Testing The Limits (7 page)

"Are you ready to eat?" he asked, and his eyes were kind and sympathetic.

"Sure."

* * * *

"These flavors are amazing." I had to be honest; the food was worth enduring any amount of awkwardness for. The pork just melted in my mouth.

"Thank you. People think, oh, curry, it is all heat and spice. They are wrong."

I waved my fork at him. "No, this is great. You shouldn't be Andrew's driver, you ought to be his cook."

Amjad's face stiffened somehow. He looked down at this plate, and it was the first time his smile had faltered.

"Sorry. Do you enjoy being a driver?"

"I am proud and pleased to have a responsible job. But it is as I said to you before. Mr. Walker-Wilkinson is a good man, but he is not yet a real man."

That made me bristle. What did he know? "Look, I'm enjoying this meal and all, but our relationship is kinda private, you know?"

"I apologize. It is simply that you are a lovely woman who needs a strong man she can trust. I have worked for Mr. Walker-Wilkinson for many years. And that is how I know you cannot trust him."

He knew nothing. My flare of anger was immediate and intense, and smothered my tiny doubt. "If you have proof, then give it to me. Otherwise, you have no right to comment."

Amjad sat up straighter. He was tall, and he was broad, too. He had seemed fleshy to me, but as he tensed, I realized he carried plenty of bulky muscle. "It is a man's role to be protector to his woman. Indeed, to all women. Now, Mr. Walker-Wilkinson, he thinks he is doing that. But his very presence in your life brought danger to you. He is without honor, Miss Turner. He will tell you what to do and you will do it, but he orders you for his pleasure, as a game, as a toy, this is all."

I rose to my feet, leaving my meal half-finished. No way was I going to sit here and listen to this. Amjad was a crazy man, that much was plain.

"You were very kind to make this meal for me, Amjad. I don't want to argue with you. I'm going to go, now."

I scraped my chair back, the wooden legs loud across the tiled floor of the dining area. He stood up, too, and shook his head.

"No. You ask for proof, so stay here, I say, until I have found it."

"Oh, no, I don't think so." I walked backward to the door, determined to keep him in my sight. I didn't know where he'd put my coat but I didn't care. My purse was with my coat. Shit. My money, my cellphone, my cards.

Whatever. Leave it. I just wanted to get out.

"No, you will stay." He didn't move toward me. Did he think that I would simply obey him? I felt the door handle and did an awkward half-turn, wrenching it open, and then ran quickly down the corridor to the street door.

It was locked. Shit, shit, shit. It wasn't a nice, sensible sort of lock, one that you could open from inside. Nope. It was an old-fashioned key-in-the-hole thing.

And guess which bastard had the key?

I turned, my back against the door, thinking hard. I'd break the window in the living room. The vase of artificial flowers - yes. I took one step forward and there he was, appearing in the corridor, moving toward me slowly, but effectively blocking me from reaching the living room door.

"Please," he said, calmly. "You will come and finish your meal. I have things to tell you."

Something dragged at my mind. I felt quite odd when I walked out of Jasmine's place that night. She had slept like a baby and I'd watched for her a little while, feeling warm and protective and powerful. I should have left earlier than I did, but I didn't want to be the sort of cad who sneaked out when his woman was sleeping. She'd wake up alone and that was unforgiveable of me.

So I waited until she woke, and hugged her, and then left.

I thought that was the right thing to do.

But something nagged at me. She'd looked lost and bereft when I went, exactly the sort of reaction I was trying to avoid. I admired her strength. Had my domination of her made her into a weaker person? Had I destroyed what I loved?

Confused, I sent a quick email to Nicole, the Domme from the munch. I hadn't always wanted to hear what she told me, and our correspondence had dwindled lately. Perhaps I needed to listen more closely.

I simply asked, "Will my domination of a strong woman cause that woman to be less strong in the long run?"

I didn't get an answer until the following day. I'd been busy in my new job, and I was enjoying it. I had to work; playing the stock market was my reason to get out of bed in the morning. I could have lived quite nicely from my investments without the work; I might have had to cut back on indulgences like employing Amjad, but I didn't really
need
to work, except for my own self-worth.

Something that my father had clearly totally misunderstood as he'd laid out a path for me that I refused to take.

When Nicole did reply to me, it took me sideways. "You dominate a strong woman to reaffirm her self-worth. If she doesn't feel ten feet tall after you've done with her, you are doing something wrong."

That was it. I replied immediately, hoping that she was online and able to get into a conversation. "She was happy but it was like she needed more, and God knows if she'd had any more orgasms she'd have probably died."

