Broken Bonds Boxed Set 1-3 (40 page)

Wiping his brow with the sleeve of his suit, he turns toward me. “Probably just the excitement of tonight.” He attempts a smile, but it’s weak. I can see the tremble of his lips.

“Are you sure about that?” I slink closer. “No sudden nausea. Chills. Clammy skin.”

He coughs and struggles to suck in a breath. Then, on unsteady feet, staggers down the alley. I follow.

“You should think twice before just
taking what you want
, Price.”

He stops. Turns to stare at me, understanding lighting his eyes.

“You can feel your lungs shutting down. The pressure on your chest mimics a heart attack…but it won’t be that quick. Or that merciful. You’ll appear as docile and calm as if you’re simply drifting off to sleep.”

He drops to his knees, splays his fingers against the rain-puddled pavement. I crouch beside him. “But the whole time,” I continue. “You’ll be trapped inside your body. A hostage. Unable to move, to talk—the paralytic fear consuming you.”

He wheezes in a tight breath. “What…?”

“Saxitoxin,” I answer. “I slipped it into the SoCo. Popular in the sixties as a racy CIA chemical weapon, it was only ever theorized, never put to use. But as you can see, its effectiveness is undeniable.”

He stretches out on his back, unconcerned with the Dumpster beside him, the runoff of rancid rainwater staining his suit. “It’s so cliché, beauty. Poison?” He coughs around a strained laugh. “You really are venomous.”

“Cliché, yes. But you didn’t really give me the same courtesy to
prepare
your demise. I had to improvise.”

“This is careless,” he accuses. “So unlike you. Where will you dispose of me?”

“I’ve been thinking about that for a while.” I walk a circle around him. “But it wasn’t until you abducted Avery that the answer presented itself. You didn’t think ahead on that one.” I
tsk
. “A medical examiner? What if she escaped? Up until the end, you had it all worked out. Simon was supposed to kill Avery and go down for all the murders. All the evidence pointed to him, on his own boat. But what if Avery overpowered him?”

“Impossible. I broke that bitch.”

“But you didn’t count on us getting to her first.” I look down at him. “And here’s the kicker: what if once Avery was free, she became the lead M.E. processing your death?”

His eyes widen, the horror of his oversight gripping him as quickly as the toxin.

“For a woman ripe with vengeance—justified vengeance—a shellfish toxin is easily enough explained. I doubt anyone will question Avery’s COD report. Especially when your stomach contents will match the menu of the very bar where your credit card was last used.”

He clutches his throat, trying to talk. I fill in the gaps for him.

“Too bad you’ll be dead and unable to feel Avery slicing open your stomach…filling your bowels with evidence. But just try to picture the smile on her face. Just do it. I’m sure you can recall what she looked like before you stole it from her.”

Sometimes, we can be mistaken. I discovered that, once Avery began her recovery, we could talk openly about our newfound connection. There may come a day when her healing journey leads her to a place of remorse for the man who tortured her—but until then, she’s bound to secrecy within our world.

With a shaky hand, he beckons me near. One last indulgence, I suppose. I drop down beside him and draw close. “What did you say to him?” he asks, his voice a low rattle. “What did you say to Connelly…there at the end?”

I lean in closer to his ear. “I’m the master.”

Yes, I’m the master now. My mentor revealed the killer within—she may have forever lain dormant if not for him. But that was the trigger…
my
trigger. For years, the behaviorist in me tried to dissect it. One in eight abused become the abuser. That’s a fact.

I’m the one.

I’m the monster.

Colton once said that I had something taken away from me—but that’s not entirely true. My abductor took, but he also gave me the cruel truth of my nature. He unleashed it. He was the catalyst.

Only now, I’m strong enough to resist submitting to it.

A faint smile brushes Price’s mouth. Then just as quickly, his eyes no longer see.

I slip on a glove and lift the cuff of his suit. It’s a bit overzealous of Price, a bit obvious in his choice. The selection of a sword meant to impress me, but really, it’s just a sad extension of his impotent phallus.

Still, the miniature flamberg will look good on my trophy shelf.

A
t the foot
of my bed, I watch the rise and fall of Colton’s chest. The moonlight peeks through the slats in the blinds, casting shadows in the room. The alternating light and dark falls across his body, accentuating the dips and arches of his exquisite form.

I push the shoulders of my dress down my arms and step out of my dress. Reaching behind my neck, I undo the clasp of the necklace and then place it and the USB drive in the drawer of my nightstand. Slipping between the cool sheets, I press up against the curve of his back. His body heat warms me instantly, and the harsh chill covering my skin subsides.

