THE FIRST SIN (13 page)

He put the handle of the whip under my chin and forced me to look at him as he leaned in close. Very close. “Lucky for both of us I’m damned good at this,”

he said, too quietly to be overheard. “It’s going to hurt.” He sounded genuinely sorry.

“Now, slave,” he said louder so that anyone could hear. “I asked you what’s your safe word?”

“Fastball,” I said as the word popped into my mind.

“That’s my safe word. Uh, Sire. Fastball.” Someone snickered. “Bet he does have some pretty fast balls.” A decidedly gay male voice said, “I’d sure like to take a couple of his fastballs.”

This time I thought I saw some red creep into Donovan’s swarthy features.

“Don’t make a sound, slave,” he said. “If you do it means you’ll be blindfolded.

Do you understand?” Maybe Donovan was a little too much into his part of the operation.

Being blinded was not my idea of fun. I nodded. “Yes, Sire.”

“Eyes down.”

I obeyed.

Because of the carpeting I couldn’t hear his footsteps, but with a crawling sensation down my spine I knew he was behind me.

The incredible sting of the whip against one butt cheek and then the other in rapid succession caught me by surprise. They hurt so badly I shouted my pain without even thinking about it and my eyes watered.

Through the burn on my backside I heard Donovan say something, and the next thing I knew someone had blindfolded me. “I warned you, it’s going to hurt like hell,” Donovan said softy as he rubbed each butt cheek with his palm. ‘Try to hold in your screams.”

The instinct to fight against my bonds and everything else was so strong that my body ached with the need to escape. But there was no escape. It wasn’t cruel punishment. It was what a true sub craved.

Again Donovan whipped me, but this time I gritted my teeth and held back my scream. Moisture from my eyes dampened the blindfold. He whipped me everywhere within the zone Tarantino had specified. My backside, my mound, my belly, my breasts.

Not being able to see made it all the worse. I was more intensely aware of each strike. I tried to focus on some kind of “happy place,” but every crack of the whip and sting on my body snapped me back to reality.

Every so often Donovan would pause and use his palm to rub the spots he’d struck. Rubbing them drew out the burn rather than easing it.

“Okay?” he’d ask quietly, and I wouldn’t even answer with a nod or shake of my head. I was too busy plotting ways to kill him.

When I didn’t think there was a place “in the zone” on my body that he hadn’t whipped, he stopped. My arms ached from hanging from my wrists, and my body burned like fire every place the whip had struck. The damp blindfold was removed and I blinked against the brightness as my body went slack and I lowered my head. I wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. At least. Vaguely I was aware of someone helping me off the hook and then I collapsed against Donovan. He took me by the shoulders and held me up as I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His blue gaze met mine for a long moment before he glanced at Tarantino.

“You’re good with the bullwhip. Sire Dunning,” Tarantino said, using Donovan’s undercover name. “Welcome to the Club.”

Tarantino smiled at me. “Welcome, slave Alexi.” “I’ll take this sub if she’ll have me, Master Tarantino,” Donovan said before Tarantino could continue.

Tarantino looked from Donovan to me. Donovan was still holding my shoulders. Otherwise I don’t think my legs would have worked. “Do you want Sire Dunning to be your Dom?” Tarantino asked me.

I looked up at Donovan and, no matter how much pain I was in at that moment, I tried to put a sub’s adoration into my expression rather than the desire to kill. “Yes, Master Tarantino. I would like to be Sire Dunning’s slave.”

Like the Pope giving us his blessing, Tarantino nodded.

“You’re a good match.”

He focused his gaze on me. “But if your Dom ever crosses a line, you’re to come to me immediately.” Tarantino looked at Donovan again. “We don’t tolerate abuse. Everything we do here at the Crystal Twilight and the other two clubs involves only pleasure.”

Donovan lowered his head. “Of course, Master Tarantino.”

“The next test for your sub—“

I almost dropped my jaw. Another test?

“—is the cage.”

I could literally feel blood draining from my face. Bars.

No, not bars.

Two subs with collars dragged in a shiny metal cage with bars like a jail cell.

A very small jail cell. It was so small I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sit up in it.

“Your slave is to stay in the cage until you feel she’s worthy to come out.”

Tarantino looked at Donovan. “Order your sub to get in.”

