Chapter 11
Marked for the Taking
Marigold’s legs wouldn’t move as Stone nudged her toward a dark room. She knew this room and couldn’t force herself to go in there.
“What are we doing here?”
“Finishing what we started,” Stone pushed the door open. “You remember The Cave.”
It had been locked earlier. He brought her here for a reason. No longer on her own terms, her curiosity died. “I don’t want to go in there.”
“I didn’t ask.” He flung her over his shoulder, knocking the wind from her lungs.
The gentle possession she’d experienced earlier was gone. Everything about him had changed since learning who she was. Even his handling was more demanding, more desperate. Whatever sense of safety she’d had was now gone.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You said you were Mary Langford.” His fingers dug into her ass as he yanked her down and set her on her feet. His pale eyes were wild as they met hers. “Now, we negotiate from a position of complete truth.”
The implications hung between them like the blade of a guillotine. She wasn’t just their captive anymore, or even their willing participant. She was their weapon against Jordan—and weapons, she knew from bitter experience, were meant to be used.
“We can do this the hard way or the easy way, Goldilocks.”
She scowled at the childish nickname. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“Everything. Things too dark to name. Things that exist without names.”
He was one of the kinder ones, she’d thought, but now, all signs of any gentle nature were gone. “Please,” she whispered, searching his eyes.
He turned her to face the room and marched her forward. “I love to hear a beautiful woman beg, but let’s wait until you really mean it.”
What did that mean? “Are you going to hurt me?”
“Not all pain is unpleasant. And, even when it is, it only makes us stronger. If you’re going to work with us, we want to get you into tip-top shape, Goldi.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He laughed and gave one of her blonde curls a tug. “You don’t get to decide what we call you.”
He flipped a switch that kicked on lights further down the narrow space, showing off just how cavernous the room was compared to the other enormous bedrooms in the house.
Several soft surfaces existed. Button back couches with velvet, jewel-toned upholstery, stripped poster beds with only satin sheets, chaise lounges, round octagonal chairs for multiple people to rest, odd benches, and padded bolsters.
And there, on the farthest wall, was the large wooden X.
“Times to play.”
“Can’t we—”
“No. You either submit or we return to plan B.”
Plan B was sending her back to her father. Back to where her brother could find her. Her brow creased as she measured her options. What if Jordan’s wrath was the easier route?
No. Jordan would punish her. He vowed to silence her one way or another, and he would never see her interference as anything other than a betrayal and an attempt to ruin his life.
Stone caught her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Look at me.”
She blinked rapidly, feeling on the verge of tears.
“You’re stronger than you realize. You made it here on the pile of drift wood in the freezing cold. But now, you have to prove your loyalty. Tonight won’t be easy and I need you to prove to not just me, but Hunter and Ash, that you’re committed to the task. Committed to us.”
“Why does it have to be difficult?”
“Because choices like this are not conscious. They’re borne of blood, sweat, and tears.”
“Blood?” Her stomach dropped and she swallowed. “Please,” she begged. “I already told you I’d cooperate.”
“Yes, and that’s what this is. A test of your word. You will cooperate and give me—us—exactly what we want.”
Her insides shook as she tried to imagine what that might be. “I won’t break my word.”
“I want to believe you but, so far, you’ve only proven that you’re a liar. So I’m afraid I’ll need a bit more convincing.”
A lone tear trickled down her cheek, and he swiped it away with such contrasting gentleness she had the urge to rush into the shelter of his arms. He sensed her need, and took the choice from her, pulling her close and hugging her tight.
His lips pressed into her hair and he whispered, “Hush now. Tears will only make me want more.”
Her fist tightened in his shirt. She wanted him like this. Safe. Protective. Gentle. But that wasn’t how this would go.
“Enough now.” He abruptly turned her away from him and stepped back, leaving her shivering before him. Bare. Exposed. Unguarded.
He moved to the wall and opened a cabinet. Various items dangled from bronze hooks, and he sorted through the rack like one might drag a finger over a bookshelf of their fondest stories. He selected a long, reed-thin leather crop, and she staggered back.
“What are you doing with that?”
“Relax.”
“How do I do that when you’re holding a horse whip?”
“You do it with self-discipline.”
