The image of Annie, angry, fighting, filled my mind. I thrust it away. There'd been no contact like this between us. I had never had the pleasure of caning her but I would when I brought her back.
Her freedom was temporary and she was a fool if she didn't know that already. There was no way Annie Knox was ready to face the world beyond my compound. She was wounded. She'd been too long undercover and now she was as much a victim as the real victims of the gangs. There had been so much stress on her, she'd caved. I thought she was stronger than she thought. I thought if it hadn't been for either of the things happening to her father, or Jesse being killed, or the Chinese turning on the buy, or any one of half a dozen other stressors, she might not have broken.
Using fet, a career cop using, that was breaking.
My actions were not noble. I was not putting her back together out of the goodness of my heart. That idiot Samuels selling her to me sealed the deal on his getting fired. I couldn't risk him being around to report what I did on a regular basis, and definitely not what I had done this time.
Buying a cop with bribes is one thing. It's so common that sometimes there's a bidding war. But buying a cop as property? That would be a problem. I was safe enough in that, with records of what I did poised to go out to every media outlet possible if anything should happen to me, the evidence led right back to the police. But even billionaires can be brought down.
Thrusting hard into Marilyn, I made her beg through the gag for me. I pounded into her and I fought to keep Annie's face out of my thoughts. Her face, her slim hips, her curls. Her eyes, so expressive. She wanted something. Something she'd die to find. Something she might die if she didn't find.
How soon could I bring her back? I knew where she was. I knew what she was facing. Samuels hadn't been the only cop I was paying in Seattle.
Annie would break soon. I'd be there when it happened. To pick up the pieces before I broke them again. And again. And again.
Until she was healed.
Or broken for all time.
Until she was mine.
Marilyn writhed under me and I came, pushing her down on the bed before she could do the same.
Then I turned and left her there. She could find her own way out.
I wanted to know where Annie was. I'd figure out then whether or not to bring her back.
