Passion's Hope (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 3) (7 page)

She really didn’t feel well. Sort of…dizzy. And hot. And achy all over. Even a bit nauseous. God, she hoped she wasn’t coming down with the flu or something. That would be the last thing she needed. Not with that all-important audition looming on Saturday morning. So it was high time for her to quit dawdling, get what she came for and get out. She looked around. Anyone watching her would have thought she was just taking in the ambience. But she wasn’t. She was looking for the food.

Ah, there it was. Several long, cloth-covered tables, aligned against the far wall, were loaded with hors d’oeuvres of every kind imaginable. People were sitting on the comfortable sofas and chairs or wandering around carrying little plates piled high with delectable treats. Waiters carrying silver trays of champagne flutes wandered through the crowd. Charlie managed to snag one from a passing tray and sipped it slowly, evaluating the crowd, the layout, the potential for danger. She would fill her plate, go to the restroom, dump the food into her purse, then leave. The less time she spent in here, the better.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here. The invitation had been sent to Master Perry Bradford and his “sub/slave.” That
had
been her—until four days ago, when he had beaten her so badly she’d wound up in the hospital. It hadn’t been the first time in the three weeks she’d been a prisoner in his house that he had beaten her. But as she’d lain there in that hospital bed, pretending to be unconscious, she’d vowed it was going to be the last.

At first, when the doctor had told Perry that she probably had a concussion and they would have to keep her overnight for observation, Perry had insisted on staying with her. But the doctor had been adamant that she be left alone and Perry had reluctantly agreed to come back first thing the next morning. As soon as he’d left, Charlie’s entire focus had been on getting away.

She’d pressed the call button and the minute a nurse appeared, Charlie had filled her in on a few of the sordid things Perry had done to her and begged for her help. So, at three in the morning, dressed in the scrubs provided by the sympathetic nurse, Charlie had sneaked out of the hospital. Unfortunately, she’d needed her purse and her car, both of which were still at Perry’s house. At least she’d hoped they were still at Perry’s house. What if he’d disposed of them the minute he’d gotten home? That way he could deny she’d ever been there. She certainly wouldn’t have put it past him. At that point, she wouldn’t have put anything past him.

Terrified at the prospect of being without any form of identification or any means of transportation, she’d used the fifty dollars the nurse had pressed into her hand and paid for a cab to drive her to Perry’s exclusive Windsor Farms neighborhood on the outskirts of Richmond. As the cabbie had driven past Perry’s house, her relief at seeing her little Ford Fiesta still parked at the end of his driveway had made her so lightheaded, she’d nearly fainted. Parked right beside it was Perry’s low-slung, white Porsche gt3. She had the cabbie drop her off in the next block, retracing her steps after he’d disappeared around the corner.

She’d spent a couple of very uncomfortable hours hiding in the bushes behind the garage, planning her moves, going over them again and again, knowing that she wouldn’t have a lot of time before police showed up in response to the silent alarm she was going to have to set off.

From her hiding place in the bushes, she heard the back door open and close, the Porsche’s door open and close, the engine start. As soon as he’d driven off, on his way to the hospital, to pick her up and bring her ‘home’, she’d waited fifteen minutes, wanting him to be as far away as possible before she set off his alarm. She’d given herself ninety seconds to get in, get everything she’d left behind, and get out.

Not bothering to keep silent, she’d broken a small window pane in his back door and reached through to unlock it and let herself in. Thank God her purse had still been in the top drawer of the credenza in the front foyer, exactly where Perry had directed her to put it when she’d arrived a little over three weeks ago and walked into hell. As soon as she’d put it away, he’d ordered her to strip and kneel on the marble floor while he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, grabbed her head by the hair, and shoved his penis into her mouth. Right there in the foyer, he’d raped her mouth, bruising her lips, choking her with his thrusts, ejaculating deep into her throat.

While she’d been floundering, coughing and gagging and gasping for enough breath to tell him that she was leaving and going straight to the police to report him for sexual assault, he’d cuffed her hands behind her back and stuffed a red ball gag into her mouth. She had spent the next three weeks utterly at his mercy.

