Sarah’s Billionaire Doms (11 page)

“Make it hard all you want, miss, but it won’t help you any,” Randy said against her ear.

“What are you up to, Michael?” she asked in a calm and soft whisper. A bad feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Surely, that’s not hard to guess.” Randy bared his teeth, peeled the polite bodyguard mask he wore in public, and let Sarah glimpse the real man—or monster—underneath.

His gaze crawled over her skin. The dread building inside her closed over her like a painful vice. For a second, she couldn’t breathe or think past the fear, but Sarah remembered this wasn’t the first time she danced with a man who wished her violence. Randy might be the kind of man most women couldn’t say ‘no’ to, but Sarah had faced down worse.

“Michael doesn’t like to share,” she said, strength returning to her voice.

“Bitch,” Randy hissed, letting her go. “When he gets tired of you, and he will, he’ll give you to me. I sure as hell won’t be gentle. Think about that.”

Sarah lifted her chin, heart hammering painfully against her chest. The remaining brittle part of herself broke—or rather, bent. A smile twisted on her lips, which took Randy by surprise.

“You get off on playing with broken toys, big guy? Are normal women beyond your expertise?”

Randy’s gaze burned with fury. Too easy to bait, Sarah realized. Michael would never bite. He’d only coolly deal with her and think of creative ways to put her in her place. Thank God, the elevator doors hissed opened. Randy growled, and then straightened. An ugly smirk pierced his face.

“Let’s see how long that defiance lasts. Boss says I’m welcome to watch while he educates you, and I’m happy to take second-hand leavings.”

He nudged her out of the lift where Michael was waiting. Michael Rivers stood facing the impressive floor-to-ceiling glass walls. He had a half-filled wine glass in hand, his back to her and Randy. The handsome and cultured man in the designer suit certainly didn’t look like a nightmare come alive. Nothing about the space, which looked like an exact cut-out of an interior design magazine, said sinister. Until Sarah heard it—a muffled but no less heart-wrenching scream from one of the rooms.

“Bobby,” she whispered.

Her voice made Michael turn, although she knew he’d heard them come in.

“Randy, thank you for bringing back my wayward wife,” Michael said. It sounded like an informal dismissal. Randy only took a couple of steps back, not leaving the room—a menacing shadow ready to take action in case Sarah did something foolish.

Michael’s cold iron gaze met hers. Sarah froze into place, like a deer sighted by a predator. The urge to flee rose inside her. Screw this. Damn Bobby for getting kidnapped. She could rush back to the elevators…but Randy would block her exit. Besides, even if she got out, Sarah refused to spend the rest of her life knowing she turned coward and left her friend to die.

“Hello, my dear cunt wife,” Michael crooned.

He took a couple of steps towards her. Sarah gritted her teeth, standing her ground. She clenched her fists, remembering how she hated this part the most, not knowing when Michael would show her his sadistic side.

“Look at you. Anyone can mistake you for some drug-addicted whore who’ll sell herself for a fix.” He sneered.

Sarah flinched when his hand rose, but he only tugged her half-closed hoodie and yanked it open. He edged closer. Michael’s fist blurred, and Sarah felt his blow connecting to the side of her jaw. The force of it sent her stumbling. A familiarly vicious left hook caught her ribs, stealing her next breath.

She nearly fell, but he gripped a handful of her hair. Pain streaked from her scalp, making her eyes water, but Sarah bit her lip hard until it bled. She refused to give him the satisfaction. No doubt Michael would be wrangling screams from her soon enough, but that was later.

Michael hauled her back up to her feet using her hair.

“Tell me, cunt. How much did your wealthy sugar daddies pay you for one night? Their cum still drying in your holes?” Michael hissed against her ear. He grabbed a handful of her shirt with his free hand, and the fabric tore with one yank, exposing her upper body.

Sarah spat out blood and met his gaze, showing him all the insolence she’d regained. “They certainly made use of me better than you ever did. At least they can always make me aroused and wet. All you’ve ever fucked was a dry cunt."

Pain exploded in her left cheek. Michael wrapped his long fingers around her neck and began to squeeze. He wouldn’t kill her, though. Only knock her out. Sarah’s eyes watered, and her lungs burned. Eventually, her vision began to blur.

