The Prize (19 page)

“Head downstairs, you bitch.”

Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. The basement was finished. There was a game room and
a spare bedroom down there. It would be smart of him to hide down there because the
neighbors would never hear anything. Hell, they weren’t going to hear me, either.
And no one would question my car being in the driveway. They all knew my seven-year-old,
silver Honda Civic.

I took a deep breath and headed for the stairs. He would have the element of surprise
on his side since I couldn’t know where he was and wouldn’t be able to see him before
he saw me.

With the gun at my side, I descended the carpeted steps, the original brown shag fraying
down the center.

When I reached the bottom, I turned around slowly. The lights were all on. And there
he was, sitting casually on the couch, holding a wide-eyed Cheyenne in his lap. I
would recognize him anywhere by the feral look in his dark eyes. He had thinning hair
fifteen years ago. Today he was bald. But his square jawline and the gap between his
front teeth were exactly the same.

There was no chance at a shot. My weapon was useless against the knife he held against
Cheyenne’s throat. He had already nicked her skin, and several lines of blood ran
down toward her chest. She whimpered through the duct tape.

He chuckled sardonically. “You still have a thing for guns, I see.”

I hated myself at that moment. If I’d never befriended anyone, Cheyenne’s life wouldn’t
be in danger. Who knew how he’d terrorized her for the entire day. I was weak and
stupid for thinking I could move on with my life after killing a man and leaving the
other for dead. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide from that kind of horrifying
event.

It didn’t matter that my life was at stake and I would have died at the hands of Michael
Swarth that day if I hadn’t shot him. I was going to die anyway. So, what had I accomplished
except to hurt other people along the way?

I lifted my hands into the air, still holding the gun. “Let her go, Michael. Your
issue is with me. She had nothing to do with this.” I hoped if I reasoned with him,
he would find it in his cold, ugly soul to let her go. I would die with fewer regrets
if I knew she was safe.

“You can put that fucking gun of yours on the coffee table, bitch. You won’t be needing
it today. One shot to the chest from you is enough, don’t you think?” He tightened
his hold on Cheyenne, squeezing her neck too tight. She wasn’t getting enough air,
and the knife had to be painful.

It wasn’t until then that I realized her hands were tied together in front of her
with an enormous length of rope. I held the Sig loosely and inched forward until I
reached the table where I set it down. Chances were I had just signed my own death
warrant by way of my own gun, but it was unavoidable.

All that mattered was playing his game long enough for Cheyenne to get away.

“There. It’s yours. Let her go.” I stepped back slowly.

He laughed again. “I don’t think so. I kinda like her.” He lowered the knife a few
inches but cupped her face and squeezed. “She’s a sexy little thing. And submissive
too. But you knew that, didn’t you? I’m betting you’re into the same things this little
cunt enjoys. And now that I know that, we’re going to have some fun.

“If you two like pain when you fuck, I can do that. I’d be happy to whip your naked
bodies bloody and fuck you in every hole. My pleasure. Shall we get started?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was unbelievably violating to realize how much he knew about us. How?

On the other hand, he had a skewed vision of BDSM if he thought we enjoyed pain.

I needed to engage him in conversation, pull out everything human I could to keep
us alive as long as possible.

“You said you’d let Cheyenne go, Michael.” I’d taken more classes on negotiating with
an assailant than the average human. I needed to use his name frequently, make it
sound like we were friends.

“Changed my mind.” He nodded at the floor. “Kneel. Hands behind your back. I’m sure
you’re used to the position. I bet you suck cock better than anyone.”

How the hell did he know so much about my private life? And Cheyenne’s? What else
did he know? “You’ve done a lot of homework, Michael. You’re wrong about me, but I
can see you’ve had spies watching me for a while.”

The statement was intended to make him spill some details. The more he talked, the
more I had to work with.

“My cousin was more than happy to hunt your ass down and track your movements until
I got out of the slammer where you put me.”

“Your cousin, huh? Is he around?”

“You don’t ask the questions, bitch. And stop talking. I’ll do the talking. You do
the listening for once.”

“Just trying to understand how you found me. I’m impressed.”

“Vincent wanted to kill you himself. He begged me for years. He came to the prison
the first visiting day and told me he would exact revenge as soon as possible. But
I made him wait. Wanted to do it myself. It’s only fair, don’tcha think?”

“Yes. You’re right. It wasn’t his beef.” I glanced again at Cheyenne. Tears streaked
her face, both old and new. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were bloodshot and wide.
Her face was red and swollen around the edges of the duct tape. I had to swallow my
emotions and get myself under control. If I collapsed into a ball of tears myself,
I’d be no good to either of us.

“Family is thick in the ghetto, you little bitch. You rich folks have no loyalty.
But we don’t live like that where I come from. An eye for an eye. You were never safe.
You’ll get what you deserve. I’m going to punish you for what you done to me and my
brother.”

“I see. I deserve it. But why do you need to punish Cheyenne? She never did anything
to you. She didn’t even know about you.”

