Page 23

23

DORIN

“She needs to be punished,” I demand as I turn away from Lavinia, aiming my attention at Dax’s girl.

“By me.” I unclip my baton from my belt, itching to use it on that little bitch for making my girl cry.

Fucking Dax , letting his sub scurry the halls and do whatever she pleases.

I want to punish Dax too for being so reckless, but I know that’s not going to happen, so teaching that little bitch a lesson will have to do.

Dax darts off the floor.

“The hell she does.” He’s coming straight for me again, but Mikhail steps in, stopping him with a hand on his chest.

I grind my teeth in frustration.

I would have loved to slam my fist into Dax’s face.

“What happened here?” Mikhail demands, always meddling in other people’s business.

Tightening my fist around my baton, I point at the bitch cowering against the wall.

“She bothered my girl. Made her cry.”

“Why was she here in the first place?” Mikhail asks.

“To harass my girl.”

“Dax?” Mikhail ignores my answer and turns to Dax instead.

I damn near take the moment to rush across the hall and wield the punishment that needs to be doled out.

“If Dorin didn’t bring her here, I have no clue.” Dax turns to his girl before I can go through with it, which is probably a good thing.

I need this place, and as much as Mikhail tolerates my occasional fuck-up, this clearly would be crossing a hard line.

“Did you walk off?” Dax asks her.

She gives the tiniest nod, and I scoff.

I thought Dax just let her wander about, but it seems he has no clue what she’s up to—he can’t control her.

“See, she has to be punished,” I tell Dax, stating the obvious.

“Since she bothered my girl, it’s only fair that she gets it from me. If you want to have a go at her too, be my guest and continue once I’m done.”

“No, Dorin,” Lavinia begs behind me.

“It’s not her fault. She tried to help me.”

“She fucking went to you without permission. She gets punished,” I tell her, then aim my attention at the girl about to taste my stick.

“You’ll learn your lesson hard.”

I regret having released Lavinia from the wall as she scurries across the floor and presses herself into me.

“No, Dorin. If anyone has to be punished, punish me. I’ll take it for her.”

I push her aside.

She probably hopes I’ll kill her with my stick, and it goddamn infuriates me, making me want to punish her too.

“Please, Dorin. Let me take it,” she begs again, just like she begged me to let her take her own life in the tub a week ago.

I’m about to either bark at her or take the syringe in my pocket and snuff out those infuriating suicidal thoughts with drugs, but Mikhail interrupts before I can decide.

“Silence! I’m sick of this. You two clearly aren’t capable of figuring this out yourselves, so I decide who gets to punish who.”

My blood boils as I watch Mikhail.

I think I just might rip his head straight off his body if he makes the wrong decision.

But then again, it probably wouldn’t be such a good idea.

Dax would probably be the fucker to take over this place, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to take orders from an idiot who can’t even keep a girl under control.

So I accept Mikhail's decision and await his decree. Which is fucking ridiculous.

Pointing at my songbird, he says, “She gets the punishment.” He points at Dax’s girl. “She gets to watch.”

I’m about to protest, but Mikhail stops me. “I don’t have time for this. Get on with the punishment, or I’ll hand your special little project off to someone else.” With that, he walks away.

I gnash down on my teeth, but when I turn to see the relieved expression on my songbird’s face, my anger gets a new target. As much as I want to punish Dax’s girl, I want to make her hurt. For wanting to leave me so fucking badly.

I grab her by the arm and steer her down the hall. Leaning in, I snarl into her ear, “Don’t even think for one second that I’m gonna beat you to death. I know just how to wield this stick to make it hurt without causing any lasting damage.”

She gasps. “That’s not—”

“Shut up.” I don’t want to hear any of her fucking excuses.

She remains quiet as she stiffly follows along, wobbling beside me and almost falling several times as she struggles to keep up with my long strides, still dazed from the drugs lingering in her system.

She doesn’t protest as I lead her into a whipping room and place her beneath the ceiling hook we use to string up girls. Her compliance only angers me further. I have no idea what’s going through her mind, but I’m sure it has to do with some kind of warped hope that I’ll end up beating her to death. Or maybe it’s like a twisted sort of self-harm to escape—me. The need to punish her for hating me and wanting to leave so damn badly blots out my need to punish the other girl, and I barely even notice that Dax walks in behind me with her.

“Stay,” I tell her as I go to retrieve a bundle of ropes from the wall. When I get back, she’s in the exact same spot, staring stiffly at the wall as I come up beside her and start unbuckling the straitjacket.

“Are you still hoping I’ll beat you to death?” I ask as I help her out of the sleeves.

She gives a slight shake of her head, jaw clenched tight as she refuses to meet my gaze.

“Good.” I don’t know if she’s lying or if it’s dawning on her that she’s about to feel the full brunt of my anger without getting the release of death at the end. Something is getting to her, that’s for sure. She starts shuddering as I wrap the ropes around her wrists, lift them into the air, and attach them to the hook.

Frantic whimpers erupt from behind me, from Dax’s girl, as I unclip my baton from my belt. A small surge of satisfaction rushes through me knowing she, too, will get some kind of punishment just by witnessing my brutality.

My blood swooshes through my veins as I feel the heavy weight of the baton in my hand. The chaos in my mind dwindles to a low simmer as I bounce it in my palm, grip it tightly, and aim. Everything around me disappears in a vacuum as I strike.

