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Chapter Eleven

Quinn

I don’t know what’s worse—being on display in front of three men and a nerd who looks like he’s here for work experience, the way my jaw aches from the gag and the gross spit drips out of my mouth, or the red-hot landscape of agony that used to be my ass.

Yesterday might as well have been a play spanking. This hurts on another level, deep into my bones. The skin was already tender and bruised. Now it doesn’t feel like skin at all, just a mass of scorching fire. His hand lands again, and I can’t stop the muffled sob that works its way out. Please, just make it stop.

How many was that? It was fifteen a while ago, wasn’t it? My brain can’t count any more.

Or maybe the worst thing is the gnawing guilt about hurting Eve. By the time I realized it was her, it was too late. I was already swinging the toaster. Of course it had to be the fancy sort, heavy stainless steel, not the cheap plastic piece of shit I have at home. I managed to ease off on the speed of the swing but not stop it.

If I’d connected with the force I meant to, I could have cracked her skull.

That grisly image keeps flashing in my brain as Jacob lands yet another heavy swat. Fuck! That has to be thirty now, right? Surely?

I thought Gabriel would kill me, so I ran for it and fought as best I could. But no, of course he just delivered me to Jacob.

Another earth-shattering slap brings fresh tears to my eyes, and I fight the urge to struggle with everything I have left. I can’t take five more. I’d fucking die.

Suddenly, he’s lifting me up. What the hell is it with him and carrying me around? I’ve got legs. I can use them. I start to wriggle but then catch myself. My pride is starting to crack under the assault of his damn hand.

Is this really all it takes to break me? No. Fuck that. I’ll still fight, but maybe not right now. My poor ass is a beacon, raw and pulsing. It needs a break, and so do I.

Jacob lowers me to my feet, careful and deliberate as ever. Will he fuck the same way? Carefully counted, measured strokes? The ridiculous thought brings forth a hysterical laugh, and for once, I'm glad of the gag. I would have sounded like a mental case.

Once I’m balanced, Jacob issues more instructions in that irritating, calm way he has. “You’re going to stand here, quietly, in the corner until we finish our meeting. Stay facing the wall, or it’s another thirty. Nod if you understand.”

Another thirty? I almost wet myself at the thought. How am I going to fight against this man? All he has to do is threaten me with the palm of his goddamn hand.

I nod and twitch my foot, mumbling and trying to bring his attention to my panties, which are still around my ankles. I can’t pull them up because of my bound hands, and standing here with them like that, in front of people, will be just about unbearable.

He crouches, touching the cotton. “Did you want me to pull these up for you?”

There’s a note in his voice I don’t like, but I mumble my assent anyway. He gives a low chuckle, and it has a dangerous edge that makes me picture a British gangster in an old movie I saw once. He laughed with his victims before slashing their faces with his razor blade.

“No, they can stay right there. And—” He lifts my skirt up, tucking it in at the waist so my whole ass is on display. “—I want to make sure everyone gets a good look at your lovely bruised arse.”

I whip my head up to glare at him. Fuck, I wish I was six feet tall with one of those Amazonian, ripped figures. I wish I could look him in the face instead of breaking my neck just to see him.

He smiles down at me, and my face heats. I’m vibrating, I’m so damn furious. But any reaction equals another session over his knee. The frustration of it, the pure fucking helplessness, boils up, and I turn away quickly as a sob forces its way out.

Screw him.

Screw this.

Screw standing here, four pairs of eyes glued to my ass while I cry in the corner.

He grips my chin, turning my face up to his. Deliberately, he pulls a handkerchief—not a tissue, an actual goddamn cotton handkerchief—out of his back pocket and uses it to wipe the tears and drool off my face.

There’s a drawn-out moment when I don’t know whether to feel grateful or even more furious. Then he releases my chin and turns back to his colleagues. “Now. What else do I need to see?”

Their meeting drones on, and I try to focus on what they’re saying to gather useful info, but I keep slipping in and out of awareness. The throbbing in my ass, the effort of standing here motionless, and the pure shame of how exposed I am overwhelms my brain and turns the words to mush.

It sounds like someone lied about Jacob on the internet, and someone else is going to try and fix it. What lies could be worse than the truth? What would the world think if they knew all these scientists were holding women prisoner?

Even as I think it, I realize hardly anyone would give a shit. Women disappear every day, and it barely makes the news. The cops are probably all in on it, taking a nice juicy cut. When I get out of here, I’m not going near the police. I’ll have to find a new name and turn myself into a ghost.

It’s not like I’d be leaving much behind anyway.

God, I sound mopey and pathetic. Enough. A new start would be good—somewhere exciting, like Asia. I’ve wanted to travel forever but never managed to save up the cash. When I get out of here, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll steal what I need and fuck off forever.

It’s a nice fantasy, and it keeps me going as the stupid men finish their meeting, then take another long while sitting together and drinking. Chatting about bullshit. My embarrassment about the position I’m in gradually fades; it doesn’t feel like they’re paying attention to me anyway. I can’t hear the young guy’s voice anymore, so he’s probably gone.