“It’s clear I need to start re-educating you again. I’m actually looking forward to it,” were the last words she heard from her husband.

***

Throat parched, body aching, Sarah groaned the next time she regained consciousness. A chill caressed her naked flesh, making her shiver. Some kind of coarse texture bit at her wrists and ankles. Sarah took deep breaths and forced her eyes opened. Naked, her entire body had been stretched to its limits in a figure X. She tried tugging at her restraints.
Nothing.
The rope binding her arms was snugly tied to the hook embedded in the ceiling, and those on her ankles were secured to matching hooks on the floor.

Being exposed like this in front of Damon, Jared, maybe a curious crowd at the club, would instantly make her hot and bothered. Here, in a windowless room Michael furnished with what looked like medieval torture devices, Sarah reacted like an animal caught in a trap. Unlike the rest of the house, the room was bare. Only a single light bulb cast a dim glow around the space, highlighting the walls meticulously lined with whips and chains, floggers and canes Michael had no idea how to use.

Sarah grew still as Michael came into her line of sight, still dressed in his impeccable suit. Randy, she noticed, stood by the doorway, facing her bound figure, ugly smirk on his face.

“Don’t expend too much energy fighting the inevitable. You’ll need your strength,” Michael crooned in that annoying voice of his that made it sound like he was talking to a small child or an animal.

“Bobby,” she rasped. “You promised to let him go.”

He gave her a dismissive wave. “I gave my word. Randy dropped the pathetic sack by the dumpster near his apartment.”

“Is he alive?” Sarah whispered, unable to keep the worry in her voice.

“Of course. Well, depending on how you define alive. Someone better get him to an emergency room soon.”

She breathed easy. Bobby was a fighter. As long as he was out of Michael’s grasp, she knew he’d live. Be reunited with James. She hoped with time, he’d forget the scars Michael gave him. Forgive her for dragging him into this mess.

“You’re not afraid of Bobby and James babbling to the authorities?” Sarah asked.

She knew it was a redundant question because friends in high places made Michael invincible. Besides, even if Bobby and James pooled their resources with Damon and Jared, it might be too late.

Michael caressed the ring of bruises around her throat, gathered the sweat between her breasts with his fingertips. His touch made her skin crawl. Michael frowned as he traced her ink, his face twisting to barely concealed rage.

“What have you done to your beautiful body, Sarah?”

“I made it better. At least the tats hide the ruin you made of it.” That remarked earned her a backhanded slap. Knowing Michael, it equated to a gentle reprimand before the big show.

“I’ll need to talk to a specialist to laser off these ugly things,” he muttered.

Michael pinched her tits in a detached matter, like a merchant examining his goods, before his hand tugged at her clit ring and fingered her cunt. Sarah gritted her teeth as he slid one finger into her dry pussy. He pulled it out, distasteful expression on his face.

“No matter. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be on your knees, eager and pliant, panting for whatever kindness I’ll allow.”

A blatant lie.
Despite his calm exterior, Michael barely held himself together. The signs were there. In the stiff way he held himself and how he did his best to hide his shaking hands from her.

He’d break her, but he won’t be able to put her back together to play with again. Come dawn, he’d be left with a corpse. Sarah supposed a quick death would be comparatively better than the slow one she initially envisioned on her way here. She imagined that would be best for the people she loved. With her gone, Bobby and James wouldn’t need to worry so much about her. Damon and Jared could move on and find a replacement sub.

Jesus.
Each time she thought about that, it unexpectedly hurt. Michael walked to the wall of toys and took his time selecting the first instrument he’d torment her with. She dully watched him finger the handle of a cherry wood whip, caress the vicious tails of a flogger with metal bits attached to the ends, before he settled on a single-tailed whip.

“This is no fun. It’s like torturing a corpse,” Randy remarked in a disgusted voice. “Christ, Michael. She’s more fucked-up than you mentioned.”

“Shut the hell up,” Michael hollered, breaking character.

