Mistress of Redemption (20 page)

to his mind, very few of them

pleasant. Visions of his Mistresses he

could take, but he would
not
revisit

high school. “It would suck,” he

repeated, vehemently.

“Redemption is the process of using

a lesser level of pain to get to the

whys without erasing the memory.

Breaking the crust of evil off of the

soul, so to speak, giving it a fighting

chance to make up for past wrongs on

its next incarnation.”

“Like a dental cleaning. Go to

Redemption every six months before

Hell happens.”

She could see his face, though she

was denying him the same ability.

His wry smile distracted her. He had

a clever mind, a natural charm. She

wondered if he realized how

genuinely funny he could be.

However, right now it was a defense

mechanism. She could see the

memories from his teens surging into

his mind, his frantic attempts to pull a

curtain over them before he

experienced them fully. A moment

before, she’d cursed Lucifer for

making it possible for her to see this,

but seeing the face he was trying so

hard to avoid seeing helped her

remember why she was here.

When his Mistress did not laugh,

Nathan swallowed. His stomach felt

as if it were rubbing against the

jagged edges of his spine. “So I

avoided Hell.” He made another

attempt. “I guess that was some kind

of miracle.”

With the theater dark, he couldn’t see

her reaction. Could see nothing but

thoughts like a blurred landscape

flashing by, his foot pressing down

on a useless brake in a car headed for

a cliff.

“In a manner of speaking, yes, I guess

it is.” Her answer sounded cautious.

“Dona, how did I…” He needed to

shut up or change topic. Everything in

him screamed that ignorance was

bliss. He wished he could see her

face. “When can you leave here?”

“I could have left a decade ago. I

chose to stay.”

“Why would anyone stay here?”

“Because here evil only wears one

mask. I know to the nth degree how

good or bad someone is. No

dissembling, no way to hide behind

façades.”

“No chance of love or happiness.”

“I had that chance. I’d rather not risk

pain like that again.”

“So you’ll never leave here. I’ll

never… After I leave… Dona…” He

reached out in the dark, didn’t

question how he knew perfectly

where her face was to cup the

delicate oval in both hands. “No.

No
,” he repeated. Leaning forward,

he pressed his forehead to hers. He

was amazed that she hadn’t drawn

away from him—not that he would

have let her at this moment if he

could prevent it—but…

God in heaven, why was this so

important?

“Dona, who
are
you to me? All of

your…assignments… They don’t all

feel like this about you, do they?”

He was as much as admitting she’d

drawn something out of him no one

had, but his curiosity now burned

more fiercely than his fear of giving

her an advantage. A long 78

Mistress of Redemption

moment passed as he held her face

like that. He could feel her staring at

him in the pitch darkness. When she

drew back, he reluctantly let her go,

feeling her jaw slide along his

fingers, her chin as she turned her

face back to the stage. “We all go

through things in our lives.” There

was a tremor in her voice, a raw

reaction that made him wonder if he

was going to regret asking the

question. “Some things we handle

right.

Some things we handle wrong. Do

you know what we’re most afraid

of?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“That no one will understand us.

Nothing means anything if your soul

believes it will always be lonely.

Alone. You know how you

sometimes wake up in the deadest

part of the night by yourself and

wonder if this is what it’s like to die,

not able to take anyone with you for

company, to give you courage? It can

be overwhelming.”

He’d done that in prison countless

times, his body drenched in a cold

sweat of fear.

What was strange was remembering

having the same type of panic attacks

in his expensive townhouse. As if all

the trappings he’d collected around

him were silent, futile sentinels

against his nightmares.

“I don’t know why they do many of

the things they do, but the Lord and

Lady knew that. Knew that even

belief in Them wouldn’t be enough to

give most of us enough strength to

realize our full potential. So They

made us in Their image. For every

one of us, there’s a soul mate out

there. We may not meet him or her in

every lifetime, but the connection

between us is felt, even when our

lives don’t touch.”

He knew what she was going to say.

He should have been ready to scoff,

but it was as simple a truth as if she

was about to tell him an innocuous

fact.
My eyes are blue, I’m
six foot
three and…

“You’re my soul mate. I’m yours,

you’re mine. That’s why I asked to be

your Mistress in Redemption.” She

said it flatly, giving him a hint of the

roiling sea of emotions going on

behind the tone. “We can’t help but

want to be together, protect each

other.” He thought he heard a faint

smile in her voice, but it had the cold

desolation of a ghost. “You should

take that as a sign of hope. The soul

is so pure in its love that no matter

what wrong paths we take, it has the

ability to guide us.”

When she began to draw away from

him, he reached out, clamped his

hand down on her wrist, holding her.

“If you never leave here… Am I

worth redeeming but not loving?”

The lights returned on dim mode so

he could see her face. She wore the

corset again. In stunned shock, he

saw she’d been crying. The Goth

makeup was smeared and running,

turning her face into a mask.

“I don’t know, Nathan. Are you

worth it? Do I deserve you?”

The question punched him in the gut.

All the crimes he’d committed

flashed through his head, bringing

back his despair. He’d been accused

of so many things, but no one had

ever asked him to pass sentence on

himself. Not like this, where there

was no way out of the answer.