He leaned forward, still holding her too tight, one arm across her chest, smashing
her breasts. “So she wasn’t lyin’.” He chuckled again. “How ’bout that? I figured
the little cunt was full of shit when she told me she had no idea what I was talking
about. Excellent actress. But it turns out she wasn’t lyin’.” He twisted her face
around and kissed her on the nose. “Maybe I’ll go easier on you than I intended.”

“You don’t need to hurt her at all, Michael. Let her go.”

He sobered again and jerked to standing, hauling her up in front of him. “You ain’t
running this show, bitch. Shut the fuck up. Enough questions. Close your fuckin’ mouth
now. This isn’t a party. You like bondage and shit, I’ll show you bondage. If beating
your ass makes you come, I want to see it.”

I cringed, but held eye contact with him. He knew nothing about BDSM. I was hoping
that would work in my favor. Other than having lowered to my knees, I wasn’t complying
with any other standard practice. My legs were together, my hands in front of me,
and my gaze lifted to my assailant. “If you want me to play, I’ll play. But you have
to let Cheyenne go first.”

“Bitch, I said shut up.” He tossed Cheyenne on my parents’ old floral couch they’d
purchased fifteen years ago and lunged toward me. Before I could react, he had me
by the hair and yanked my head backward awkwardly. He slapped my face hard with his
free hand. “You speak out of turn again, I’ll fuck you up sooner than I planned. Ya
hear me?”

“Yes, Sir,” I mumbled. My face stung. My jaw hurt. But it seemed prudent to play along.

He got all cocky, standing straighter and shoving me so I fell to one hip. “That’s
right. A little respect is what you need.” He tucked his fingers in his jeans pockets
and strutted across the room to the wet bar my father built when we moved in. The
dark wood was worn in some places where I’d run into it with my toys.

I pulled myself back to my knees, glancing first at Cheyenne to find her struggling
to sit upright. She was whimpering through the tape. A noise to my left made me yank
my attention to Michael as he poured himself a healthy shot of whiskey and tossed
it back.

Would it be a good thing or a bad thing for him to get drunk?

“Oh man, that shit’s good. Your parents may have fucking horrible taste in furniture,
but they know a good whiskey. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to feel that slide
down my throat?”

I didn’t move or speak.

“Fifteen fucking years. And whose fault is that?” He poured another shot and rounded
the bar to face me. “Yours. You fucking cunt.”

I held my breath.

“A bitch. And a cunt.” He cupped his crotch and shook it, spreading his legs and thrusting
his hips outward. “I can’t wait to feel your lips around my cock.”

I swallowed. Could I do it? To save our lives and buy more time, could I suck this
assholes dick? I knew I could. Mind over matter. To stay alive, and keep Cheyenne
alive, I would do anything.

“You sure grew up nice.” He sauntered toward me. “You were a scrawny little thing
at ten years old. I’m impressed with your rack.” He reached down and grabbed my breast,
squeezing it so tight I had to grit my teeth. “Oh, yeah. They’re real, ain’t they?”

I didn’t answer.

He laughed again, his voice grating on my nerves. My breast throbbed from his grip.
When he flicked his thumb over my nipple, I yanked free. That was more than I could
tolerate.

“That’s right, bitch, fight me. I can’t wait. It makes me so hard when a woman struggles.”
He snapped his fingers, tossed back the second shot, and glared at me. “Oh wait. I
wouldn’t fuckin’ know that, would I? Because some bitch stole the best years of my
life, didn’t she?”

I stayed very still.

“Answer me, you
cunt
,” he shouted, leaning in so his whiskey breath wafted over my face and his spittle
hit my cheeks.

I didn’t blink. “Yes. I’ll make it up to you. Just let Cheyenne go,” I pleaded.

He swung out with his free hand and backhanded me so I fell completely onto the floor
on my side. The act knocked the breath out of my lungs and left me gasping and scrambling
to sit up. “One more mention of letting that sweet fuck go and I’ll slice a hole in
your pussy with my knife. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” I managed to pull myself back to my knees without touching the burning
sting in my face. Both sides hurt now. He’d slapped me on one side and then backhanded
me on the other. One eye was swelling.

“You’re a whore, aren’t you?” He sauntered back to the bar and filled his glass a
bit fuller this time.

I pursed my lips. I was damned no matter what I did.

“A fucking whore. I can tell. Only a whore would kneel before a man and enjoy it.
How many men have you fucked?”

I bit into my lips. I wasn’t going to respond to this tactic of his. I needed to focus
on getting us out of this situation, anyway. I glanced at the coffee table and considered
lunging for the gun and aiming it at him. He no longer had Cheyenne by the neck, and
his knife was in the sheath at his waist. Could I do it? Was now the right time?

He answered that question for me when he followed my gaze and stomped back across
the room to grab the gun and stuff it in the front of his jeans. I hoped it accidentally
went off and shot him in the balls.

Cheyenne moaned behind the duct tape as she struggled to sit up without the use of
her arms.