Grabbing her purse, she’d raced up the stairs into the master bedroom. Oddly, the few outfits she’d brought with her for the “wild, wicked, wonderful week-end” were lying on Perry’s bed. She yanked a pillowcase off of one of his pillows, scooped up her clothes, and shoved them inside. Racing back down the stairs and out the kitchen door, she’d flung the pillowcase into the back seat, herself into the front seat, backed out of the driveway and left without looking back. The entire thing had taken her less than a minute. She passed a cop car on the way out of Perry’s neighborhood. Although every instinct she’d possessed had told her to get the hell out of there as fast as she could, she’d forced herself to obey the speed limit to avoid calling unwanted attention to herself.

It seemed to take forever to drive the few miles to her apartment. She’d known she was taking a huge risk going there. But she had to get her laptop, her clothes, and as many of her personal belongings as she could carry. How could she possibly expect to start a new life with only the three skimpy fetish outfits she’d packed for the week-end she’d expected to spend with Perry?

She’d spent an anxious three and a half minutes grabbing her clothes and stuffing them into trash bags. The whole time she was working, she’d been terrified that Perry would burst in and drag her back to Hell. But she hadn’t let that stop her from taking the time to pack all her collectible dolls and stuffed animals into the only suitcase she owned. Except for Mr. Floppy, her favorite, a two-foot-tall bunny rabbit with long, floppy ears. There hadn’t been enough room for him, so she’d propped him up against the suitcase and talked to him while she worked.

With Mr. Floppy tucked under her arm, she’d carried the suitcase, two pillows, and a large trash bags\ full of clothes down the stairs. Shoving everything into the trunk, she’d hightailed it out of Richmond, heading west toward God knew where, sticking to back roads in case the cops were looking for her. She hadn’t stopped until she’d put a good fifty miles between her and Perry Bradford. It was too early to check into a motel, so, exhausted and in so much pain she could barely see, she’d pulled into a parking space on the outer fringe of a mall parking lot, as far away from the rest of the cars as she could get, and she’d fallen asleep. Happy to see that it was after three when she finally awoke, she’d checked into the first motel she saw that was large enough to have rooms both in the back and the front. She’d asked for one in the back so her car couldn’t be seen from the road. She didn’t want to take any chances that Perry might be out looking for her. Or the cops. Who knew what he might have told them? He’d certainly lied to the people at the hospital, giving them a false name and telling them that a friend of his had caused her injuries and he had rescued her.

The first thing she’d done after checking into the motel was take a long, hot shower, scrubbing frantically to rid herself of his scent, the memory of his touch, and the phantom feel of his cum crusted all over her body. Halfway through, the full realization of just how close she’d come to dying at the hands of Perry Bradford had hit her like a ton of bricks. She’d broken down in sobs that had heaved through her body so hard she’d wretched, just barely sticking her head outside the curtain in time to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet instead of the bathtub. Then she’d just sunk down on the floor of the tub, arms wrapped around her knees, curled up in a little ball of misery, not even noticing the water pelting her until it turned from hot to cold. Too exhausted even to dry herself off, she’d simply wrapped the towel around her and crawled up onto the nearest bed. She’d pulled the flowered chintz bedspread over her and slept.

Four hours later, groggy, still in pain, she’d taken another shower. But she still hadn’t felt clean. At that point she’d feared she would never feel clean again. Her rumbling stomach told her just how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten all day.

The instant she’d opened the car door, the heavy, cloying scent of Perry Bradford’s cologne assaulted her senses. Realizing that his pillowcase probably reeked of it, she’d made a mental note to get rid of it as soon as she got back to her room. Supper consisted of a burger and fries from the nearest fast food drive-through, which she took back to the motel. Grabbing the bag of food and the pillowcase full of clothes, she went into her room. Even before she unwrapped the food, she dumped the clothes out of the pillowcase onto the bed. That’s when she’d realized that her clothes stunk of Perry Bradford just as much as the pillowcase they were in. And that’s when she also discovered the invitation to this Open House. Stuffing the clothes back into the pillowcase and holding it between her thumb and forefinger, she’d carried everything out to the Dumpster. Back inside, she’d wolfed down her cold food and propped herself up against the headboard, Indian style, with Mr. Floppy sitting in her lap. Opening her laptop, she’d checked the classifieds in several major cities in the general direction she was heading, finally finding what she was looking for in Charleston, West Virginia. A country crossover band was holding auditions for a female singer. She had called the number and set up an appointment for nine A.M. a week from Saturday morning. She was pretty sure she’d be able to find a decent waitressing job there, too. Thanks to Perry Bradford, she’d lost her last job. Of course, not calling in or showing up for three weeks would tend to do that.

