Chapter 2 #2
“No,” he said, flicking the sequin away. “It’s not him.”
It was shy, wide-eyed Anthony, who was no doubt downing shots of an alcoholic beverage of his choice to build up the courage to see Scott naked.
There was no way it was him. Scott took precautions. His clients had to give him their ID, FaceTime him so he could confirm it, then meet him in a public place so they were seen together and Scott could see they’d come alone.
A door closed downstairs, and Scott frowned, wondering whether Anthony had locked himself away in the living room, but the bottom step of the stairs creaked, followed by the next one up.
Scott went to unhook the catch of his trousers before remembering the necklace and reaching for that first.
Pain snapped his fingers, and he crashed backwards into the towel rail.
“What the hell…” he breathed, looking at his fingers, then the necklace.
It had hurt him.
The briefest touch of his fingers against the metal, and it felt like it had leapt up and bit him. For a few seconds, he stared at it in shock.
The necklace with the silver circles that would’ve been in contact with his skin.
The necklace that had given him a vicious shock.
The necklace that wasn’t a necklace at all but a shock collar.
His fingers continued to sting as his breaths came harder and faster.
Anthony had put that around his neck. Scott had been wearing it for hours, and he’d only just armed it when Scott was seemingly vulnerable on the bed.
There were no more footsteps on the stairs.
Scott gripped the bathroom door, shutting it as quietly as he could, but there was no lock.
There had been one, but it had been removed, unscrewed.
“Shit,” he hissed, before giving up on being quiet and going for the window.
He knocked everything from the windowsill and shoved it as wide as he could before climbing up and over the sink.
The door burst open, and fingers wrapped around his ankle, but he kicked, hauling himself out and onto the roof of the adjoining garage. The slate tiles slipped; Scott managed to slow his fall, hooking his fingers into the gutter, but the plastic creaked, threatening to snap, and he let go.
He landed with bent knees on the hood of Anthony’s car, and through the windscreen, he could see a wide-eyed Anthony behind the wheel, picking his lip. Their eyes locked for a moment, then Anthony screwed up his face, dropping his head into his hands.
Scott jumped down from the car and took off running, not looking back once.
He knew who that had been in the bathroom.
He knew those menacing steps on the staircase, and that oppressive silence, and that hand that had cuffed his ankle.
Shirtless and shoeless, Scott ran through the village, only stopping when he found a still-open coffee shop he could hide out in.
The middle-aged woman serving eyed his lack of clothes with a frown before tossing him an apron to cover himself.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
He bought a coffee, sat in the furthest, darkest corner and ran through the events of the day, removing the filter of Anthony being flustered by his attractiveness – really, how arrogant could he get – and seeing the reality.
He’d been set up.
Anthony had been a worried mess all day, whether out of guilt or fear, Scott didn’t know, and he didn’t care.
He’d fastened a shock collar around Scott’s neck.
He’d been edgy when passing the burly security guards.
He’d taken the wrong road on the way to his house – Wait – he’d struggled with the key in the lock and hadn’t been able to tell Scott the location of the sugar.
It wasn’t Anthony’s house.
Was it his house instead?
Or had he just rented it?
Like he’d rented the apartment that first time…
The sequins. The goddamn sequins.
Anthony’s hesitant voice. “I…I shouldn’t touch you.”
“He’d been told not to touch me,” Scott murmured to himself. “He’d been told to get me upstairs, naked on the bed with that collar on…”
If that had been in contact with his skin, he wouldn’t have been able to get it off. He would’ve scratched his neck to pieces fighting the clasp, flailing and gritting his teeth in agony.
Scott would’ve been trapped.
At his mercy.
“Your feet are bleeding…”
Scott snapped his head up, pressing back into his chair. The woman who’d served him stood in front of the table with a mop in her hand. She gestured to the bloody footprints he’d left across the floor. Scott blinked, taking them in. He’d left a trail behind.
“I’m sorry.” Scott held his hand out for the mop, but she leaned it away from him.
“It’s fine, I’ll sort it. I just thought you should know.”
Scott still wore socks, but they were bloody and torn.
“Rough night?” she asked.
Her brown eyes bore into him.
“You could say that. Do you have a car?”
She stiffened, taking a step back. “Why?”
“I was wondering if, after your shift has finished, you’d be able to give me a ride?”
The woman didn’t look impressed when she sighed, “Where to?”
Scott braced both hands on the table. “The police station.”
Her expression softened as her mouth popped open with an ‘oh’.
“Yes,” Scott replied. “Oh.”