Swarth waved a hand through the air as he returned to the bar and chuckled. “Doesn’t
matter. I’ll find out how tight your cunt is when I get in there, anyway.”

I cringed. I didn’t like the visual. If he raped me, I wasn’t sure what I would do.

You’ll live through it and not let him get to you. Compartmentalize
.

Rationally, he could rape me or hurt me or even kill me and he didn’t have access
to my soul. I controlled my soul. He couldn’t hurt me inside no matter what he did
to my physical body. I told myself this. I had told myself these words hundreds of
times in the last several years.

“Hell, since there are two of you, maybe I should call my cousin Vincent and invite
him to join the party? Yeah?” When he picked up the bottle of whiskey this time, he
wobbled a little. Some of the brown liquid sloshed over his hand and ran onto the
bar. He set the bottle down, licked the liquor off his fingers, wiped his hand on
his jeans, and grabbed the glass to wander back toward us. “After all, it was Vincent
who did all the leg work for me. He kept tabs on you for fifteen years. I should share
my pussy with him, right?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, nor did he move to make any phone calls. Instead he
flopped onto the couch next to Cheyenne and set his arm around her shoulders to haul
her to his side.

She struggled in his grip, but he was stronger. He’d obviously spent a great deal
of time working out over the years. His arms bulged in his black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt.
The arm holding his whiskey was covered in an elaborate, though crudely executed,
tattoo. It disappeared under his sleeve.

He pulled Cheyenne closer and kissed her forehead with a loud smacking sound. “God,
you smell good, sweetheart. Whatever shampoo and body soap you rich ladies use is
working for you.”

The man was obsessed with money.

“Do your knees hurt yet?” he asked me.

The question shocked me. Why did he care? He’d slapped my face so hard I was sure
there would be bruising already, and he wondered about my knees? “No.”

“How long does your man usually make you kneel like that for him?”

I didn’t answer, but Cheyenne flinched.

“I bet he makes you strip first though, yeah?”

My heart raced faster with that suggestion. I decided it was time to start participating
in this charade. “No. BDSM is not about sex.” That wasn’t entirely the truth. For
Parker, and I knew for Riley also, it was all about sex. Their goal was to get us
so hot and horny that we came harder than with vanilla sex. But Swarth didn’t need
to know.

“You expect me to believe that? If you use the same products as your girl here does,
I bet your pussy tastes like daisies and sunshine.” He suddenly sat up straighter,
a smile spreading across his face. “In fact, I think I’ll have you tell me. You two
can suck each other off while I watch and let me know how sweet the nectar is.” He
leaned back, squeezing Cheyenne’s shoulder again.

As he tipped his head toward the ceiling, he sighed loudly. “Yeah. Oh God. My cock
is hard just thinking about it. It will be like the best porn ever. I’ve dreamed of
a day like this all my life. It’s almost worth the fifteen years you put me in the
slammer just to have this lifetime dream come true. Two hot women submissives fucking
for me. Yeah…” He drawled out the last word while Cheyenne’s eyes shot wider.

I stiffened. We needed a way out of this. Maybe I was strong enough to escape, but
I didn’t see how I could get Cheyenne out at the same time. And Swarth had my gun
at his waist. I would never leave Cheyenne behind. She was the entire reason I was
here. He would kill her in less than a second.

We were fucked. And we needed to get unfucked.

Fast.

How did Swarth handle his alcohol? Would it make things better or worse for us as
he drank more?

He held his empty glass up to eye level and tipped it to one side. “This shit’s fantastic.
Like liquid gold.” He heaved himself off the couch and made his way back toward the
bar. His gate was growing more awkward. “What does your dad pay for this? Probably
fifty bucks a bottle.”

Probably a hundred
, but I wasn’t about to suggest that.

“So, tell me, Meagan Hollister…” his gaze lifted to meet mine. “That’s what you go
by now, right? Meagan.” He twisted to look at Cheyenne. “Did she ever tell you her
real name?”

Cheyenne didn’t move or even blink.

He returned his attention to me with a shrug. “Why on earth did your parents move
you to the suburbs and into this small house?” He turned back toward Cheyenne as if
he needed to fill her in on the events of my childhood she was missing, and he was
the expert. “Did you even know your friend was rich before she moved here?” He didn’t
wait for an answer before continuing. “Did your dad get fired or lose all his money
in the stock market?” He cackled, lifting the now half-empty bottle. “At least he
didn’t start skimping on his booze.”

My dad wouldn’t have skimped on anything if it weren’t for me. My parents made this
life change because I begged them to. I begged them every day for a month until they
agreed to give up the appearance of wealth to save my sanity and let me sleep better.

And look where it got me.

“But who cares, right? Because you landed yourself a richer guy, didn’t you? Doesn’t
your man own like half of Charlotte?” His maniacal laugh wore on my nerves. “Where’s
he now? Huh? All the money in the world can’t save you, can it?” He chugged the shot
and set the glass down to walk away.