Yield (41 page)

Wren

I was in the back of a van when they told me they weren’t allowed to drug me – within a few minutes of being dragged from the car and thrown there. My wrists had been ziptied, my mouth gagged, and I was jammed up against the back of the front seats. Three men were in here with me, all well-dressed and normal. If big, well-armed, and menacing when they deigned to look at me could be thought of as normal.

The worst of them had leaned down and smiled. I knew evil smiles well. He had them down pat.

“No drugs for you, but no one told us not to nail your hands to your pretty thighs if you annoy me.”

I shuddered and leaned away.

“Are you going to be good for me, Wren?”

I’d nodded. Did he think I’d say no?

No drugs. I guessed that
he
knew I was pregnant. The man wanted his child alive and healthy. Did he have a heart, after all?

I would’ve deserved that anyway. The nails in me. Punishment for my impossibly bad sins. Unforgiveable sins. What I’d done to Hugh swamped my head, in waves.
Why’d I do that? Why? Fuck. Why.

Round and round and round went my thoughts.

I’d killed Hugh, a man who would do anything for me. I’d casually let him die.

And Glass, he’d be blaming himself again. I couldn’t seem to set the world right. All those I cared for died, half the time because of something I did, or neglected to do.

They took me places and I cared as little as I had when drugged.

I lay blindfolded and gagged in a plane, in the trunk of a car, and the back of a van, and said nothing. Why bother?

They delivered me on time, apparently. Or so he said when he opened the trunk and found me.

Nighttime. No extra light had come in the trunk.

“Hello, Wren. I hope they treated you well?” The familiar roughness of his voice had my full attention in an instant. I felt his hand on my hair, saw torchlight through the blindfold. He lifted my head as if examining me then the torchlight seemed to travel down my body. This was his routine, I guessed. He felt safer accepting illegal cargos at night.

I grunted when he pulled my legs apart.

“Don’t worry. I’m not doing anything to you here.” Then he gathered the skirt of my dress upward, exposing me all the way to my lower back.

He was silent and I guessed he was looking at his brand.

“That looks pretty. Healthy. You seem unharmed. Good. Treating you badly is my prerogative. As is treating you well, from now on. Welcome back, my girl.”

Then he pushed up the blindfold. I could see him. The real him. No mask. He laid down the torch and the light bounced off the roof of the trunk – and he kissed me, with his hands cradling my face. Mine were still tied at my back. He kissed me as if I were something delicate that might break. My breath caught. No mask. Again, he whispered, “Welcome back. My name, Wren, is Moghul.”

Then he slammed shut the trunk and drove me to his house. All the way there, being bounced around against the carpeted trunk, I ran his face through my memory. He didn’t look like a monster without the mask. Brown, artfully scruffy hair that on another man would make me itch to set right, and his eyes, such warm eyes. I’d seen hardness in them before and I’d felt fear. Not now. Not this time.

Moghul. An odd name, but appropriate for a man who tossed aside society’s rules as if they were trash.

He’d looked...contemplative, as well as quietly triumphant.

Hope had awakened at that.

Hope... Why? I was a stranger to myself.

Moghul

When I let her out of the trunk, the garage doors were wound down, trapping us in the huge space with the expanse of concrete and the BMW, the corvette, and my vintage motorbikes.

I studied her, stepping away to take in all of her. She swayed a little but seemed able to stand. All that time in the dark and tied up would’ve played havoc with her muscles and balance, plus her hands were trapped behind her back.

I tsked, smiling sadly, thinking of all the perverted things I could do to her...if I could get her in the right mindset. I knew more about who she was now. The facts from Europe had helped me see.

She was barefoot and would be feeling the cold hardness of the concrete. The black dress would be the one in which they’d taken her. It was pretty and swerved in at all the right places, curved out at all the right ones – her breasts and hips. I’d burn it. She needed no reminders of her past and it must be filthy. Her hair had been squashed by the blindfold and I wanted see it hang free and clean and beautiful.

I stepped in and untied the blindfold, then dropped the cloth to the floor.

I removed the gag then locked my chain-link steel collar on her neck and clicked the leash to it.

“I’m putting my cuffs back on you also, but you’re going to walk with me up to the viewing room without me binding you apart from the collar. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Her reply was soft.

“Thank you for calling me Sir.”

The shock on her face also pleased me.

There’d been time to think since I’d made the decision. Nothing was certain. I’d come to terms with that.

The last text had underlined the fragility of our time. Glass had tracked down Chris. If Chris was at risk, I was at risk, and Glass had arrived a half a day ago. The man had turbo charged his way here, taking risks of detection to fly farther down the Queensland coast than he normally would. According to my intel, the rest of his men would arrive later today.

My man had done the trip the safe way, and so, this came down to mere hours.

I had the equivalent of a special forces team ready to attack my house, once they had my address, if they could get it, but right now, Glass was vulnerable.

I’d told Chris and offered him alternatives, offered help. I guess a simple solution would’ve been to eliminate Chris but I’d lost my taste for ordering or performing homicide. I’d never had one. With business...I’d just disconnected from what I’d told someone to do. It had been like firing an employee – necessary, nasty, but someone had to make the decision. My first and only personal kill a couple of months ago had convinced me of the wrongness. If I couldn’t stomach it in front of me, it was dishonest to make others do it. I was done with this dirty business.