She wasn’t feeling very disciplined at the moment.
“If you run,” he said as her eyes darted back to the door, “I’ll catch you.
And when I do, I’ll be hotter, which means I’ll likely whip you harder.
If you submit now, it won’t hurt as much.
” He stroked his hand over the reed-thin whip and took her hand, opening her fingers to feel the weight.
“You’ll learn to relax, not because I mean to dismiss your fears, but because I know it’s easier when your body stays nimble.
” He swatted the whip across her palm and she gasped, closing her fingers in a protective fist.
He casually stroked the leather-wrapped whip, never breaking eye contact.
“You’ll learn to trust us, Goldilocks. You’ll come to discover that when you’re obedient and well-behaved, life will operate more in your favor.
You’ll also learn—because I sense your opposition—that we enjoy a challenge.
Whether you give us one or not, the outcome will be the same.
Your submission is a requirement. The level of pain is up to you.
” He paused, using the folded leather tip of the crop to lift her chin.
“Trust my advice is meant to make things easier, not harder.” He turned away. “Keep your eyes on me.”
She looked at him with a mixture of desperation and hate.
He pointed the crop toward the wall where a bolster stood in front of a padded bench.
“Kneel for me.” When she didn’t move, he swung the crop against the leather bolster, jolting her into motion, but she couldn’t bring herself to kneel.
What sane woman would surrender to a beating with a horse whip?
“On your knees, Goldilocks.”
She was frozen, paralyzed with shock that he actually wanted her to voluntarily submit to a beating. “I can’t—Ah!” The whip struck into her thighs fast and sharp. She dropped to the bench.
“Head down.” He pressed her shoulders forward and pulled her arms back. “Hold your ass open so I can see when you tense.”
She was trembling so rapidly she could hardly make sense of his directions, but he didn’t wait for her to obey. He merely positioned her the way he wanted and told her to stay.
The folded tip of the crop traced slowly down her spine, tripping over each protruding vertebrae. “Say the word and I stop. We can have you back to your family by midnight.”
He moved behind her, folding his body over hers and pressing into her with his impressive weight.
The bulge of his denim clad erection pressed over her ass as he ground into her hands.
Warm breath teased her ear. “The word…is stop.” He ground himself harder.
“Do you want me to stop and send you home to Daddy, Goldilocks? Is this too hard?”
She shook her head, unsure if she was allowed to say no.
He pressed her harder into the bolster with the weight of his rocking hips. “I asked you a question, little thief.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
“Good.” He released her and backed off. “Then let’s begin.”
The whip came down on her thighs, leather singing through the air before the sharp kiss of impact bloomed into burning heat. She yiped under the swift force and reflexively jolted, her natural instinct to escape pain more powerful than her force of will in that moment.
“Stay,” he commanded, as if speaking to a dog. His hand pressed her shoulders back down, his fingers brushing her hair toward the floor. “Hold that ass open like I showed you.”
He gave her cheeks a warning tap and she quickly obeyed—rewarded with another swat. “Ah!”
“Try not to tense.” He kept to striking the fleshy parts of her thighs and soon the sting transcended into a warm burn. There was the bite of leather, then the strange sense of release that followed.
““Good girl. Let go of your ass now, and turn your hands palm up. Keep them at the base of your spine and don’t move.”
Her legs were shaking, and she needed the bolster to hold her upright.
She did as he instructed and gasped when he struck her ass.
Twice. Three times. Four. He kept going until she lost count.
Then he adjusted her arms outward, as if she were stretched on a cross.
He turned her wrists to expose her soft palms and then whipped them as well.
Her entire body vibrated with an electric tingle, similar to the buzzing numbness she suffered after the shock therapy. She didn’t move when he finally stopped whipping her. Nor did she look to see where he went, but she sensed him walk away and heard him opening more cabinets and drawers.
Furniture squealed as he dragged a heavy table in front of her.
She looked up through bleary eyes and watched as he placed several objects on the table.
One was a glass bottle, but she couldn’t read the label.
Then he set down a small silver object. One end was tapered like a spade, the other had a knob with a diamond.
Beside the diamond object, he placed a cord covered in balls of all different sizes. The width of each ball increased, graduating from small and slender on one end to thicker on the other.