Chapter 14
Bayne
I sit at the table, my timer set for two minutes. It’s amusing, watching her prancing prettily over my hills, long dark ponytail swishing across her back. Even tired from my earlier exercise, she hasn’t got a chance against me. I drum my fingertips against the tabletop—still trying to calm my anger after the stunt she pulled.
I’m not sure how or why that story came out. She has this innocent, almost na?ve air about her. It breaks my guard down. And she’d shared with me, and I’m fair if nothing else.
Still, that was a dark story for a young, impressionable girl. Nothing like my cheating ex. That day left me scorned, swearing off serious relationships.
Haven’t trusted another woman since.
I’ve had women—unbeknownst to Cal Burnes, I’m not any kind of virgin, born again or otherwise—but not the kind you look to marry, just the ones you chase down for a good time.
Nothing like the sweet girl I’ve got under my care now.
I think of those deep brown eyes that were with her the day she was born and the father who never got a look at her beauty. What a shame. And a mother who doesn’t sound much better.
Such a nice girl.
How did she come from such horrid people?
I think of my own father, sleeping with my girlfriend behind my back, telling her to leave me, then killing her with his bare hands. That’s my and Eamon’s bloodline. It’s fine for me, I am what I am.
But I don’t want the same for Eamon.
I dream of another life for Eamon, far from that stone cottage with the red door. Not just because I can’t bring myself to visit that place after what happened, but I want more for him than this life. He was born with a golden heart, and I want the sun to shine on him every day.
I think of what Callum said to me, basically laying out the fact that he’s up to what I’m doing here, that I’ve got the girl. I don’t know how long I have till I’ve got to come clean. Or what they’re going to decide to do with her when they find out I’ve got her.
The Baynes-Burnes connection is still delicate. It needs watering, feeding, more time to grow. It’s not the time to come to blows over a girl.
Eamon’s going to want her safe. That much I know. Hell—I want her safe. The girl’s growing on me.
Other than that damn trick she pulled.
My heart’s still thumping, remembering the fear I felt when I couldn’t find her. I’m going to chase her down. And she’s going to pay.
My timer goes off.
I grab the horsewhip that’s been handed down in my family for generations. Long and thin and silver, made of flexible metal with a black rubber handle and a two-inch lash on its tip. They’re used for our illegal street horse-cart racing, a hobby we picked up from my great-grandfather’s Romani traveling people’s heritage. When he married my great-grandmother, a woman not from his community, for love, he was banished from his family but brought his traditions with him.
We’ve always kept horses. I learned to ride a miniature horse bareback when I was three, and Eamon did the same. The men in our family have always enjoyed racing our horses from the seat of a two-wheeled cart called a sulky.
The Burnes boys have joined in the fun and now there’s enough fellas participating to put a bit of money down on the races. Makes it more fun when you’ve got some money riding on a race. The best part is, not one Burnes has beaten a Bayne to this day. They don’t have the heritage to beat us, and they haven’t got the experience.
I’ve trained my horses myself and they’re top of the line, bolting the moment I give them my whistle. I love animals. I don’t like to see the boys whipping the hell out of the horses. It’s not the horse’s fault if you haven’t trained him to win. Everyone who wants to participate has to play by my rules.
No whips.
But she has to play by my rules too. I snap the thin lash against the palm of my hand. A line of fire pops up on my skin.
Whips, I save for naughty girls.
I know how to wield it properly, give her ass that sting she’ll remember, spank some submission into her, teach her to think twice before scaring me to death, without doing any real damage. I was never going to let her go. Keeping her has caused me more tension than I anticipated. Playing games with my wee captive helps me let off steam. I flick my wrist, letting the whip whistle through the air.
I leave through the front door. She’s easy enough to chase down, having worn herself out from her sprint. She’s barely moving by the time I get to her, wrapping my strong arms around her waist.
Winded, she sags against me. “Why,” she gasps, “did I even try?”
“I have no idea. You crave the chase?”
She stares up at me, pure hatred hidden behind her desire. “No, I don’t.”
“I think you do.” Dropping one knee to the ground, I toss her over my hard thigh, her ass perched right where I want it. Her sweater falls forward, a slice of the skin on her lower back bared to me. I bring the whip down across her denim-covered ass.
She hisses. “Ow! That stings.”
“Bet it makes your pussy wet, too.”
“God. You have such a filthy mouth. You know that?”
“It’s going to be even filthier when I’m done with you.”
“What? Why?” Her ponytail whips over her shoulder as she eyes me.
I whip her ass again, enjoying the feeling her jumping against me in pain.
“Yikes! Stop! Get off of me.”
“Not till I’m done punishing you.” I snap the whip another few times, hitting a fresh new spot with each wielding.
Now, feeling the full sting of the whip, she struggles harder. I loosen my grip as she fights, enough to let her manage to escape, taking a few clumsy strides like a newborn foal before I catch her again.
Tossing the whip to the side, I pin her to the ground on her back, holding her wrists in the shackles of my hands as I bring her arms above her head. I stare down into her fear-filled gaze. “Now, are you ready to give me what you owe me?”