Chapter Three #2
My eyes dart around the cemetery. I could make a run for it. I might not succeed—in fact, I’ll probably fail—but at least I’d go down fighting. At least I’d preserve my dignity.
“Careful,” Killian says. “I wouldn’t do whatever’s flitting through that very pretty head of yours, Lyra.
The cemetery is surrounded by men loyal to me.
The shitty car you rented to bring you here is no longer available for use.
Now, you could run… but the result would be I’d bend you over the nearest headstone and turn your ass so red you wouldn’t be able to sit for a fucking week. ”
I meet his eyes again, gauging his sincerity. He’s dead serious. If I step a toe out of line, he’ll do exactly that.
Not for the first time, my fear of Killian wins out over my instincts of self-preservation.
“I believe we’re about five months overdue for a conversation.” He runs a hand down his tie. I track the gesture, recalling what those hands were capable of doing.
Spanking me until I cried, yes, but also making me come until I passed out. Perversely, my nipples harden, and heat sweeps through me.
How? How can he possibly have this goddamn effect on me now? When I’m still reasonably sure that this encounter will end up with my corpse being buried in an unmarked grave or thrown into the ocean to feed the fish?
Am I really that fucked up?
“Now, you of course have a choice on how you approach this conversation.” Killian glances around the graveyard.
“Several choices, actually. First, you can make a run for it. I’ll catch you and follow through on my promise.
If you instead choose not to run, your options are to take my hand willingly and walk with me, or be stubborn, at which point I’ll move you by force.
Once we’re in my car—and be assured that we will get there—you can either have a civil conversation with me and accept what I do to you, or you can ignore me and fight.
Now, all of these decisions will determine the next several weeks for you, but they won’t ultimately change the outcome.
You are coming home with me today. You will not be leaving my sight for the foreseeable future.
And you will tell me everything you’ve been up to from the moment you slipped away. ”
My lips part in the wake of his speech. He speaks with a sort of calm, confident authority that indicates his assurance that everything will go according to his plans.
It fills me with the sort of indignance that demands a fight.
Even if I lose, I have to fight. Even if it means I have more pride than sense, I can’t just gently go along with his plans. I probably should, but I can’t.
“Go fuck yourself, Killian. You don’t own me, and you never will.”
He smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
I barely hear his words; I’m already spinning on my heel and making a dash for it, adrenaline surging through me. The grass crunches under my feet, and the dense fog makes it difficult to choose my next footstep carefully, but nevertheless, I sprint. I can’t just give in. I can’t—
His hand closes around the back of my neck before I’ve made it ten feet. I let out a piercing scream and jerk away from him, but he bands an arm around my midsection, plastering my back to his front.
I claw at his hand, digging bloody gouges into his skin. I’m not myself right now; I’m the very characterization of a primal fear response. I don’t care what he said or the bullshit promises he made. There’s only one way this ends, and—
“At least you didn’t make me wait for your decision.” His voice is as calm as it previously was, without the faintest note of exertion. My struggles are draining me, but not impacting him at all. That only drives my rage higher, prompts me to struggle harder, and in effect, tires me out.
“I warned you.” His hand moves to my hair, and he pushes me to the cold ground. “You want this, don’t you? You want me to chase you and spank you like an errant child.”
“Get off me, you sick fuck—”
“I would not suggest annoying me anymore than you already have.”
Annoying. Annoying? He makes me sound like a petulant little fairy he can swat away!
“Fuck you!”
“Patience.” His hand grasps the back of my neck, pushing my face directly into the patches of wilted grass.
He wasn’t lying, or exaggerating. But then, I knew that he’d follow through on his promise, didn’t I? Of all the terrible things he is, Killian is not someone who breaks his chosen course of action. Now, whether he reveals his true plans to anyone else is a different story entirely.
So why did you run?
The answer is simple: dignity. Escaping the humiliation of giving in. It’s easier when I don’t have a choice. I can live with myself when I fight and struggle—I don’t know how I’d live with myself if I just gave in.
