Branded Page 4

  “A variation?”

  His confidence was strong, she’d done nothing to encourage him or let him think that she might give him any information on Tag. So she was a bit confused as to why he wasn’t angrier or stressed about her defiance. Turning to the sink, he admired his jaw in the mirror and began to trim.

  Sitting for a while, she watched him, and wished he would just leave. The steam from the shower was nice, it cleared her sinuses and helped her sore body, but getting out of here would be nicer. Clearing her throat, she rotated until she could lift herself to rest her back on the side of the bath.

  She had to take some more time to figure out what she could about this room, because she’d already learned something about the man, and that was that he planned to release her from these chains, even if it was just for long enough to torture her.

  The next time he did that, she would be ready, strong and aware. She couldn’t be drugged or tired. Letting the back of her head thump against the bath, she took a long breath. Finding herself here was a shitty end to a shitty week, but she wouldn’t let it be the end of her shitty life.

  When Archer was done, he turned his scowl onto her. “I know a bunch of methods that encourage people to tell me what I need to know. So,” he said, hunkering down to stroke a finger down the path his foot had followed. Nya tried to wriggle away, but she was already squashed in the corner, clinging to the bath to keep her steady. “I’ll let you think about what that might mean for a while.”

  “Go to hell,” she said, refusing to let him scare her. But she was too tired and disorientated to fight with him.

  “Right now, the shower is on, and it’s your turn.”

  “Wha…? What?”

  Running his fingers through his wet hair, he shook his head, showering her in more drips. “Get in the shower, Squirm,” he said, rubbing a hand over his jaw that was more defined now that he’d rid himself of the overgrown scruff.

  She wanted to remind him of her confinement, but when she lifted her ankle, she saw that the padlock was loose. Pulling it off, she scrambled up to her feet, free of the cuff that had linked her ankle and wrist for days.

  Her strength wasn’t what she needed and her legs buckled. She expected to go down, but he caught her with one arm, using his body to anchor her. Nya didn’t believe he was capable of kindness, and this act didn’t refute that. Bending her back, he grabbed the shower curtain and pulled it aside to lift her up and dump her into the bath under the hot shower water.

  “Strip, dump your clothes out, I’ve got something for you to wear in the bedroom.”

  In the bedroom. She didn’t have a chance to ask what that meant or if she was getting her freedom because he dragged the curtain shut.

  The water was comforting, soothing for her aching bones, but she wasn’t sure about taking off her clothes in a room with a man she didn’t trust.

  A towel appeared over the rail, farther down from where she’d been hung last night, so at least she had a way to cover up when she was done.

  With no alternative except angering him to the point he may strip her himself, she did as he said, taking time to steady herself before washing and grooming. She shut off the water, squeezed the moisture from her hair and drew down the towel that was vast, far bigger than her small body needed. It wrapped around her twice with plenty to spare.

  The curtain was whipped aside and he pulled her out, lifting her up to carry her from the room. Her legs were more secure, so she could have walked herself, but he didn’t ask permission.

  Blasting through the door opposite the bathroom, they arrived in a modest bedroom with a large bed, two nightstands and a sliding closet door running the length of the right-hand wall.

  But what immediately struck her after he put her down was the neatness of the space. The bed was made, the blankets flat without a crease. The blinds on the facing wall were closed. The nightstands were clear and there wasn’t a single speck of dust in sight.

  “Put this on,” he said, tossing a dress on her shoulder.

  Opening it out, she hooked the spaghetti straps onto her fingers to see that the plain black dress was micro-mini. “This is a dress,” she said.

  “Smart and pretty, your parents must be proud,” he said, sliding the closet door on its track to open it enough for him to bend inside.

  The snide bastard deserved a slap. “Patronizing and arrogant, yours must just glow.” Maybe he hadn’t expected sass, but when he twisted to glare over his shoulder, she tried to smile and reminded herself to keep her emotions in check, though that had never been her strong suit. “I’d rather have jeans… and underwear.” From what she saw there were no extras for the outfit.

