This was what a true Dominant did, what domination was all about. Protecting his submissive, seeing to her needs, even if she didn't understand what her needs were. It was up to him to know what was best for her, to be strong enough to provide it, despite her objections and ignorance.
"Isn't that right?" He grinned as he made his way across the basement to the bed, where the man lay spread-eagle—bound, gagged, and half-conscious.
He let his eyes roam well-muscled legs, torso, and arms, admiring the hard-won physique of his latest acquisition, a rare one indeed, being male and not an original target.
But he would do nicely if his training and death served their purpose and brought Slany closer to him.
He strolled to the bed, brandishing a leather whip, and the man's eyes widened as he struggled against his shackles. "You don't strike me as the kind of man who engages in futile efforts. And I must tell you now, struggling against your bonds is futile."
Ron Wells screamed behind the tape over his mouth, his eyebrows scrunched together as he glared up at his abductor.
He knew if he took off the tape, Ron would start spewing all sorts of foul language. He had gotten a hint of the man's colorful terminology when he'd taken the tape off yesterday evening to feed and give Ron water.
Like Kate in the beginning, he had been most uncooperative, stubborn, and willful, spitting food and water back in the face of the man who tried to feed him. He screamed and desperately struggled right before the tape had been firmly replaced.
"I'm sure you're hungry and thirsty."
139
Gracie C. McKeever
Ron stared at him for a long moment before slowly nodding his head.
"And if I take off your tape, you'll behave yourself and accept what I offer you."
Again, Ron nodded.
He put the whip down on the bedside nightstand, not totally trusting Ron's acquiescence, though. He knew that as soon as Ron saw a chance, he would try to incapacitate him and escape.
Dream on.
True, Ron Wells was not his usual fare, at least seventy to eighty pounds heavier than the females that he usually took. Eighty pounds of lean muscle.
But the bonds he had on Wells were sound, professional grade. Besides which, he was in excellent shape, too, knew that if the impossible did occur and Ron freed himself, he could take the man in a fair fight.
Unfortunately for his abductee, there was nothing fair about Dominating a submissive, especially not from the point of view of a submissive. And this was why Ron needed to be trained. He had to learn his place, learn to accept his new role.
He had to admit, taking someone as in shape as Wells was good practice for what was to come with Slany. By the time he was finished with Wells, the tall and athletic Ms. Breeze would be…well, a breeze.
He chuckled at his silent pun as he brought a plate full of hash browns, breakfast sausages, bacon, three-egg cheese omelet, and a stack of buttermilk pancakes over to Ron and placed it on the TV tray beside the bed. It was the sort of protein- and carb-laden meal that a strapping guy like Wells should appreciate, especially now.
He sat down on the bed beside Ron, admiring the symmetrical, masculine beauty of the other man's face, the lush, almost feminine eyelashes framing cerulean eyes. Eyes that could emit cruelty as easily and as quickly as sincerity.
He knew. He had been the victim of the former as a teen more times than he could count, from everyone from the football team and other high school jocks to the cheerleaders and other beautiful and popular-kid wannabes.
He wondered if Slany, too, had been a victim, the idea that Wells or his kin had hurt her the way he had been hurt as a young adult churning the juices in his stomach with not a little spite and possessiveness.
He sneered now, reached out and quickly stripped off the tape, took particular pleasure when the other man gasped.
Ron winced, flexing his jaw, but didn't say a word as he peered up at him.
"Since you got such a late start, we're having brunch. It should tide you over until later this evening."
"Why are you doing this?"
"I have to keep you healthy so that you can better endure your upcoming training."
"
Why
have you taken me? Why are you keeping me here?"
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Terms of Surrender
"I should have thought that would have been fairly obvious."
"Obvious?" Ron bucked, pulling his arms forward as far as he could, which wasn't very far. He kicked his legs for several moments before slumping back on the bed, exhausted.
"Are we finished with our little temper tantrum?"