Instead of worrying about my ass, I’m now worrying about the gag and how uncomfortable it’s getting. I just want to close my mouth and relieve the ache in my jaw. And Christ, I need to wipe away the drool. It’s all down my face, so gross I want to scream. Why do people find these things sexy?

My ears prick up when I hear the big boss ask Jacob about me.

“How are you progressing with Quinn? Nasty business this morning. I’m not convinced she’s the right choice for you, Jacob. Given the unusual circumstances, I believe I can still let you change your mind. We can call these next few days a trial period, even though it’s highly unorthodox.”

I hold my breath, waiting for his answer and unsure what I want to hear. Jacob has to be the most difficult person to escape in this whole damn place. If he decides I’m too much trouble, I might get given to someone easier to deal with.

But at the same time, the other men make my skin crawl in a way Jacob doesn’t. Any of them seeing me naked would make me want to spew my guts up. Jacob? I can handle it. Some twisted part of me might even enjoy it, if he’d just stop fucking punishing me.

“No, I’m keeping her.” There’s not a single bit of hesitation in his voice. “She’s a pain in the arse, but I’m having fun training her. I’ll make her into a good girl yet.”

A shivery feeling of satisfaction passes right through me at his words, followed by dismay when they hit my brain. There’s to be no easy escape, then. No old guy I’d eat for breakfast. If I want my freedom, I’ll need to outthink Jacob.

When the men finally finish their chat, which I’m sure Jacob drew out just to make me suffer, he thanks the others and returns to my side. He studies me up and down, a small smile on his lips, but there’s darkness in his eyes that makes my stomach turn over, the green a deep forest shade.

He whispers, “You look so fucking sexy standing there like that. Like a well-behaved little slut.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Even if I could speak, I’d have nothing to say to that. I should be pissed off by his words, but the way he said them is full of rough need. I hadn’t even thought he’d been looking at me. Maybe I was wrong.

His smile widens as I stare up at him, trapped by his gaze. “What, no furious glare? No attempted headbutt? I didn’t think you’d be this easy to break. A little spanking and some corner time.” He shakes his head. “So easy.”

Oh, hell no. He’s trying to provoke me, and it’s working, but I need to keep myself on a leash. He’s probably got some horrible punishment planned for the next time I mess up and is excited to try it out. He has to be kidding with his “a little spanking.” What the hell would count as a lot?

Without warning, he hoists me up over his shoulder. Yet again. He hasn’t pulled my panties up or my skirt down, so everything is on view. I try really, really hard not to care—why do I need to worry about what these assholes think?—but it doesn’t quite work. I mumble at Jacob through my gag, but he just laughs.

“You’ll get your dignity back when you learn to behave.”

Screw him. In revenge, I wipe my face on his shirt. Ha.

He squeezes my ass, and I yelp as it reignites the pain. “Nice try, but I don’t mind a little bodily fluid.”

Again, I give a little shiver at the gravel in his voice. There’s a distinct “Playtime’s over” feel to Jacob as he strides out of his boss’s office and into the elevator. As if whatever grace period I was going to get before he enforced the sex slave part of this relationship has expired. Maybe because of what I did to Eve, or maybe just because he’s had enough.

The elevator moves down, and I hope with everything I have that no one else will get on, but am I ever that lucky? Nope. Maybe it’s close to lunchtime, because it stops at what feels like every fucking floor, filling with people.

I’m a coward. Instead of glaring at the freaks surrounding me, I close my eyes and tuck my face against Jacob’s back. The drool I wiped there is nice and damp right against my face. Lovely.

No one comments on my predicament. The silence only highlights how messed-up this place is. No one cares that I’m here, and no one is going to help. These people must be so used to captive women getting carted about like dolls that it doesn’t even warrant a question.

Finally, we’re free and out into the crispy air again. I breathe it in. I’ve always preferred the outdoors. I used to drag Marlowe camping with me sometimes though she never really liked it. Back then, things were good.

Dad—no, Marlowe’s dad, I remind myself—used to love it, and sometimes, just the two of us would go. He’d fish while I climbed trees or bugged him to make a fire so we could toast marshmallows. Even as adults, we’d still plan the odd hike. Until the crash.

I open my eyes, grounding myself in the present and driving away the memory. Even being trapped here with a psycho is better than remembering that day. Does Jacob like camping? Probably. He has that feel to him, though he’d probably bring a fancy tent and spend three hours setting it up perfectly. I prefer just to throw up something quickly and start drinking.

Maybe we can go camping on the golf course. Light a fire and play truth or dare.

Shit, my mind is spinning off like a pinball. I stare at Jacob’s feet as we cross the threshold into his building. Each step feels like it’s bringing me closer to doom, and my stomach tangles itself into knots as he opens the door.

The first thing I see as we enter is the toaster I hit Eve with. It stares at me, accusing, on its side next to the door. Jacob touches it with his foot and flips it up the right way. He sets me down, balancing me on my feet.

“Now. What shall I do with you?”