  “This ain’t Macy’s.”

  No kidding, that fact was obvious.

  Carrying a small box, he went to sit on the edge of the bed. With the dress in one hand and the tucked-in part of the towel in the other, Nya watched him pop the lid and take out supplies that appeared to be medical.

  Ripping open a sachet with his teeth, he pulled a wipe from it then leaned forward to snag her towel in two fingers. While his pulling forced her to walk the few steps to the side of the bed between his parted knees, she clutched her towel so as not to lose it, and began to panic about why they were in this room.

  Except all he did was grab her other arm, the one responsible for the dress, and turn it so he could see the angry red burn inside her wrist. He examined it for a second, touched the edge, and then pushed the wipe into it.

  The horror of stinging pain made her yelp and drop the dress, but he kept on wiping, squeezing the alcohol into the wound, the pungent aroma of it smacking her senses. When he was done, he tossed the wipe away, but he kept her arm extended so he could apply ointment. While it was drying in, he retrieved a roll of bandages from the box. Nya watched him press gauze to the wound and begin to wrap it.

  This was quite a turnaround and she couldn’t explain it. His actions made sense if he was caring for her or feeling regret for causing her pain, so she didn’t interrupt. Sympathy was preferable over torture.

  “You have a client,” he said.

  Smack. That might as well have been a gut punch. Shock didn’t begin to identify the emotion that seized her, the word wasn’t enough, but nothing would be. “A what? I have a what?”

  “He’s a rough motherfucker,” Archer said, securing the bandage with tape.

  “If the point is to cause me pain, why are you bothering with this?” she asked, trying to tug her arm free. As usual, her feeble attempt to liberate herself was fruitless.

  “Because,” he said, opening the drawer of the nightstand to pull out a leather cuff. “Unless he’s careful when he ties your wrists, the rope will infect the wound. You’re useless to me dead or disgusting.”

  Hence the shower and the crappy cheap dress. “And you’re some expert I suppose?” She kept on pulling because it was better than doing nothing.

  “Got some experience,” he said, slipping the cuff onto her wrist over the bandage and buckling it so tight her hand began to tingle.

  “From where?”

  “Had a girlfriend who was into that S and M shit.”

  Now she resorted to being snide. “Not your thing?”

  He stood up, so close that his body made hers sway with the force of his ascent. “I don’t like hitting women.”

  But he had no trouble burning them, starving, and torturing them. “Doubt that’s true.”

  He paused. “Have I hit you?”

  Manhandled and illegally imprisoned, yes. Physically struck? No, he hadn’t done that. But she wasn’t going to give him any concession, so she held up her wrist to his face. “What’s this?”

  “That’s abuse,” he said, nodding at her offered limb without taking his eyes from hers. “Abuse I have no problem with.” Stating fact. Again. “Put the dress on. We have to get out of here.”

  “He’s not coming here?” she asked, bending to pick up the dress when he slipped out from in front of her to
go back to the closet with his first-aid box.

  Archer exhaled. “You think I want a fucktard pervert screwing in my bed? Not a chance.”

  If she’d had a weapon, she’d have launched it at him. Without one, she couldn’t attack, so she just put the dress over her head and wriggled it down in the wake of the towel that she shimmied from her body in such a way so as to not bare an inch of extraneous skin.

  “You don’t want him in your bed, but you expect me to welcome him into my body?”

  “The more you fight, the more he pays,” he said, tucking something onto his belt beneath his tee shirt that she couldn’t make out. “You can’t be with a guy like Taggert and not be used to getting fucked with.”

  “We’re not together,” she said, like she’d told him before. As far as that was concerned, he’d never catch her in a lie because it was the truth. “And if anyone touched me without consent, he’d cut off their hands.”