"It's not about the sex, you stupid man. It's about you and her. Aftercare?"

Stupid man? I didn't want to reply to that. I wasn't her little subby, was I?

But after a few minutes of fuming, I did reply. "Aftercare?"

"Google it."

That was it. I knew when a door was closing in my face. I could feel Nicole's exasperation from however many miles away.

And after some fruitful internet searching, and some painful soul searching, I knew what I had to do.

All I had to do now was get her to answer her damn phone.

* * * *

She might have been working late, and that explained why her flat was dark and no one was answering the door. But I'd tried calling her all evening and she never failed to text or ring me back. I was getting worried.

Part of me knew I was over-reacting but I couldn't help but remember what had happened in the past. Surely my father wouldn't be stupid enough to pull the same trick twice? He'd disowned me and disinherited me and I was fine with that. But kidnap Jas again? Really?

I couldn't believe it but I had to follow this slender lead. With my heart hammering, I drove out to his house, and the staff were happy to let me in.

Almost too happy. They were relaxed and courteous.

They were only this happy when he wasn't home.

Frustratingly, they couldn't tell me where he was. They seemed to think he'd gone away for some time because he took enough baggage for "a week or more". He'd left two days ago.

I concocted an elaborate plot in my mind, where he had pretended to leave the house to throw me off the scent, and then snatched Jasmine when everything assumed he was out of the country. No. It wasn't his style.

Frustrated, I returned to my car, and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Who else could have a hand in this? I checked my phone again.

Nothing from Jas.

Right. Next on my list was Craig, the assistant that I was convinced was my father's mole who had got me sacked from my previous job. I knew where the little skink lived, and it didn't take me long to get through the traffic and park up a little way from his shared apartments.

I was pleased to find he opened the door and I pushed straight in, landing a pretty fine punch on his face as an opening remark. He was lifted backwards and hit the wall. I didn't give him any time to think. I surged in and grabbed him and raised him up, pressing him against the wall so I could get right up close into his face.

His eyes rolled wide and white in his head. "Holy fuck - what?"

No one else came running so his roommates must have been out. "Tell me how my father got to you?"

"He hasn't! I don't know what you're talking about."

"He got me sacked through you, didn't he? What did you say to the boss, eh?"

"Nothing, I swear, it was a surprise to me as much as it was to you-"

I stopped his excuses with a slap to the side of his face, calculated to make his eardrums ring. I put my mouth to his other ear and hissed, "Someone got me sacked and you know who it was."

"Not me, not me, please!"

I shook him, frustrated. "I am going to beat the crap out of you. I might not find out what I need to know, but I am going to enjoy making you bleed and fucking cry."

"No, no, no." The little shit was nearly crying already, curling over his stomach and pleading with me to leave him alone. It made me sick to see a man capitulate so easily.

"Come on, you fucker. Fight back like a man, won't you?"

But when I let go and stepped half a pace backward, he crumpled to the floor and looked up at me, cowering. "There was a man, there was another man, who came and talked about you…"

"Who?"

He gabbled in fear. "I don't know! Tall and broad, well built. Brown skinned, Indian or Pakistani maybe, short black hair. Western clothes. He mentioned your name. They took him off to the offices upstairs. I don't know!"

"Who in the hell?"

"I don't know! He … he had smart brown shoes, they didn't match his suit, they were awful. That's all. I don't know!"

Holy fuck. That was Amjad.

Amjad. Who had been acting strange with me since I started seeing Jasmine.

Amjad. Who was a loyal but secretive employee.

Amjad.

I kicked Craig hard, my foot cracking into his hip, and left him sniveling on the floor.

"I have things to tell you," Amjad said.

"You can say nothing that I want to hear. Let me go."

He spread his hands wide, as if I was insulting him. "Please. I have cooked for you. I need to tell you about Mr. Walker-Wilkinson."

"I am going to start banging on this fucking door and screaming until I am sick," I warned him. "So let me the fuck go!"

He was on me in a flash, moving swiftly for a bulky man. He grabbed both my arms and pinned them to my side and whirled around, and though I dragged my feet and kicked and spat, I was helpless. In desperation I flung my head forward, hoping to strike his nose; I wasn't quite tall enough but my forehead connected hard with his jaw. It hurt me like hell so I hope it hurt the bastard, too.

Certainly he growled and held me further away, which loosened his grip on me, slightly. It wasn't enough for me to get free. I wrestled and wriggled but he dragged me inexorably back into the kitchen. I kicked out at him but he simply blocked me with his thighs, and I couldn't get enough swing to put power into my kick.

Damn it all to hell but if - when - I get out of this,
I vowed to myself,
I will join a fucking self-defense class.