I feel the shift in his breathing against my breasts. He stirs, shifting the covers over us as he turns to face me. His warm breath caresses the top of my head, and I tuck myself in the perfectly-designed-for-me nook between his chest and the bed.

“You should’ve told me,” he says, the deep baritone of his voice a low boom in the too-quiet room.

“You would’ve tried to make me stay,” I reply.

“Fuck right.”

“Or you would’ve tried to kill him yourself.”

“Absolutely.”

I tilt my head back, meeting his dark gaze. “Emotion can’t play a part, Colton. That leaves behind a traceable, messy trail.”

His hand spreads against my back, the pads of his coarse fingers massaging the muscles along my spine. “Then why take the chance at all.”

I release a slow breath. “Because I can’t leave him out there as a threat to my mother, or you. Or people I care about like Avery.”

“Seems emotion played some part.” He roves down to my thigh, bringing my leg over his hip.

I smile into his chest. “That’s the irony, I guess.”

“How does my dark goddess unwind from a night of hunting?”

Pushing up, I kiss him hard. With passion, and reverence, and the love unfurling within me more and more the longer we’re together. I pull back, just enough to whisper, “By commanding her sexy bondage rigger to bind her so tightly, nothing can ever break them apart.”

He moves on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, as he reaches for the rope tied to the headboard. “Yes, goddess.”

J
ournal entries
:

W
hen you dig
deep into the bowels of evil, you cannot hope to reemerge unscathed, unaffected, unchanged—but rather you know without doubt that your character is as fragile and susceptible to fate as the changing tide is to the sea. It’s very little to do with choice. And everything to do with risk.

T
o her darkness
, she whispers. Of monsters and visions of red, of the terrors that claw up from her abyss. Monsters are forged, but heroes are born. To the light, she sings. Of fortitude and acceptance found only in his arms.

A
cceptance is peace
. ~Sadie Bonds

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ant to be
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.

K
eep flipping
the pages to read the special edition epilogue.

S
he’s beautiful
.

My one, true goddess.

And the fact that she’s here, standing so near the center of the rope room right beside me, cements her commitment to us. Just a few short weeks ago as I sat in the seclusion of Sadie’s bedroom, fearful…I never imagined that fear would reveal the whole of us.

I didn’t believe my own words, not completely, until my goddess returned. Then I knew undoubtedly that we could face anything together. Playing by different rules, embracing our darkest deeds,
is
what’s required of our love.

I will never harbor doubt again.

Sadie tugs the collar of her robe more securely around her neck, then fixes the belt cinching her waist. I can feel her apprehension rolling off her in waves. I lasso the length of rope around my shoulder as I press up against her back.

Tucking my chin in the soft crook of her neck and shoulder, I whisper, “Are you absolutely sure?”

With a deep inhale, she brings my arms around her, resting hers atop mine. “Yes, I’m sure. When I first saw you perform with Katrina…it was like nothing I’d experience before. I envied her. I wanted to be her.” She turns to face me in my arms. “This is who you are, Colton. I want to be a part of it. With you.”

I grip the silky robe, bunching it in my fist as I snake my other hand down her soft thigh. She trembles slightly against me—and that one action mixed with her devoted confession heightens my need for her. I have half a mind to forget this Shibari session all together and whisk her right back to my room.

But for her, for us—to give her everything she desires and more—I commit fully to this session. I haven’t performed publicly since the first time I bound Sadie in my ropes. I haven’t needed to. The drive I once felt to be free of my guilt no longer tortures me. But I still love the thrill of it. Feeling the awe from the crowd when they experience the pure passion through the model’s rapture.

It’s the one thing I was able to give Marni when her pain became too much. And when it was no longer enough, when the pain was unbearable and she couldn’t disappear into her subspace, my abyss consumed me.

Every session I performed from then on was an attempt to correct that failure within myself. To banish her fear and pain… With every band of rope, with every cinch of the knots, I desperately needed to feel the other person’s relief—to make it my own.

Until Sadie.

The moment I performed for her and saw that raw longing in her jewel green eyes, I knew I would never need to seek that acceptance in another again. And I was right. She fulfills that bottomless abyss within me, just as I tether her to a safe world where she doesn’t loathe who she truly is.

With restrained want, I release the robe and drag my hands up her body until I reach her shoulders. Slipping my hand inside the robe, I run my thumb over the scar along her collarbone. “You’re more than a part of me, goddess. You’re the greatest part—the ultimate part that completes me.” I taste her lips then. Unable to deny myself this indulgence, I caress her mouth slowly, tenderly, stoking the never-ending inferno inside me.