"What the hell is this about?"
"You need to save your strength."
"What do you want from me? Money? Because if that's what this is about—"
"Of course, someone like you would think that. Big-time, rich, successful lawyer with a mistress and a wife."
"You're
blackmailing
me?"
"Nothing so mundane or simple, unfortunately for you. Nor are you being ransomed. But I'm sure if I were as mercenary as yourself, that well-trained and docile wife of yours would come running with enough cash to free you, no doubt."
"What are you? Some kind of women's rights crusader?"
"I'm a crusader of a sort. But it has to do with the rights of only one woman. The one you injured once. You might remember her: Slany Breeze."
"That's what this is about? A fling I had in college?" Ron gaped, then seemed to relax, as if in relief. "What are you, her big brother? Her husband?"
"I'm much more important to her than either of those."
"Look, man, I don't know what stories she's been telling you, but Slany was a perfectly willing participant in what went on between us. Hell, she
asked
for it. She's a freak."
"And I bet you had no problems telling her that to her face the entire time you two were together, now did you?"
"Look, we were a couple. Consenting adults. And it's not like she was a virgin when I met her. Far from i—"
"Shut
up!
" He stood up abruptly, overturning the tray and the plate on top, the clatter resounding as everything hit the cement floor. He stared down at the mess on the floor for a long moment before turning his attention back to Ron and noticed the shocked look of realization on the other man's face.
Good. Wells was finally beginning to appreciate the precarious situation he was in. "I think I've changed my mind about nourishing you. You'll have to make do on what little fat cells you've stored."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Your training." He turned from Ron and headed for the stairs.
"You're doing this over some broad? Some freaky chick I haven't thought twice about in the last several years?"
"Exactly."
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Gracie C. McKeever
"You crazy son-of-a-bitch! Let me out of here!"
He stood at the bottom step, hand on the banister, and listened to the predictable sound of Ron Wells' shouts and toils against his constraints. "I'll return later. If you know what's good for you, you'll conserve your strength."
"Untie me, dammit!"
He continued up the stairs without looking back.
Let the bastard scream himself hoarse. No one would hear him.
Besides, if he went back to put on the tape, he didn't trust himself to be humane and not take out on Ron Wells what he wanted to do to Vega—what he wanted to do to Ron, for that matter—for defiling Slany Breeze before
he'd
had a chance to properly indoctrinate her.
He closed and locked the steel door with resounding finality, heart expanding with what he intended to do next.
Time to come out of the dark and let the world know what he'd been up to.
Time to let Slany know she belonged to him.
142
Terms of Surrender
Nick went into work on Monday morning invigorated and filled with purpose, despite having missed his regular ballgame with the guys, the first he'd missed since they'd started getting together for pick-up games almost a decade ago.
Plenty of guys before him, including his brother, EJ, had come and gone on the team, and women had usually been at the heart of the defection.
Nick had never thought it would happen to him, but one of the regular outfielders, Nick's former Little Brother whom he still kept in regular contact with, had called him at twelve-thirty to find out what had happened to him. He left an irate message on Nick's machine about abandoning the team—and Nick hadn't felt the tiniest bit of remorse.
He had listened to the message, smiled, and pulled Slany closer, not making a move to leave the bed. He had had more important things to do than play ball with a bunch of sweaty homeboys. He had wanted to hang out with a sweaty female tiger, instead.
Slany hadn't disappointed him, hadn't been scared off by his roughness or his nature, but then, he knew she was made of tough stuff. He'd just had to make her see it, too.
Nick thought he had succeeded better than he'd planned, because he no longer knew who was the tamer and tamee in his and Slany's relationship. In fact, he no longer cared.
He sat in his office, contemplating his next move in trying to ferret out the bastard who was taunting him with Kate's disappearance and knowledge of his relationship with Slany.
Everyone at
DMT
was suspect to Nick, his current place of employment the only visible common thread he could find between Slany and Kate.