"I thought you fuckers were all about peace!" I spat as he threw me towards the table. He'd miscalculated. I grabbed a knife and held it out in front of me.

"You fuckers? Who is that?"

"You - you…"

He stopped advancing. He stayed a few feet away, but he didn't seem to look at the knife with any fear. "Me?"

"All that old-fashioned out dated crap about women and the role of a real man, and thinking you can bully me, and shit like that!"

He cocked his head and nearly smiled. "Just as Mr. Walker-Wilkinson also believes, I think."

"He doesn't hold me prisoner! What next, you gonna put me in a burqa?"

"Why would I do that? I'm not a Muslim man."

"Because - you - wait, what?"

Holy fuck. Pork curry and all. I was an idiot.

And he told me so. "You are a judgmental woman, blinded by stereotype and assumption, I think. No. I have no God and no God would have me, perhaps."

I silently made an internal apology to all Muslims. No, this fucker was just crazy in the head. I pointed the knife toward him. "You let me go or I am gonna stab you in the neck."

The sudden hammering on the front door made us both jump in alarm. His eyes slid sideways and I recovered a fraction before he did. I took the moment to leap at him, jabbing wildly at his neck with the knife.

I soon found out that people's necks are really tough, and that cutlery designed to eat with is not that sharp. He brought his forearm up to ward off my blow, which must have bruised him but which certainly did not puncture his throat in a shower of blood, which was my imagined aim.

"Fuck." I leapt past him to get to the door but he grabbed me round the waist to haul me back. I began to holler and shout like I was raising the dead.

And I heard an answering shout that make me sweat in relief: "Jas! I'm coming."

"Andrew!"

Amjad's arms loosened and I was finally able to break free. Instead of going to the heavy locked door, I shot into the living room to enact my earlier plan; I grabbed the vase. Even as Amjad was behind me, reaching for my arm, I had launched it at the window.

Shit, shit, shit, so dining cutlery doesn't puncture a throat and fake plastic vases don't shatter a triple-glazed window.

But the blow was enough to attract Andrew's attention. Amjad began to drag me away and it was lucky that he did, because then the whole front fucking window exploded as rocks landed on the carpet.

"Andrew!"

Amjad let go of me abruptly and I fell to my hands and knees in the doorway between the hall and the living room. Andrew landed in the broken glass and ran toward me.

"No, get him, catch him, I'm fine," I said, scrabbling to one side. "Go!"

Andrew was quick off the mark and he pushed past, heading for the back of the house. There was banging and shouting, and when I reached the kitchen, Andrew had Amjad pinned to the floor by the throat.

"Was it you?" Andrew was shouting, somewhat illogically. Who else did he think had held me hostage in Amjad's own house?

Amjad must have known something I didn't. "Yes, of course it was me. Men like you need to be taught a lesson."

"Did my father put you up to this?"

"Your father is an inspiration."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Amjad turned his head slightly, looking away from Andrew. Andrew sat up and punched him, hard, in the face.

It was as if Amjad didn't register the blow. His head rocked to the side but he didn't gasp or groan. Infuriated, Andrew punched him again, so hard that I heard something crack - either Amjad's face or Andrew's knuckles, I couldn't tell which.

This time Amjad's eyes rolled back; his arms jerked and his fists clenched and grew limp again. Andrew got to his feet and we looked down at Amjad's body.

"On my God. Did you kill him?"

Andrew poked into Amjad's ribs with the toe of his shoe. "No, I don't think so. But he's not going to be very well, for a while. Come on. Let's go."

"I want my coat and my purse. Hang on."

I found a door to a small cloakroom and sure enough, my things were hanging up in there. There was nothing else. No sign of female inhabitation. Wife? He was a liar.

"Hurry up. The police are arriving." Andrew came to my side. "We need to go out the back."

"We weren't going to get out of the front anyway, unless you expected me to crawl through a broken window."

I could see the strobing blue lights reflecting in the night air as we hurried through a back door; one with a more sensible locking arrangement. We stumbled along the path and came to a high wooden fence. Andrew shrugged at me in the dark, his body just a silhouette. "Sorry. I'm going to have to throw you over."

"What?" He was strong but not that strong.

He crouched and made a step with his hands. "Stand here and reach up."

I wrapped my purse's handle around my shoulder and stepped into his hands, and he lifted me with a grunt. It was the most inelegant thing I've ever done; wildly scrabbling with my legs to swing to one side, so I could hitch my legs up and over the rough fence.

Then I was jumping down into a back alleyway and he followed me. Quickly, and as silently as we could, we ran off into the night.