Around us, sultry music bleeds into a steady drumbeat. Bass fills the room, transitioning into a symphony of violins. The volume builds and builds, until I can discern the intro to Barber’s
Adagio For Strings
. The piece I painstakingly searched and selected for her—a piece that conveys this crucial moment between Sadie and I. It wasn’t an easy task, as so much of my collection I can now hear and visualize Sadie in the music. But this piece…I wanted something dark, and haunting, yet transitions into the purity that we found in each other.

As the melody pulls me under, I’m almost lost to the kiss—more than tempted to steal Sadie away this instant. I forcefully pull back and release a heavy breath. “Follow me.”

She laces her fingers through mine as I lead her toward the middle of the rope room. There’s no stage here, but the intense feeling of being on display is almost more pronounced. As if on cue, the music swells as club members form a circle around us. Curtains are pulled back at the booths for a clear view.

I know this is the part Sadie dreads. She’s hidden in the shadows for so long, frightened of her own nature, erecting a barrier between herself and the world. Lowering her walls leaves her feeling vulnerable, but she is not weak. The scar marring her chest is not proof of her limitations or defect; it is proof of her strength.

And as I remove her robe, sliding the sleeves down to reveal that scar to the world, I lift my chin, encouraging Sadie to own her very visceral power. The robe pools to the floor around her bare feet, and she stands before me, a beautiful, radiant goddess illuminated by the spotlight. Her creamy skin is luminescent, blending with her nude, strapless bra and underwear.

It was at my request she adorn this attire. There is nothing shameful about her body, or any other naked form, but Sadie’s body belongs to
me
. I may not mind sharing our sessions, in order to help bring Sadie to this next level…but the intimacy we share, her body and mine, belongs solely to us.

I move in close and capture her waist. “The crowd is hidden by the dark, goddess. And there is no judgment here. Remember how you felt when you first witnessed a session.” I press my lips to her forehead. “You’re gifting them something amazing.”

Gently, her hands seek my chest as she places her palms over my heart. “I’m ready.”

With her permission, I raise one hand and direct the rope to descend. The silver ring glints in the beam of light as it lowers toward us. I remove the rope from my shoulder and methodically tie one end to the ring, preparing the stage.

I’ve done this many times before, always knowing that I myself was never the center. My actions were a spectacle, a performance; it was the model’s experience that became the focus. Now, understanding this, it feels as if I’m offering up my whole world—inviting others to kneel before my goddess as I elevate her on a pedestal.

That’s where she belongs, of course. But I won’t lie to myself, pretending that I’m not affected. Jealousy lives inside me, chaste and heady, wishing I could keep this lovely creature all to myself. Only I know that is wrong. To lock her away is a crime. Her captor did just that. Wells attempted the same. Their sin will not become my own.

With the last of my conviction, I band the main strand of rope around Sadie’s chest, working the coarse rings up around her torso. I let the rope slide and flow through my palms as I loop her harness, fastening tightly woven knots along her back.

“You’re strong, Sadie,” I whisper to her. “You’re my vision. You were my vision before I ever laid eyes on you.” I’ve never worked with a more patient model before. It’s as if Sadie disappears somewhere between reality and her subspace during the preparation. She finds a pocket of her own world where she pulls from, and though I’m assured I’m there with her, this is her strength alone.

I tighten the harness just a notch, hearing the ropes creak above the music—a seamless merger of beauty and pain, a masterful orchestra. The harmony sends chills down my back as I take in Sadie’s smooth skin rippling with this same effect. Then I kneel before her and uncoil a new rope—deep red, the color of passion, lust. Craving.

I brace my back, my knees digging into the hardwood floor, as I lace her ankles. The friction of the rope nearly sends me over the edge as I wind it around her slender calves. And the contrast—the beautiful contrast of the red against her porcelain skin—pangs my chest. I want so badly to mount a spreader bar between her legs and take her into my mouth, make her tremble with the raw need attacking me right now.

And here is the blurred line. The reason why I never mixed pleasure and work before. This is as much a test of my endurance with this new arrangement as it is for Sadie. The crowd falls away, disappearing with the swell of music, and I only feel and see her. I’m lost to this woman. Bound and destined to serve her.

This testament of my devotion pours from me as I continue to weave an intricate pattern up her leg, my fingers taking every advantage to probe and caress her silky skin along the way. As the music lowers, sweeping an awed hush through the room, I can feel the ecstasy of the many people hungrily devouring our scene.

I can sense their envy. Taste their yearning. Hear their gasps of desire. Wishing they, too, could obtain this pureness of connection we’ve mastered between us. That brings me back to my work. Our passion is reserved for us. Although I’m allowing them a glimpse, I can’t be lost completely to the moment.