And don't forget Lorraine
.
Lorraine, who'd worked in the same profession. Lorraine, who'd been beautiful, intelligent, and talented. Lorraine, who he'd briefly dated before she'd disappeared, just like Kate.
He hadn't felt for Lorraine or Kate the way he felt for Slany. Certainly, he'd cared—the idea of their loss, their pain or suffering beneath the hands of some sick freak affected him.
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Gracie C. McKeever
How much more affected, how much more empty would his life be if something were to happen to Slany?
Nick didn't want to consider it and admitted the impossible to himself: he wanted her in his life as more than just a temporary plaything, wanted her in his life permanently, and it wasn't because of the feral, no-holds-barred sex they had shared this weekend. That was a bonus, his feelings running so much deeper than the physical.
Nick chuckled, thought he was starting to sound like Angela with her “soul mate” jazz.
"Private party, or is anyone invited?"
He glanced up at the sultry voice and saw Slany leaning against the doorjamb, clad in a red silk blouse and short navy skirt, smile broadening. "Private party, but with one guest. You."
"Good."
"Yvette not at her desk?" he teased.
"I'm assuming your watchdog went out to breakfast."
"Be nice." Nick fought a smile at the description, but had to allow its accuracy.
Yvette never would have let Slany get past her without pre-warning him. She was very diligent that way—sometimes too diligent, especially where Slany was concerned.
Nick stared at her as she closed the door and swished across the carpeted floor to his desk. He stood and came from behind it to meet her halfway.
Slany had embraced the concept of showing off her dynamite gams with a vengeance.
He'd created a monster, he thought, watching her long, exposed legs flex as she walked.
"I just wanted to stop by before we headed out to the airport."
Damn, he'd forgotten about the Wink Soft Drink pitch in Buffalo, and after that call the other day, Nick wasn't too crazy about Slany going off with a guy alone, especially that randy-ass Ashton. For that matter, he wasn't much trusting anyone at the company, not enough to let Slany go away alone with them. Everyone was questionable.
But there was nothing he could do about it without bringing attention to himself and Slany. He'd done enough damage already, knew Slany would probably think him paranoid if he said anything, not to mention he didn't want to threaten her position with
DMT.
Thorpe had specifically hand-picked Slany for the account and didn't trust anyone, other than Nick, to accompany Knowles to Buffalo. Nick and Ashton got along like fire and water. So, he had to go with the program…for now.
Nick put his arms around Slany's slim waist and pulled her close, already hard.
Just being with her in the same room within sniffing distance, her piquant, female musk wafting out to him, was enough to cause drooling and an instant erection.
She had him where she wanted him. Shit.
"Call me when your flight's about to leave Buffalo."
"It'll probably be the redeye."
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Terms of Surrender
"I don't care. Call me."
Slany snapped to attention and sharply saluted. "Yes, Master!"
"I'm serious, Slany."
"I know. You're very serious." She put her arms around his waist and tilted her head back to stare at his face. "We never did get a chance to discuss that call."
Nick didn't even pretend to not know what she was talking about. "Nothing to discuss."
"Really?"
Should he tell her about Lorraine? That he thought the same unknown thing that happened to her had happened to Kate? "If I said there isn't, there isn't."
Slany took her arms from around his waist and stepped back, face a mask of neutrality.
That worried him more than if she'd gotten angry or insulted.
"I'll see you when I get back." She turned and headed towards the door.
Nick followed, caught her wrist, and stopped her from turning the knob. He had a strange sense of déjà vu, didn't like this habit he had of chasing after her.
"You're not going to go away mad," he said.
"Who says I'm mad?"
"I want you to come with me to my sister's for the Fourth," he said.
He'd been meaning to invite her since Angela had mentioned it last week, but had never found the right moment to ask her. Now seemed perfect.
She turned to face him, fist on a hip. "You have a weird habit of changing the subject when you don't want to discuss something."