The baton thuds against her ass, hard and unforgiving. She jerks under the force, but there’s nothing she can do. She’s mine to abuse. Mine to hurt. Power swells inside me. A heady feeling that’s close to soaring. I strike again. Her right thigh. Her left thigh. Her knees briefly cave in, and I feel strong and mighty. In control.

But something’s off, I realize, as I lift the stick to strike again. There’s no scream. No frantic writhing. She just stands there. Taking it.

The girl behind me screams, though, like she’s the one receiving the blows. It’s a good thing Dax has her wearing a muzzle, or I’d have to beat her for making so much noise and distracting me.

I take a step back to put in more force, and that’s when I notice the whole picture in front of me. Her scarred back. The cuts, the burns. Her blonde hair spilling over her milky skin. Then mental visions flood my brain. The blood in the tub. Her vulnerable eyes staring up at me, begging me to end it all. The sound of her song in my ears.

I fling the baton aside, and it clatters against the wall across the room. The baton is for breaking; this girl is already broken.

Then I do something I never do. I open my hand and aim my flat palm at her ass. On the rare occasion I use my hands, it’s closed fists. I don’t think I’ve ever spanked a woman. It somehow seems too merciful—too personal. But as I slam my palm onto her ass, it’s like finding a glove that’s a perfect fit. It’s not as much the physical sensation of my palm around an ass. It’s the feeling of her skin. Her body. This broken little creature that gives in to me in ways no one ever has before. Or did.

The force of my hand sends her forward, her feet scraping against the rough floor as she staggers to regain balance, her wrists straining against the ropes that catch her. I can’t have that. She only gets the bruises I allow. So I press my left palm to her upper stomach, just below her breasts, supporting her as I deliver another heavy blow of my hand. This time, a tiny yelp escapes her. I almost miss it as the sharp sound of the smack bounces off the walls. Pulling her closer, I lean in to listen as I deliver another blow. Sure enough, there’s that tiny sound again. It’s despair, grief, and helplessness all wrapped in one small, but potent package. I wrap my arm around her waist and lean my head against her shoulder, needing to comfort her even as I deliver two more staggering smacks that has her chest shuddering.

“That’s it,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’ve got you.”

Suddenly, she starts shaking, all over. It’s like a small but violent storm that rips through her and threatens to tear her apart. But I won’t allow that. I hold her together as I deliver two more blows.

“Ah,” she cries this time, collapsing into me.

“I’ve got you,” I repeat with a sincerity that takes me aback. I want to hurt her—I crave her screams and her trembling desperation—but I want to comfort her just as much. It doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t have to. I let myself drift away with the current, offering her more words of comfort even as I rip her world to shreds. “I’ll protect you.” Smack! Smack!

Finally, she screams.

I hold her closer. “You’re mine. I’ll kill every man who even tries to put his hands on you.” Smack! Smack!

Her scream is full of an agony so deep it digs into my bones and makes me shudder. “I’m the only one who gets to have your pain.” Smack! Smack! “Your screams.” Smack! Smack!

Her chest shakes as she’s on the verge of breaking down, but she’s still holding back.

Grabbing her face, I demand her attention on me. Squeezing her eyes shut, she denies me what’s mine to take, but I know it will come. I feel it in the air. She’s about to give in; she just needs a tiny push.

“Look at me, my little songbird,” I say, the softness of my voice feeling very strange but so right amidst the storm of violence I’m unleashing.

Her brows twitch a couple of times, her parted lips trembling as she struggles with herself. “I-I—”

Pressing a finger to her lips, I say, “No need to speak, just open your eyes.”

Finally, she does. Her wide blue orbs are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen as her eyelids lift and she stares up at me with pain and vulnerability written deep inside them. The moment she sees me, her voice breaks. A sob escapes her, and she collapses, pressing herself into me with a fierceness I haven’t experienced in her before.

Cupping the back of her head, I lean in to whisper against her ear. “Do you want me to stop?” I have no idea why I’m asking, but I know I’d stop if she asked me to. I’d take her down and carry her back to her cell right this moment if she said yes . But what she says instead bores straight into my heart and rearranges the whole damn organ.

“Just hold me,” she begs, weeping into my chest. “Please just hold me.”

“I’ll hold you.” Wrapping my arm around her waist, I hold her close as I place my hand on her ass again. “I’ll hold you,” I promise, placing a kiss on top of her head just before I lift my hand and slam it onto her delicate flesh two times in rapid succession. “I’ll take care of you.” I deliver two more smacks that have her knees buckling. For a moment, she just hangs there, her legs limp as she lets me be the only thing holding her up. Wrapping both arms around her, I relish every moment of it—her despair, her tears, her trust, and her sweet, sweet surrender.

When she finds her strength and her footing again, I move my hand back to her ass. Just as I’m about to strike, the strangest words I’ve ever heard leave her lips. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Her voice breaks into a deep, grief-ridden sob as I deliver two more blows.

I want to pause and ask why, but I don’t want to break the trance. I give her a moment to recover before delivering two more blows. Two more. And two more. When she collapses again and can barely seem to support herself once she tries, I decide she’s had enough. I’ve had enough. Every sob and shake racking through her body radiates straight into me, becoming my own. Suddenly, I feel exhausted. Overcome by a flood of emotions I can’t grasp. I just want to hold her.

With one arm tight around her, I reach up to loosen the ropes with the other. Then I hoist her into my arms and carry her out of the room.

“Thank you,” she says again as she burrows her head into my shoulder.