Page 23 of Their Ruthless Sadist

“Interesting. I would’ve pegged the cowboy to have issues with the city.”

Yeah. Me, too. After all, Brax’s family did live on a small farm, complete with goats and pigs and a couple of horses. I loved spending time at his parents’ house, helping with the animals. I hadn’t grown up like that, but the suburbs always felt like home for me. Less people.

We made it half a block before things opened up. The buildings gave way to trees, concrete morphing into an abundance of grass. I finally managed to relax, the tension in my shoulders easing.

What the hell was I going to do? How the fuck was I supposed to live here if I couldn’t even go inside the apartment? I knew Brax was only doing it because it was free rent, and until we got a feel for the area, he didn’t want to find a more permanent residence. Not that I blamed him.

Brax was the rational one in our relationship. He managed our money with the skill of an accountant, investing when necessary, saving as much as he could while still allowing us to live a comfortable life where we enjoyed being able to do things.

“Sit,” Zeke commanded.

I did, and it was about the time my ass hit the park bench that I realized he had been talking to Tank, not me.

“Obedient.” He chuckled.

Yeah. It appeared I was.

CHAPTER 5

Zeke

Seeing the pretty boy’s panic-stricken face brought back memories of my mother. The first time I recalled her having a claustrophobia-induced panic attack was when I was twelve. My baby sister—two at the time—had been sick with a weird, almost strangling cough. Croup, I think they’d called it. My mother had asked me to go to the doctor with them to help out. I was big at twelve and carried Jamie around almost everywhere we went.

It was a regular trip, nothing out of the ordinary. We piled into my mother’s Ford Taurus. Although she was worried about Jamie, she was in good spirits, chattering on about nothing, a smile on her face. Right up until we walked into the building and approached the elevator. I’d known immediately that my mother wasn’t eager to get in. Perhaps it had been a premonition, but a few minutes later, we got inside, the doors closing securely behind us.

About thirty seconds into the ride up, there was an abrupt jerk, and the elevator stopped suddenly, the lights flickering, then going out before some sort of backup light clicked on. My mother had let out a panicked gasp. I thought nothing of it, moving to the buttons, wondering whether or not it would start if I simply pressed the one for our floor again. It didn’t. I punched it several more times with the same result. Nothing.

Jamie had fallen asleep on my shoulder at that point, clinging to my neck, her body—warm with fever—making me sweat. Still, I remained calm, trying to figure out how to fix the situation. My mother, on the other hand, wasn’t faring so well. I looked over to see her pressed up against one of the walls, her fingers curled around the thin metal bar behind her. When she started gasping for breath, I knew something was wrong.

“Distract me, baby,” she had pleaded. “Please, Zeke.”

To this day, I could still hear the terror in her usually sweet tone.

Not sure what she wanted me to do, I had walked over and stood in front of her. “Count backwards from ten, Momma.”

She had. Twice.

“Now the alphabet,” I had suggested. “Starting with J.”

That had been one of the toughest days in my childhood. Watching my mother, the fear in her eyes, her voice trembling. A man’s voice had come over the speaker, advising they were aware of the issue and looking into it immediately. I’d wanted to tell him to hurry, but I knew to remain calm.

Someone had to.

Luckily, the elevator had kicked a few minutes later, then began its ascent to the higher floors. A short time later, my mother was stumbling out of the elevator, her face pale, hands trembling. It had taken another fifteen minutes before she was able to breathe regularly, and the tremors in her fingers stopped.

From that day forward, my mother never took an elevator again.

Seeing the pretty boy’s face as he stumbled along behind the cowboy had stirred something inside me. A strange urge to protect him from whatever had put that terror-filled look in his eyes. At the same time, I wondered how he would fare in the cage beneath my bed. I’d purchased it with the intention of utilizing the confinement but hadn’t yet had the chance. However, in recent days, I’d entertained the notion of putting the pretty boy and the cowboy in there, keeping them safe while I slept.

Now, as we strolled into the dog park—the same one Tank and I had left only a few minutes earlier—I wondered why the fuck I’d bothered to get involved. This wasn’t like me. I wasn’t prone to worrying about anyone who wasn’t Jamie.

Good news was the pretty boy was getting some of his color back. Now that he was sitting, I didn’t have to worry that he would fall over.

“You stay there,” I told him. “Tank, looks like it’s your lucky day. Let’s play ball.”

That word ball had Tank’s ears perking up.

As I strolled across the park, I didn’t look back, refused to be concerned for the pretty boy. He wasn’t my problem. The last thing I needed to do was concern myself with his well-being. It would ruin everything. No way could I play with those boys if they thought I gave a shit about them. That was only asking for trouble. I’d been down that road before. Submissives who thought I was denying my feelings when, in actuality, I didn’t have any. Not for them.