Standing, I reach up and tie off the end of the rope to the ring, bringing Sadie’s feet off the floor. Her body molds to the shape of the harness, a canopy of ropes suspending her torso and limbs to form a perfect arc.

Our eyes meet as I lower my face before hers. “Take me there, Colton,” she says. “I’m yours. All yours. Only you can touch me.”

I suck in a sharp breath, my teeth clamp down hard at her vow. Palming her cheek, I swipe my thumb beneath her eye, clearing away the perspiration glistening there under the heated spotlight.

My fingers curl toward my palms as I grip my hands into fists, reining in my desire. Control has never been so impossible. Especially when we’re about to embark on a new experience. As soon as we end this session…Sadie’s mine.

The restraint Colton is exuding to keep his emotions in check shows clearly in the rigid lines of his face. This is a performance, yes, but it’s also so much more—a window to the sanctity between us.

During our first session, he kept himself blank, expressionless. Which I believe he did so for my sake, so that my focus was internal—on myself and my experience—rather than fearing anything from the man restraining me.

For this, I respect his professionalism. He was able to give me what I needed then, and even more of what I didn’t even realize I craved and desired as we advanced.

I’ve watched him perform. I’ve seen his muscles working, gathering and straining as he finessed the rope, his focus masterful as he constructed elaborate shapes and designs with his model.

It’s empowering to witness—just to preview his soulful, erotic creations. Because, ultimately, that’s what he is; an artist. And yet, between us, even before this very crowd, our connection strips him of that shield. I broke through his armor just as absolutely as he shredded mine. Our link is impossible to curb before these watchful eyes.

As the ropes tighten, cradling me securely, he anchors the main line and pulls me farther away from the floor. As I’m lifted, I can almost forget about the audience—my subspace calling me home, my love for Colton deflecting any fear of the unknown. It’s because of this trust that I was able to commit to the session. When Colton told me that he was no longer going to perform publicly for The Lair, I knew it was wrong. I couldn’t allow that.

Watching him that first night was my initial step toward acceptance. In finding and discovering myself. It would be shameful to deny that to another soul. What he offers—though maybe first demonstrated through his own pain and suffering—is a gift. He shouldn’t feel obligated to deny anyone his talent because of his devotion to me.

I’ve since come to fully understand his desire of goddess worship. And I take that role in our relationship seriously. At any point, I could’ve allowed jealousy and my own insecurities to command him not to perform, keeping him all to myself. It was tempting. But I knew just as surely that I
should
command him to perform Shibari.

I was the pivotal piece in the game that had to change.

Offering myself willingly and freely to his audience, so that his talent can be experienced, was my own selfless act. My gift to him.

And seeing him perform now, his limber movements graceful, his expert hands sure, I’m certain in our roles. He is my dominant, just as I am his goddess. It is equal give and take between us.

The music begins to build again, and though I can’t see it, I can feel the climax to the performance nearing. Colton’s gaze captures something beyond me, and a slight hesitancy worms into my stomach. A sickness, a dread. It’s the same fear I encountered when my captor prepared me for the cross.

More so than the instrument he used to break me…the cane that attacked my body…the St. Andrew’s cross instilled me with a shameful loathing that scorched my humanity. Stretched out and open, bared and unable to shield my flesh, it was the spark that awakened the demon within.

Colton was hesitant, worried that tapping into this fear before others would be a setback rather than a liberation. And I do understand his reasoning. As a behaviorist, I would never dare instruct another to attempt something so threatening to their psyche. Mine has already been shattered once, my mind splintered. Forcing me to adopt an antisocial persona in order to protect the other, vulnerable half.

My own personal defense mechanism.

But the truth is, Colton’s love freed that necessary evil when he caned me. Something so monumental between us couldn’t possibly be outshone. In private, strapping me to the cross would be erotic, sensual, beautiful—because my trust and love for him has already been established. There are no more barriers to deconstruct. The shame the cross still harbors for me must be conquered by what it ultimately stands for: humiliation.

My captor put me on display when he chained me to his cross. So I knew, within the deepest, darkest corner of my mind, Colton’s sessions and my fears were to be tied together. It’s the reason we found each other. Why we balance each other so completely.

It was the inevitable next step in our relationship.

I force my chin higher, keeping my eyes open and making myself aware of the crowd, holding my subspace at bay as the cross comes into my line of sight. A trickle of humiliation creeps over me—but just as quickly, Colton is there, his rough palm against my back. Offering me his strength.

Then I see it. Those standing around to form a circle, in their eyes, their expressions.
Understanding
. This is more than an erotic fantasy for them. They do not view me as deviant, or misunderstood. They empathize with the knowledge that we may understand ourselves better than most. This is our dark world where we bare our souls, seeking enlightenment.