Sarah winced when he pulled his arm back, and the tip of the single tail barely missed Randy’s boots by an inch. Dead, Randy called her, and maybe he was right. She no longer had it in her to claw and fight, to cling to life and survive, especially after the horrible way she ended things with Damon and Jared. She wished she could have done things differently. Maybe lie her ass off and tell them she was going on a holiday.

Hell, Sarah wanted a lot of things, but the time for wishing was over.

“I’m going to remain outside. Watch the security feeds,” Randy muttered.

“Do that.” Michael ran a hand over his slightly mussed up hair before stalking back to her. “You can’t imagine how long I’ve waited to do this again.”

Michael mashed his lips against hers. When he released her, she spat at him. That earned her another love tap that broke her nose.
Again.
She tasted her own blood, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. He snarled, wiping her spit with the back of his hand.

“Cunt, you’re going to pay for that.”

“Show me. All you do is keep talking.”

Sarah bit back a cry as he swung his arm back and let the whip fly. The first strike instantly drew a line of blood across her bruised ribs. He’d paint both her back and front in red, she knew. All Sarah could hope for was Michael accidentally hitting a vital part and cutting this freak show short.

“Here?” Jared asked Damon, peering at the Sapphire II from the tinted windows of Damon’s car.

“My sources confirmed it. Witnesses mentioned seeing a young woman fitting Sarah’s description with a large fucker who looked like a bodyguard. She’ll stand out, especially dressed the way she left the apartment, in this kind of neighborhood,” Damon explained, parking the car a street away from the building.

The black unmarked car tailing them dutifully parked behind their vehicle. Damon knew the four-man security team who worked for one of his security firms. All were hardened and seasoned ex-Marines he could rely on, some he even served with in the past. None of them spared any expense in bringing extra ammunition.

They got out of the car and hid from sight at the back of an empty alleyway with Damon’s crew.

“You called your guy at the force?” Damon asked.

“Yeah, and as long as we do this clean and fast—no one’s going to ask questions,” Jared confirmed as they both strapped on bulletproof vests underneath their shirts. Damon wasn’t worried about his brother. Jared might not have his experience, but he knew how to handle a gun.

“According to the scout I sent out, Rivers didn’t employ much security. His main man was the asshole who drove Sarah here. There are two others manning cameras.” Damon quickly updated everyone there. James asked him why he didn’t leave the work to the professionals. After Damon reminded James they both liked doings things hands-on and up close and personal, James backed off.

Jared’s phone rang. By the time Jared finished his call, Damon had finished briefing his men.

“Good news or bad?” Damon asked.

“Just got word Bobby’s back with James. He took Bobby to the hospital.”

“Lucky fucker. He better pray Sarah’s intact,” Damon muttered angrily.

“Damon, I need you to be here with us. Can you get a handle on your emotions?” Jared asked cautiously.

Damon growled at his brother. “Let’s get this done so I can sink a bullet into that fucker’s face.”

It was easy enough getting the building blueprint for the Sapphire II. Keeping out of sight had been his team’s specialty. They didn’t meet any obstacles or anyone else as they entered the building through its back doors and the seldom-used emergency lift. Midway up, Damon split their group into two so they could cover more ground. Jared, Damon, and Jerry, one of the ex-Marines, took the stairs.

After minutes passed, Damon called up the team leader, Jax, through an untraceable line. Jared leaned close to listen in. “How’s the situation? Encountered any problems?”

“No trouble here, boss. Rivers’ two security men are down. According to the feed set up in the apartment, the big one’s pacing in the living room.”

“Did you see Rivers?” Damon asked hopefully, but he knew it couldn’t be that easy.

“Negative, although the cameras are blind in one area according to the layout of the penthouse.”

“Must be where Michael is,” Jared muttered.

“Stay there and monitor the situation. Jared, Jerry, and I will take point,” Damon told Jax and cut the line. He turned to his brother. “Ready to get back what’s ours?”

“Let’s teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.”

They used the service lift to the penthouse suite. Didn’t bother with disguises or half-assed plans, just the way Damon liked it. When the elevator lifts opened, Damon had his favorite shot gun ready. He shot the first bastard who got in the way. He almost missed the large fucker, still dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform, toting a rifle, but Jared got his back. A gun roared. Blood leaked from the neat bullet hole on the guy’s forehead.