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Thank God. I sucked in large ragged gulps of air, trying my best to breathe deeply, but it was easier said than done when I was freaking the fuck out. Without being able to see it, I knew that my face was flaming red. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and most likely had mingled with some of the flyaways and baby hairs around my brow and temples.
Even more so than before, I was a literal hot mess. I would have found it funny if the situation wasn’t so straight-up bizarre and frightening. At that point I was way too terrorized to see the funny side of anything.
“Thank you.”
“I said shut up.”
I continued to claw at my neck. Although the velvet hood had been removed. The metal object was still attached to me. Looking down at it, I could see that it was a cross between a collar and a neck brace used for medical purposes. I pulled it from several different angles, but it didn’t budge. There must have been a trick to taking it off.
“I bet you’re wondering about your new accessory. Allow me to explain. It’s a submissive collar. You’re now our sex slave. We will lead you around by this collar, literally at our beck and call, for anything we desire. Whenever and however we want it.”
“What? You can’t do that.” I pulled at the collar even more frantically than before, the hysteria and terror building in me with every moment that went by. I was trapped in a waking nightmare.
“I can, but luckily, or unluckily, for you—depending on whether your cup is half full or half empty—I’m not.
“In actual fact, rather than a harmless kinky collar, you have been fitted with a very real and very unsexy collar bomb, or necklace bomb, depending on who you talk to. So if I were you, I’d stop flapping around like a pigeon stuck in wet cement, and I’d definitely stop pulling at it. They’re pretty sensitive things, and you wouldn’t want to set it off by accident, now, would you?
I stilled completely, bringing my hand down from my neck oh-so-slowly until it was by my side. Then I stood statue still, tears streaming down my face.
“Is this another sick joke?”
“No, it’s one hundred percent real, though the only way for you to prove the truth of that statement is to fuck up and have your head blown off. Try it, I dare you. If nothing else it would be the most epic ‘I told you so’, ever.”
What the hell is going on?
As much as I tried with everything I had to keep still, I couldn’t stop my body from quivering—I was wracked with tiny involuntary spasms that were almost like tics. The tears continued to stream down my face, but I didn’t dare wipe them away. With every passing second, I hoped that the whole ordeal was a figment of my imagination—just a night terror from which I’d wake up at any moment.
I scrunched my eyes together hoping that when I opened them, there would be nobody in the room except me. Sadly, in reality when I opened up again, everything was the same as it had been before.
Chapter 27
Bear
“No matter what you call it, this little sucker is a tiny explosive device fitted within a metal collar that is then attached around someone’s neck. Originally developed by the Nazis as instruments of torture”— a lie totally made up by Xavier for dramatic effect, because it sounded scarier than the already-very-scary truth—“these days they are generally only used for robbery, kidnapping and extortion. Often all three at the same time.” This was true.
“One of these bad boys was probably most-famously used in the so called pizza-bomber heist, where it was fitted to a hostage who was then used to rob a bank. Spoiler alert—it did not go well for the hostage. Not well at all.”
Apart from a tiny quiver, which I guessed she couldn’t control, Honey was standing dead still, and doing a pretty good job of keeping her shit together in that sense. The threat of having her head blown off was probably pretty fucking compelling, as it would be for anyone.
“Then there was a guy who was held to ransom in South America somewhere; I forget exactly where. Anyway, his location isn’t important. What’s important is that his kidnappers glued one of these to his neck—I guess they wanted to be doubly sure he couldn’t remove it—then blew his head off. I guess his family wasn’t as forthcoming with the cash as the extortioners, and no doubt he, would have liked.”
Though she wasn’t flailing around grabbing at the collar like she had been before, her facial expression said it all—apart from the telltale rivers of tears streaking their way down her face, her features were distorted as though she was in pain. The collar wasn’t heavy or rough, or anything that should have caused major discomfort, which meant that her pain was more likely to be emotional than physical.
She worried at her lip with her teeth, so much that I was sure she would bite it raw by the time we were done with her. As serious as the situation was, I couldn’t help but picture myself biting that lip instead of her, then her returning the favor. I imagined raiding her mouth with my tongue, lapping up the taste of her, reacting to her natural heat. I could almost feel the searing bolt of electricity that would send blood rushing to my dick as a result of exploring her that way.
I thought about how different kissing was with her than it had been with other women. Once I’d started having sex, I’d never really valued kissing in and of itself. It was always just a means to an end—a necessary part of the journey, to be hurried through as much as possible in order to reach the final and far more exciting destination.
While Honey was very keen to get to the final destination, she was also much more appreciative of the journey. When I was with her, for the first time ever, I appreciated how the journey could enhance the destination, rather than detract from it.
I licked my own lips and tried to stop the erection growing in my pants at the thought of one kiss with Honey, then wanted to bitch slap myself for being so pathetic. It totally wasn’t my usual MO, and I hated myself for it. But it was a pretty unique set of circumstances I’d found myself in, so maybe I could kind of rationalize feeling a little knocked around over Honey sometimes. Maybe.
“Okay, but I don’t see... what... I mean, why are you doing this to me?” Her voice pulled me out of my head, and back to the reality unfolding before me.
“Really? Then you’re a lot stupider than you look, and than I gave you credit for. My bad. I’ll break it down for you. Like I said before, we tried the nice, softly, softly approach to get you to back the fuck off, but you wouldn’t take the fucking hint. Too busy trying to secure your future and make your name in journalism circles by ‘breaking’ the story, possibly also making yourself out to be a hero in the deal. Well, sorry to rain on your sad little parade, but I’m going to. I have a few home truths for you, Honey-child.”
The sound of his voice saying her name that way through the encoder made me want to strangle him. It was so fucking weird and creepy.
“Firstly, no matter what you thought you saw that night, you’re wrong. Nothing, and I really do mean nothing, was as it seemed. Secondly, even if you think this is the scoop of the century—it isn’t—nobody is going to take the editor of a college rag seriously, even this college.