Donovan released my arms and pointed to the floor. “On your hands and knees, and crawl into the cage.” No. I couldn’t do it. But I knew if I didn’t, this whole setup would be blown to hell.

“Yes, Sire.” I kept my eyes lowered as I slowly got on my hands and knees. I could feel a scream building in the back of my throat as I crawled to the cage, which was a good ten feet away. My body ached and burned from every slash of the whip, and I bit the inside of my lip until it almost bled. ‘Too slow, slave.” A snap, and the whip struck my ass again. The whip caught me by surprise and caused me to cry out.

I was so going to kick his ass for that, too. When I reached the cage entrance I stared at all those bars and barely kept my body from trembling. How was I going to sit up in there with the top so low?

I got my answer when Donovan said, “You’ll stay on your hands and knees until I think you’ve earned the right to come out.”

This time a shudder did travel down my spine. Snap. The whip connected with my ass again and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. “Now, slave.” I forced myself to crawl into the cage, and felt myself begin to hyperventilate.

Fastball. Say it.

No. Breathe, Steele. Breathe.

Everyone else in the room started laughing and chatting and thoroughly enjoying themselves like they were at a normal party. I couldn’t really see much with my head bowed. I didn’t have much of a choice since the top was practically touching my head.

That claustrophobic feeling wanted to close in on me.

Breathe. Just breathe, I chanted in my mind. My body burned from the whip, my wrists ached from the cuffs, and my arms from hanging so long. My knees and palms hurt, the carpet not soft enough to even give me that much of a break. The cage was so small that I felt the cool metal bars on either side of me when I shifted. I refused to look at the ones in front of me because I didn’t want to see the bars.

Hang in there. This can’t last too long.

I was so wrong.

Someone poked me with a straw, like a kid poking an animal. Then, for what had to be hours, hands reached through the bars and stroked every part of me that could be reached. Oh, God, even my folds—which were damp despite my humiliating position—didn’t escape someone’s touch. I was nothing but an animal in a cage.

This was something I knew slaves were often put through. But I’d planned on being a five-foot-four Dominatrix with Perry as the sub. I hadn’t counted on being behind bars myself. I prayed that what Tarantino said was true, that sex was for the private rooms and no one would try to take me from behind while I was in the cage.

The party started to wind down, and my arms were shaking by men from bracing myself the whole night.

Voices saying “Good-bye “ “See you next Saturday,” “Welcome to the club.

Sire Dunning,” and “Welcome to the inner circle, slave Alexi,” met my ears, and more hands touched my burning skin and slapped me on the ass as they left. I don’t think I’d ever been more humiliated in my life. Finally, God, finally, the door hinges scraped open behind me. “You can come out, slave Alexi,” said Donovan, the man I was going to kill.

“Yes, Sire Dunning.” My throat was hoarse, and my arms were so stiff, yet shaky, that I barely had the strength to back out of the cage. I had motivation, though. I’d finally be away from those bars.

When I’d backed out, I stopped. I wanted to collapse, but I knew that would be a really bad idea. If I received one more punishment, I wasn’t responsible for the multiple homicides. “You can stand, slave Alexi,” Donovan said.

Gee, thanks. Let’s see if that’s remotely possible. I pushed myself back onto my haunches and every muscle in my body started to shake. Donovan reached his hand out to me to help me up, and I let him, but remembered not to look at him. It might not be good for Tarantino to see red lasers shooting from my eyes at Donovan. Oh, I was supposed to play the submissive part, but he had made me do some things he didn’t have to. “The next order of business is the twenty-five grand each to join our exclusive club.” Tarantino nodded to a gentleman sitting on the couch. “Johnson will take care of you.”

Donovan said. “I’ve got cash on me, Master Tarantino.”

I said, “Will American Express do, Master Tarantino?” “Of course. We meet each Saturday,” Tarantino said as he acknowledged my question and Donovan’s statement with a nod. ‘The Glass House is our next get-together.”

He looked toward Jason Strong, who had his arms across his massive chest.

“Your names will be on the list with a special indicator that you are to be escorted to the ‘party’ in the rear of the club.”

“Thank you, Master Tarantino,” I said, my head still down.

“I appreciate your inclusion in what I understand is the best of the best, Masters Tarantino. Strong, and Cabot,” Donovan said as he gave a slight bow from his shoulders. “It’s our pleasure,” Tarantino said.