79

Joey W. Hill

Even with her makeup messed up she

was beautiful. Her sin had been that

she’d loved someone so much it had

compelled her to commit a horrible

crime of passion. He didn’t feel

worthy of even touching her now, so

he withdrew his hand, folded it in his

lap. He was still in the tux and

wished he could be naked again, her

slave rather than a boy playing dress-

up, pretending to be a man who

deserved to sit by her side.

“No, I’m not worth it. But you are.

You’re worth everything.”

The seconds ticked away as she

regarded him in silence. He could

tell nothing of her reaction from her

streaked face.

“I know you’re my soul mate,” she

said in that non-emotive tone. “When

you touch me, when our eyes meet, I

know it, but I’m not ready for it. I

may never be ready to make myself

that vulnerable again.”

“You would if you could believe in

me. If you could believe in yourself.

You’re worth loving, Dona. Don’t

give up on that. Any man… I’d…”

He stumbled to a halt, not sure where

he was going. For the first time in his

life he didn’t want to say the perfect

thing. He wanted to say the honest

thing. The truth was he didn’t deserve

her. If he was her soul mate, the

person supposed to keep her from

feeling that deep-in-the-dark desolate

loneliness, she was screwed,

because he wasn’t worth the shit on

her shoe.

“It’s time to face the rest of your

mirrors.” She spoke at last. “Can you

do it? Shatter them and face what’s

left?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Her expression shifted. His terrifying

Mistress was back, and the look in

her eyes turned his bowels to water.

“It’s not a choice. It’s time, whether

you think you’re ready or not.”

80

Mistress of Redemption

Chapter Eight

The next setting for his merry-go-

round was, appropriately, a circular

chamber, a place that looked as if it

were designed for performing rituals.

Everything of earth or stone, torches

in sconces on the walls. Dozens of

mirrors were embedded in the rock

stratum so it was hard to separate

Dona and the other features of the

room from their reflections. The odd

wall treatments were not as

distracting as what lay in the center

of the room, however.

“Look at her.” Dona moved around a

large block of stone, her fingertips

touching the bare back of the woman

bound and bent over it, her legs

manacled to the floor.

“Spread before you. Helpless.

Deserving punishment. You may

strike her until you draw blood, make

her scream. She’ll have to tolerate it

until you stop, for there’s no other

choice. There is no loss of

consciousness, no death. In the cycles

that are considered time down here,

eventually she’ll be given a moment

of no pain, her back smooth as if

she’d never been struck. Then it

begins anew.”

“A pain that’s reality and illusion

both,” he murmured. Like his

Mistress’s tears that had streaked her

makeup. In the transition to this

chamber, the evidence of that had

been wiped away. While she was as

perfect and intimidating as if the

moment had never existed, he didn’t

doubt the reality of that moment as

he’d doubted some of the others.

“It will continue until she hears the

message that the pain delivers.”

He was unable to look away as Dona

traced the bumps of the woman’s

spine. He could imagine it as his own

spine, her fingers caressing him a

moment before she would strike with

a whip. The thought of that sent a

shiver through him, brought a

tightening to an already overtaxed

groin. His testicles had permanently

drawn up in pre-ejaculation mode

and he wasn’t sure if they’d ever

drop again. Even in the most

frightening moments, he’d stayed

aroused, as if the ability to fuck was

a male’s most basic proof that he was

alive, capable of action and meaning.

Dona’s proximity had done nothing to

discourage that constant state of need.

“What’s the message?”

“That crime has punishment. This is

the punishment. After that, the debt

must be paid, three times. That’s

karma and one of the reasons for

reincarnating.”

The vulnerability she’d shown him

was gone. She was dispassionate,

almost cruel.

He’d found a key to her in watching

the stage play, though. The more she

felt, the less she revealed in her face.

She didn’t want to be his soul mate,

but she hadn’t denied she felt

something for him. She’d said she

wasn’t ready.

Even in the midst of this, not knowing

what awaited him except the certainty

that it would be awful, he felt the

wonder of that realization. If soul

mates were a real thing, 81

Joey W. Hill

then it meant Dona
was
his Mistress.

Now, forever, this life or the next.

Whether she wanted him or not. So

they’d always feel this connection to

one another.

He realized abruptly that he was

grasping something. Dropping his

gaze, he found a whip there, a metal-

tipped cat-o’-nine with a six-foot

reach, his knuckles white on the

handle. He lifted his attention to the

small of the woman’s back, her naked

buttocks and thighs. Her eyes were

blindfolded, a gag in her mouth. Her

nose was running, her body rising

and falling with quick breaths,

showing her nervousness and

anticipation of pain, either because

she’d been here before or she could

hear Dona’s words.

His Mistress completed her circle to

stand behind him. Now that long-

nailed hand
was
running up the

smooth skin of his back. She had him

back in jeans only, so she played

with the waistband, dipping her

fingers just beneath the snug fit,

teasing the crease of his ass. “Pain

administered the right way shatters

mirrors, so we can peer into the

darkness of our souls with no tricks