  Turning to her, he put his hands on his hips, and for a second he seemed… normal, though maybe a little exasperated. “That’s where you lose me. I know plenty of guys who are possessive of their women, but none who’d give a fuck what a random slut did. So you can’t keep saying you’re not together. He’s in love with you or he’s blood. Which is it?”

  “Neither,” she said, feeling slightly superior that her secrets perplexed him so much. “And it’s damn clear that you’re not half the man he is, so I’m not surprised you don’t understand loyalty.”

  “Oh, I understand it all right. Did you save his life?” She shook her head. “I’m trying to figure out the connection.”

  And as soon as he did, she’d be useless to him, and he’d find a way to dispose of her. Nya wasn’t ignorant to how this would end. “Why does it matter? You have everything else figured out. He owes you money, I won’t give him up, so you’ll pimp me until you recoup your losses. That is your plan, right?” Her legs became his focus and it was admiring, not malevolent. Nya didn’t want him to be interested in her, and she didn’t want to like that he was scrutinizing her as a woman, not a captive. Especially since his treatment of her wrist was already making it feel better. She didn’t want to be indebted to him for anything, not even curing the ailment he caused. “Do you mark all your girls?” she asked.

  Breaking his concentration on her figure seemed to make him mad. “I’m no pimp,” he snapped, darting across the room.

  Relating to him as an abductor, not a human being was easier for her. “That’s exactly what you are. If you transport me to a john’s house for sex and take my earnings, that’s exactly what you are.”

  His scowl became more depraved. “Done this before, have you, Squirm? Am I poaching Taggert’s turf, that it? He’ll fuck me up if I lease one of his girls without giving him a cut?”

  Offence made her recoil. “I would never!”

  “Sure you would. Don’t tell me you worked at Sizzle for tips.”

  The club was in a red light location, but that wasn’t why she was there. “I have never sold sex.”

  One of his brows slunk up. “Never taken your clothes off for money?”

  That she couldn’t claim. “I stripped for like twenty minutes. Tag heard where I was and how I was supporting myself… He stormed in with a posse, shut the place down, and dragged me out. He set me up in Sizzle after that.”

  Sizzle was Tag’s club. He’d ensconced her there to protect her. Except, she was smart enough to recognize that he was trying to handle her. After arguing with him that he couldn’t monitor her at all times, they’d come to a compromise. She’d manage the club, pull her weight, earn her money honestly, and not get herself into trouble. Oops.

  Lowering her miserable smile, she wondered how frantic Tag was now, or if he knew what had gone down in Sizzle.

  Archer interrupted her reflection when he grabbed her hair to yank her head back. “You enjoy being on his leash?”

  Their momentary truce was shattered. “I’d rather be on his than yours,” she spat out.

  “The quicker you do your work, the faster I get my money.”

  Spinning her around, he clutched a handful of her hair in one sure fist to compel her forward, through the living room and out the front door. Her feet were bare; apparently the budget didn’t extend to shoes. The gritty floor was sticky in patches and she tried not to think about what caused either.

  They went down two floors, past the graffiti, used condoms, and scattered drug paraphernalia, and out to the grimy street into a mist of rain.

  Not far from the door he threw her against a beat-up black Camaro, pinning her to it with his body as he unlocked the door. Thrusting her inside, he locked her in and she was still clawing at the door when he got into the driving seat.

  The engine roared and he sped away from the curb. Intent on his route, wherever they were going, he wanted to get there fast. Nya couldn’t say she was so eager.

  four

  Archer drove fast the whole way, he barely paused at stop signs, and screeched away from amber lights like they were green. Nothing was going to hinder their arrival.

  To her surprise, they drove to a suburban area. Residential streets with tended yards had decks around pools. Hope grew that the man she was supposed to submit herself to might not be a lowlife scumball after all. His identity wouldn’t increase her willingness, but maybe he’d be gentler than Archer had implied. A vanilla experience would be better than one which might require a hospital visit after.