That had been Friday. Today was Monday. She’d only spent that first night in the motel, because her need to feel safe, behind locked doors, had far outweighed her need to be frugal. The next two nights, however, she’d slept in her car, because she was terrified of running out of money. She’d parked in an Interstate rest area toward the back of the parking lot. Yesterday, before leaving the Richmond area entirely, she’d drummed up enough courage to drive back into town and go to the police station to report Perry Bradford for kidnap, rape and assault. The sergeant who’d taken her complaint, Sergeant Mario Sanchez, had been less than helpful. Especially after she’d had to admit that Perry Bradford hadn’t actually kidnapped her, that she’d gone to his place of her own free will. He’d practically laughed her out of the precinct. She could see him now, ticking off points on his fingers.

“You have no proof. There are no witnesses. Sure, he has a reputation for being slightly kinky. But a lotta women seem to like that sort of thing. How do I know this isn’t just a case of ‘buyer’s remorse’? After all, it’s your word against his, and he’s gonna say it was all consensual. A classic case of he-said, she-said. He’s rich and powerful and a fixture on the Richmond social and charitable scene. You’re just a waitress working for tips in a greasy-spoon diner. Who do you think a jury’s gonna believe?”

So here she was, on her way to Charleston, West Virginia to audition for a country/pop band looking for a lead singer. With this one slight detour to Marshall’s Creek, Virginia—to get some free food at this BDSM Club Open House.

It was a cockamamie plan, but it was the best she’d been able to come up with on such short notice. She’d hatched it up when she’d discovered Perry’s invitation tangled up with the clothes she’d grabbed off his bed. At first, she’d nearly ripped it up and thrown it away, but was grateful she hadn’t when she’d discovered that, without adding too many miles to her journey, she could go through Marshall’s Creek on her way to the audition. She’d be able to stock up on what were bound to be very tasty hors d’oeuvres without having to part with any of her dwindling supply of cash. Afterward, she’d drive the rest of the way to Charleston, clean up in a gas station or fast food restaurant’s bathroom, and spend the next couple of days looking for a job and sleeping in her car until Saturday’s audition. She’d actually been shocked when the armored knights at the club’s entrance had simply scanned the invitation and passed her right on through.

So, here she was. A woman on a mission. She was already in. Now she just had to get food, get out and get on her way. Simple enough, right? Squaring her shoulders, she walked with a sense of purpose through the crowded common room toward the food tables, replacing her empty champagne glass with a full one from a passing tray.

As she walked forward, a sort of whispering hush seemed to ripple across the room and all heads, including Charlie’s turned toward her left. A door opened and two men dressed in black leather entered the room. And what men they were!
Oh. My. God!
One of them was the size of a grizzly bear. At least six feet eight inches tall with rippling muscles, bulging biceps, prominent pecs and sculpted abs most men would kill for. His broad shoulders and chest led downward to a narrow waist and hips. He was covered with black, primitive-looking tattoos, His thick, shaggy black hair was collar-length. The three-day growth of beard made him look almost…diabolical. He was mesmerizing and Charlie couldn’t look away. He was leading a petite woman on a leash, who walked behind him with her head held high, pride in every step she took, despite the fact that she was completely naked. A second man followed behind the woman. Younger than the lead man, he was also at least four inches shorter, which made him around six feet four, still a very sizeable hunk of a man. And he
was
a hunk. His brown hair was also thick and shaggy, falling down over his forehead. His square jaw could have been carved from stone.