Whatever Chris decided, it was his affair; I was done.

He knew if he dealt with Glass, he could have my business, do what he liked with it. I’d extracted what money I could. Besides, I had nest eggs all over the place, in half a dozen countries.

Fate could play her hand without my further interference.

The ground was cracking beneath my feet. There was only Wren to take care of now and for the first time in my life, I was unsure. She carried our child and I’d come to realize I loved her as much as I could love anyone. Would that be enough for her?

My revelation of the day was one I’d always been too selfish to understand. Some people demand of you the ultimate sacrifice, before you can deserve their love. When your heart beats with pain at the thought of losing someone, you’ve found that person. I’d found mine.

I led her away and into the hallway, only to see the devastation in her bearing – red-rimmed eyes, the sway in her gait, the lowness of her head. I needed more than this. More than my distant persona. More.

“Come here.” I scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom.

After making her drink some water, I stripped her naked and urged her under the warm jets. I helped her wash, smoothing the soap and shampoo over her body, becoming reacquainted with her curves, her secret places. It was impossible not to do more than feel. I sneaked kisses and curled her hair around my hand, made her stand still while I paid homage with my mouth, to her neck, her shoulders, and her plump nipples. I stood naked under the water with her and only held her to me.

Was it half an hour? More? I took my time.

Whatever thoughts filled her head, I was pleased I could cast my spell over her still. Slowly, the confusion and worry faded from her face and she melted into my caresses and my dominance. I’d had her obedient and willing before, and I could do so again. When near me, she was mine. She parted her mouth and shivered at my touch and at my bites on her nape and breasts...she succumbed, even opening her legs when I slid my hand there and cupped my palm over her mons.

The silver gleam of the collar on her neck drew my eye. With my chin on her shoulder and my hand between her legs, I studied how the metal rested on her skin, basking in the fact that I had bought it and placed it on her.

“Mine,” I murmured, half to myself, kissing her below her ear. It wasn’t quite true, but close, so close. “Thank you, again.”

She bent back her neck and stared at me. Puzzled, I was sure.

I could, perhaps, have taken her further and made her come but it wasn’t the right moment, not at all.

After drying her, and being sure she was stronger, I led her to the viewing room. Both of us were naked and a little damp, but that was fine. The aircon would dry us quickly.

Knowing what was in there, I picked her up before the entrance and carried her in, then I sat down on one of the sofas with her cuddled into me and half on my lap. The equipment was behind her and she couldn’t have seen it. The block and tackle, the ropes and hooks. I surveyed my preparations and wondered if I was about to do the right thing. I needed to settle things before I began, in any case.

It’ll wait.

I breathed in, out, closed my eyes and simply absorbed the need I had to cradle my girl.

I had to care for her. I’d always done that as a Dom to my submissives but this was new, revelatory. Before I’d only skimmed the surface of what I could be to someone. With Wren, when I had her like this, with her head tucked into me, my arms around her, I had to suppress my strength, torn between cuddling her gently and a futile and insane yearning to hold her so tightly we’d merge, and I’d become a part of her, flesh, bone, blood, mind.

“Talk to me, please. Tell me everything. I need to know. I want to take some of your pain, if I can.”

At that, I felt her shudder and I braced myself for the storm.

Wren

How dare he? Take some of my pain? Hah. So ridiculous it almost made me burst into tears.

There was pain, and there was what he’d made me endure, which needed a whole new word.

“Your men...they killed...made me kill, my friend, Hugh. You bastard,” I whispered that last part, then I drew strength. “How could you have that done to us and then dare to say what you have?”

I bristled, feeling ill, wanting to tear myself away from him but sure he wouldn’t allow it. There was nothing he could say that would help me.

“I’m sorry.”

Except that. It assuaged a little of the guilt somehow. Maybe because by saying it, he admitted guilt and took on some of mine.

I sobbed. I sobbed into his chest, the man who was to blame for kidnapping me and killing my friends. I couldn’t reconcile it at all. It was just me, my response to him, evil fucker that he was. I hated some of him, liked, pitied, and respected other parts of him in the most appalling mish mash of fucked-up emotions ever.

A notion bubbled up that made me want to giggle crazily. Was this how married couples felt after a million years together?

“It’s not your fault, Wren. I don’t know what they did but I didn’t tell them to do it specifically. I’m very sorry. I’m not a good man, but I’m sorry that happened. I don’t want to hurt you. Not like that.”

Could I read truth in his words? No clue, no fucking clue. Either way, I shot straight into anger, a whole world of incandescent anger.

“They shot him! Then they demanded I give myself up or they’d kill him! I chose the wrong thing, the stupidest, most selfish thing, and they shot him.” I couldn’t help seeing it again in my head. The gun. The blood. The devastation when the man carried through on his threat. The abrupt
bang
. The way Hugh’s head shook at the impact yet nothing else of him changed. The blood still meandered down the outside of the glass, until he slid from view. “They took him and they shot him.” I gasped a few times, my throat having trouble figuring out whether to breathe or choke on my tears, before I found my voice again. “Your men...Moghul.
They
did it.”