Recovery (Doctor Dom Volume 5) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) (7 page)

Lisa:

The installation of the walkout porch doors off the kitchen was supposed to take two days. It took a week and a half.

Each day, Stewart would curse some more. “Fucking old houses,” he snarled at me.

I laughed at him. Stewart made a fortune renovations on old houses. “It’s a heritage home, Stewart, have some respect,” I chided, offering him a bottle of water from Patrick’s kitchen.

“Respect, my ass,” Stewart snorted. “Nothing’s fucking straight. Crooked walls. Crooked floors. I hate this.”

“So, you almost done?” I asked him, looking at the installed doors, cutting off his tirade. I’d heard this before, every single time Stewart worked on an old house.

He nodded. “Not a moment too soon, either,” he said. “I’ll come in tomorrow and finish up the trim around the edges. But yeah.
Almost done. Lisa, I’m out of here,” he continued, draining the water and tossing the bottle at the recycle bin in the corner. It missed, and I rolled my eyes. More clean-up. “You staying?”

I nodded. “Stewart, this guy is my boyfriend, not just a client. I need to clean up the mess before he comes back and goes ballistic.” I suppressed a smile at the memory of my spanking last week. As fun as it would be to get spanked again, I didn’t actually want to leave Patrick a huge mess to deal with. I glanced at my phone. Six in the evening. Patrick had texted me earlier
saying he needed to work late, and wouldn’t be back home until eight or nine. I had at least two hours to try to straighten the mess.

“Knock yourself out,” Stewart replied. “See you tomorrow.”

I followed him out, chatting with him in the driveway for almost a half hour about his progress on other jobs. It was pitch dark when I waved goodbye as his truck drove away, and I turned back to the house. I heard a loud crack, and the sound of shattering glass as I turned.
Damn it, Stewart, what have you done?
I grumbled. If the doors had fallen apart, Stewart would be here for another week. Contractors.

My mind was entirely on the project schedule as I made my way back to the kitchen. Patrick was not going to be happy about a further delay. He was going to be furious about this latest mess, whatever it was. I sighed as I entered the room to see what kind of
disaster awaited me.

But what greeted me
wasn’t a mess of Stewart’s making.

I had forgotten entirely about Liam Henderson, lost as I had been in worries about BDSM and where my relationship with Patrick was going. That had been a mistake. He was standing in the kitchen, holding a large, wicked-looking knife in his hands.

“You must be the girlfriend,” he said. He gestured, and my eyes never left the blade. “Sit down.”

Liam had ges
tured towards the kitchen table. I took a seat there silently, my heart pounding and my palms clammy with fear. My eyes never left the large knife in his hands.

Not for the first time, I gave silent thanks to Canada’s
relatively stringent gun laws. The knife was scary enough. I would have been in a complete panic had Liam had a gun in his hand.

Gl
ass was everywhere on the floor. The painstakingly installed patio doors were completely wrecked.
Stewart is going to flip out,
I thought inconsequentially, suppressing a slightly hysterical laugh at the thought of the expression on his face.

“Hand me your phone,” Liam ordered, and I extended it out silently towards him. I could see my hands shake as he took the phone from me, and I tried not to gag at the smell that emanated from him as he came close to me. A mix of alcohol and unwashed staleness, Liam had clearly been living rough.

Way back when Andrea had first been attacked, Rock, the young man who was following me around to ensure my safety had shown me a photo of Liam. He’d been mostly good-looking, with a slight air of untidiness. Now, he just looked unkempt, like he’d lost the ability to care about his appearance. His clothes were grimy. He was unshaven, and there was a slightly wild, unsteady look in his eyes. He didn’t look entirely sane.

He
has no reason to hurt me,
I tried to reassure myself. He hadn’t come to my house. He’d come to Patrick’s. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But then he glanced at me and a surge of terror flashed through me. He looked detached. Out of control. Unpredictable.

Keep calm,
I told myself through the rising fear.
Think. Will he let you go?

He
broke the silence first. “I wonder what I should do with you?” he asked, looking at me with vacant eyes.

“
Please, let me go,” I pleaded. “You have no beef with me.”

He
didn’t respond. His hands just played restlessly with the knife, one finger running down the blade. He watched with interest as blood welled up on his finger, where the blade had sliced the skin.

“
Please, you don’t even know me,” I begged again. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here.”

There was more
silence, and for one hopeful minute, I thought my plea had swayed him. I kept my eyes on the floor. I didn’t look at him, so I didn’t see his hand fly towards my face. The impact of the blow nearly made me fall out of the chair. Panic clawed at my throat, and I whimpered in bone-curling fear.

“
Shut up,” he said flatly. “You bitches just talk all fucking time. Talk, talk, talk. Good for nothing.” He reached his hand out towards me. “Give me your purse.”

I extended my bag towards him, and he rummaged through
my wallet, leafing through its contents and pulling out the cash I had. I had two hundred dollars on me, money just in case Stewart had needed cash to buy supplies. Liam took the money and stuffed it in his back pocket.

“
Fucking Anderson,” he continued bitterly. “I had that bitch Andrea primed for months. I played her so carefully. Had her exactly where I wanted her. She fucking did every single thing I asked, and he had to interfere. Stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong.”

I bit back my retort that
Andrea was thinking of leaving him anyway. It hadn’t been anything Patrick had said or done that had caused that.
Shut up,
I warned myself.
This guy is not stable. Don’t antagonize him.
I kept my eyes determinedly on the floor, and resisted the temptation to rub away the ache in my jaw where he hit me.