  “If you think the rich pay for boring sex, you’re wrong,” he mumbled, like he’d read her thoughts. “They pay premium for a whore so they can do whatever the fuck they want to her without upsetting their respectable lives.”

  “I’m not a whore,” she said. “You keep saying that word out loud like you’re trying to convince yourself that it’s true. Delivering me here, forcing me to do this, it makes you as culpable as them you know. How many women have you raped?” His rage didn’t deter her, the car got faster. Sitting up straight, she got closer to him. “You’re just like Jonno and his buddies at Sizzle. Did you see what they did to Jamie? That was her name, by the way, Jamie, bet you didn’t even know that. You just saw her bloody, battered body on that floor and got the boner of your life, didn’t you? Were you sorry you didn’t get your turn to violate her? Your poor little pea-dick probably forgot all about the cops when you saw your BFF fucking the life out of her—”

  Swinging a harsh turn, that forced her to grab for the door to steady herself, Archer slammed the car into park and whirled on her. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! Your friend couldn’t be helped, ok? She was collateral damage. Your lover-boy Taggert? He’s the reason those fuckers were there! If he hadn’t stiffed a bunch of people, your friend would still be sucking down Martini’s and you’d still be shaking those cans for your sugar daddies.”

  Good, he was angry, so was she. This bastard didn’t have the right to use her, but what he was about to force her into was going to change her whole life and she’d never forgive him for it. “I’m not what you think I am.”

  “You’re what the fuck I say you are ‘til you’ve paid your boyfriend’s debt.”

  Grabbing her hair again, he opened his door and dragged her over the center console to pull her out his side door. He had no regard for how he hurt her and made no apology for being so rough.

  They were in a double garage that must have been left open, so no one would note their arrival or the strange, shitheap car in a driveway in this reputable neighborhood.

  Yanking her past him, he opened an internal door and threw her into a dining kitchen. Laughter carried from another room and Archer came in close behind her to growl. “Don’t fuck this up,” he hissed.

  Nya would do anything in her power to gain her freedom. Except, she couldn’t figure out how to go about it. Archer had said the client wanted her to fight and that could lead to worse injury if he fought back.

  But she couldn’t submit, just lay back and make Archer’s life ea
sier. Resolved to doing as much injury as she could, Nya stumbled along when Archer took her arm to pull her through the kitchen and a set of double doors that led to a dark, dingy den.

  Discouraged by the sight of three men, she tried to retreat but hit Archer’s solid form. He walked forward, forcing her into the room. But she wasn’t ready to surrender, she tried to twist, but he took her shoulders and faced her forward.

  The men’s laughter drifted off and they began to look her over, each with more hunger in their gaze than the last. “I promised you boys a party and it just arrived,” the man to the right said.

  Three couches were arranged around a faux fireplace. But it was the thick central rug and the toys laid by the hearth that transfixed her even after the speaker rose to come toward her.

  Distinguished and tanned, his appearance made no suggestion of sexual perversion. But rapists and sadists were like serial killers, in that, they could look just like everyone else.

  The host came up close, blocking her view of everything except him. “I wish I could tell you not to be afraid, or that I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he said in a kind voice that didn’t match the snarling smile that crept to his face. Leaning in, he rubbed his mouth in her hair. “But that would be a lie.”

  Snatching her arm, he pulled her across the room. She fought and screamed all the way, but it made no difference. His cohorts joined him to wrestle her onto the rug and her dress was pulled down, freeing her breasts for one of them to kiss. One nipple was sucked, the other was pinched and the speaker came down on top of her, sticking his tongue into her wide, screaming mouth.

  Seeing her chance, she bit down and he reared away, but not before his blood spilled into her mouth. “Oh boys,” he said, clasping his mouth to check the blood. “She wants to play!”

  His first slap sent her face to the right, the second sent it the other way. In her daze, Nya was vaguely aware of him unbuttoning his shirt enough that he could pull it off over his head.