“You’ve lost weight.” His tone conveys his displeasure as his fingers skim over my hipbones. “Struggling to take care of yourself in my absence, Little Bird? That’s alright; we’ll fix that. But first…”
I’m wearing sweatpants purely for comfort, but the unfortunate side effect is Killian can easily yank them down, and so he does.
I scream again into the soil, thrashing, trying to push myself up.
Killian’s response to this is crack his hand down on my ass.
A stinging pain prickles over it, momentarily rendering me silent and still.
Then, he smacks my other cheek, and I jerk with a gasp.
“Be still.” He yanks my panties down my legs.
My eyes dart around in horror. “Not here.” We’re in public. Anyone could walk past at any moment, and they’d see me—someone who’s already been the star of a sex tape—ass up, tits down, being spanked by a man who probably still plans to kill me at some point. Just not before he’s had his fun.
He spanks me again. I hiss and flinch. His hits are hard, sharp, and precise, meant to inflict maximum pain with minimum effort—and it works. Three spanks in, and my struggle has ceased.
“Killian, please—not here,” I hiss. “Not in public—ah!” I cut off when he spanks me twice in a row, at the extra-sensitive juncture where my ass meets my thighs.
“Not in this cemetery!”
I brace myself for the next strike, but it doesn’t land. Instead, a thoughtful hum fills the air.
“Are we negotiating?” he sounds mildly curious.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Open them again. Doing this, so close to the proximity of my entire family’s resting place, is untenable. I didn’t consider that angle before running. If I negotiate, I’m sure he’ll demand concessions I am loathe to give.
Then again, I’m beyond keeping my promises to him. I’ll say what I have to, then do what I need to.
“Yes,” I hiss.
He spanks me again. “Try again, sans the attitude.”
Dick. I almost forgot how overbearing he is. Nevertheless, I make an effort to soften my tone. “Yes.”
“Good.” He strokes a hand up my thigh and rests his palm on my ass.
The other hand is still firmly holding me in place, face-down against the ground.
The position is humiliating, and if I want it to change, I have to play ball.
“A few terms. First, your punishment will double for your little stint—even if you come with me willingly. So, you can stay here and get your ass reddened, or you can come with me and it’ll probably be bruised. ”
“You’re really selling the whole come with you willingly idea,” I mutter.
His fingernails dig into my flesh, and I gasp.
“Second, you will stand up willingly, take my hand, and walk out of here with me. If you run again, I’ll forget my benevolence.”
Benevolence? He’s a fucking sadist, not some benevolent overlord.
“Third, once we get in the car, you will follow my instructions down to the letter. Agreed?”
I’m going to run the first chance I get. He has to know that. “Agreed.”
“Good.” He releases my ass immediately, but gradually eases the pressure on the back of my neck. His hand slides into my hair, and he uses it to pull me upright. I scramble to right my sweats and panties, and his chest rumbles with a chuckle of amusement.
“My god, I’ve missed you.” He sounds wistful. “And you have not disappointed me. I so look forward to getting reacquainted with you—every part of you.”
I don’t respond. What is there to say? I could scream that I hate him, but he’ll only bend me over and finish what he started. My best option now is silence.
“Come.” He tugs on my hair, and I scramble to my feet. His hand travels a path from my hair to the side of my neck, over my shoulder, and down the length of my arm, until his fingers curl over mine. I swallow hard, trying not to tremble. I glue my gaze to the ground.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening—
Except it is. I don’t know how he found me. I was so careful. Identities, tickets, shying away from cameras—everything. There should be no way for him to have gotten to me, but he did. Here he is, and here I am.
His free hand rises, and I flinch. Instead of having the decency to back off, he takes my chin in a gentle hold and tips my head up. “Look at me.”
I reluctantly meet his eyes. He’s smiling softly, almost nostalgically. “You’ve been very bad these last months, but it doesn’t change anything. My plans have largely remained the same.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “I’ll let you in on them if you prove yourself to be a very good girl.”
“I fucking hate you.” The admission is torn from my lips on an angry whisper. He tilts his head to the side, examining my expression.
“I don’t believe you do,” he murmurs. “But I suppose that’s subject to interpretation. Come, now. I think it’s time to go.”