I heard footsteps. He walked over to the refrigerator, and peeped in, grabbing a container filled with mac and cheese. A surge of anger ran through me. I
had made that macaroni the previous night, and had sent Patrick home with leftovers so he’d have something homemade for dinner. He had teased me about how domestic I was, but I could tell he’d been touched at the gesture.

And now,
Liam was eating that mac and cheese. I felt my fingers curl up at my sides into fists, and I took a deep breath.
Let it go. It’s just food.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the sounds of
Liam’s chewing. Suddenly, my phone rang, the sound shrill in the quiet room. We both jumped. Liam’s hand tightened immediately on the knife.

“W
ho is it?” Liam asked me, his voice rough. I shook my head. I didn’t recognise the number.

“Answer it.
Put it on speakerphone,” he said.

I obeyed, and hit the button to answer. “
Hello?” I said into the receiver. I heard the quaver in my voice, and hearing evidence of my fear just made me even more afraid.

“Lisa?”
a crisp male voice asked. “Put Liam on the phone, will you?”

The speaker phone
was still on and I heard the next words. “Liam, it’s George Sorrento.”

Liam
grabbed the phone from the table where it lay between us. “George,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear. “What’s up, man?”

He
sounded like this was a social call, but it couldn’t be. I sneaked a peek at him. The knife was still right next to him on the table, and his fingers were less than an inch away from the handle. His shoulders were still tense.

“No,” he spoke, his voice angry. “
I’m not going to let her go, do you think I’m crazy?” He laughed to the phone, an utterly humourless sound that sent fear crawling up my back. Yes, I did think he was crazy. He sounded unhinged. Every muscle in my body was tense once again.

I hear
d the voice on the other end of the phone say something, and Liam nodded. “Fine,” he said curtly, and hit the speakerphone button once again.

“L
isa, my name is George Sorrento,” the man’s voice said. ‘I work with Toronto Police. Are you okay? Have you been harmed?”

I ignor
ed the ache in my jaw. “I’m okay,” I lied. I was definitely not okay.

“Good,” he replied,
and I could hear the relief in his voice. “Try to stay calm. We are going to get you out of this. Put Liam back on the line, please.”

“
I’m right here,” Liam said. “And I’m done talking.” He hit the button to end the call abruptly and stood up. He looked at me. “Andrea tells me Anderson used to tie her up,” he sneered at me. “Where does he keep his rope?”

I debate
d keeping silent, pretending like I didn’t know. Was he going to rape me? I bit my lip. Though I felt that I should fight, kick and scratch, try my best to flee, I knew that I wouldn’t. I would stay quiet. I would endure, because more than anything else, I wanted to stay alive. “Upstairs,” I said finally. “In a dresser in his bedroom.”

He
waved his knife at me, and I led the way up the stairs. He followed. I entered Patrick’s bedroom and found the rope. Liam gestured me on the bed, and I swallowed back the bile in my throat. He ignored my panicked expression and just tied my arms thoroughly to the bed. My legs he left untethered.
Perhaps he didn’t mean to rape me then?

“God
, I need a shower,” he stretched. He went into the bathroom, and I could hear the sound of the running water. Alone, I made another determined effort at pushing back the fear.

I’
d lived a good life. My parents loved me, and I loved them. I had friends I cared about, a career that I was passionate about. And finally, and most surprisingly, I had Patrick. My most unexpected joy. It had been a good thirty-five years. A life well-lived.

Before Patrick, I’m not sure I would have felt the same way. Before Patrick, I would have felt a pang
of regret for the relationship I’d never been brave enough to allow myself. But in the last few months, even that seemingly insurmountable barrier had fallen away.

But there
was still so many things I wanted to do. I wasn’t prepared to die yet. And though it sounded crazy, given my preference for extremely rough sex, I was terrified of the pain. Andrea had been badly beaten. That was potentially my fate as well. Liam had a knife in his hands, one that he’d taken into the shower with him. There would be blood. Plenty of it. I couldn’t even donate blood without feeling sick.

The panic rose once again as I thought of Liam’s knife cutting through my flesh, and I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood.
Think of something positive,
I counseled myself.
Think of a happy memory.

That first day at the vodka bar. He’d been so good looking, Patrick. He’d carried himself with casual ease. He’d been laughing with his friends, and as we’d m
ade eye contact for a second, my insides had clenched in anticipation. And though guys in trendy vodka bars were more likely douchebags than not, I’d still sent him a drink. A dirty martini.

And then he’d come over, with a bottle of vodka in his hand, thanked me for the drink, and had topped my glass up. He’d che
cked me out, but discreetly, and as I felt his eyes on my body, I had wanted more. I’d wanted to feel his hands on every inch of me.

I was no
stranger to the casual hookup. But even that first time, I sensed Patrick could be more. And then, he’d set up the most amazing medical play scene for me, just to make my fantasy come true, and I had realized – this guy was special.

Patrick was kind and considerate. Not always the sort of kindness you could
always talk to your mother about. I could never explain how he touched me in reassurance as he cracked the flogger on my skin. But it was the sort of thing he did so I would feel safe. He understood my needs, and he had always taken care of me.

T
he sound of running water had been audible in the background, but I heard the shower being turned off, and silence suddenly returned to the house. Before that silence could grow, the phone rang again, and I heard Liam picked it up in the bathroom. “What do you want, George?” he growled.

George
must have said something soothing, because the tension in Liam’s voice eased slightly. “Yes,” he said. “I want pizza delivered to the house. Pepperoni. You can see her when she opens the door to get the pizza.”

Toronto Police must have hustled like crazy, because less than ten minutes later, the phone rang again.
I’d been untied by this point, and was seated once again at the kitchen table. “They want to see you,” he growled, waving the knife in punctuation. “Go get the pizza. I’ll be right behind you, so don’t try anything funny.”