Donovan inclined his head toward the hallway. “I’d like a private room with my slave, if that’s not an inconvenience.” Tarantino smiled. “Of course you do.” He signaled to a gorgeous redhead with a red collar and she approached him with her eyes slightly lowered. “Slave Marissa, show Sire Dunning and slave Alexi to the Pleasure Suite.” Donovan brought one of his hands up to the column of my throat. “Now I’ll need to find slave Alexi a collar.” He almost lost a front tooth.

We followed the shapely redhead, but Donovan gave me a Dom glare and made me keep a few steps behind him “to keep up appearances,” I’m sure.

When I’d researched BDSM on the Net, I’d found people of all shapes and sizes in the lifestyle. But here it was like they picked only perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Guess I should be flattered to be among those chosen, I thought sarcastically. Marissa guided us down a couple of hallways to a door.

“This room is by order of Master Tarantino only, so it’s empty unless he allows it to be used.” She turned the knob and opened the door to heaven.

Heaven because it had an enormous bed with a huge, fluffy-looking satin comforter. I didn’t care about anything but that bed. I didn’t register anything but the bed—and the fact that there were no windows or mirrors that might be two-way glass. Couldn’t rule out cameras, but the signal jammers in one of Donovan’s cuffs and my ankle cuff should take care of any of that kind of stuff. We really were alone, this really was private, and that really was a bed. When Marissa left us, I started toward that piece of heaven, but stopped walking as the whole reason we were at the Crystal Twilight hit me. I glanced at my ankle cuff, then met Donovan’s eyes.

“I never had the chance to . . .” I gestured to my ankle cuff.

He raised his forearm and showed me one of his wrist cuffs. “Already got it.”

I had strength enough to walk up to him. “Good,” I said and drove my knee into his balls. “Sire Sonofabitch.” He doubled over with a shout and a growl before he dropped to his knees.

Without a look back, without giving a crap about the various creative things he was saying about me between his gritted teeth, I went straight to that bed and crawled under the covers.

I winced at each ache, pain, and burn that made me feel like I was on fire from every movement I made. I settled onto my left side, which seemed to hurt the least. And passed out.

March 31

Sunday early, early morning

Donovan let me sleep for three hours before waking me up so we could leave the Crystal Twilight and head home. The moment Donovan touched my burning shoulder I rolled over and clocked him.

I was in so much pain I couldn’t even tell if my knuckles hurt from the impact after they connected with his jaw. He glared and rubbed the area I’d hit.

“Goddamnit, Steele, we’d agreed on this.”

My entire body screamed as I pushed myself up in bed. Oh, God, it hurt to sit on my backside. The blanket and sheet fell from my naked chest and I looked down at the vivid red welts crossing my body in haphazard strokes. I raised my eyes and glared at Donovan. “That cage. You did not have to make me crawl to that cage or stay in there for that long.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he really did sound like he was sorry. ‘To make sure I got it right, I read Tarantino’s expressions.” The bed gave a little as Donovan sat beside me. “We finally had his ‘blessing’ when he gave a cockshit grin.” Donovan’s relief was apparent. “We’re in,” he added. “Our clothes were already in here, along with some salve for your—“ He gestured to my body and didn’t finish his sentence.

For the first time I paid attention to the room. Decadent was a good word for it. Enormous white oak four-poster bed—all the better to tie you up with—

and stunning gold draperies and gold-shaded carpeting. Everything was in golds and whites, including all the furnishings. Kinda like being in a palace.

Donovan had to smooth salve on my back. “People actually get off on this stuff?” I said. “Get horny from having the crap beat out of them?”

I wasn’t horny. I wanted to shoot something.

He shrugged. “Like they say, to each his own.” I winced as he touched another welt. A part of me had to admit that I had enjoyed some of it. I could barely accept that truth—the whipping had turned me on. God, how could it have?

I swallowed and thought about the reason I was going through this physical pain. It was to save other women from being sold into sexual slavery by a sicko, to find Kristin, and to blow away the sonsofbitches who’d killed Randolph. When we left the Pleasure Suite, not a mark showed on any bared skin revealed by my short skirt and corset. Every step, every brush of my leather-and-lace clothing against my skin, made it hard to keep from wincing.