Chapter 44
KATE
There’s nothing sexy about a ball gag.
It makes spit pool in my mouth. My jaw aches from being held in an unnatural position. I feel like I’m choking and—worse—like I can’t grab a full breath.
Wolf settles behind his desk as if he’s intent on saving the universe from nuclear war. His dark eyes narrow while he studies the monitor on his desk. His fingers fly over his keyboard. Every muscle in his body is stretched, taut, primed.
I bellow behind the gag, deep, wordless howls that form in my belly more than my throat.
Wolf’s stare from behind his computer would be withering, if I gave a fuck anymore about what he thinks.
He opens a drawer on that aircraft carrier of a desk and produces a sturdy pair of headphones.
Thumbing a switch on the side, he settles them over his ears.
I stop screaming because I’m certain those things are capable of military-grade noise cancellation.
Instead, I invest my energy in kicking the iron rack that holds my leash.
I focus on landing the heel of my left foot squarely on a supporting crossbar.
I want him to feel the impact all the way across the room, because last I checked, no one on earth makes vibration-canceling headphones.
My heel turns red. I keep kicking. My toes start to cramp. I kick some more. Pain shoots up my calf, then my thigh, lodging in the base of my spine. I consider kicking with my right leg, but I’m afraid I might cause serious damage to the stitches Dr. Patel took—was it only an hour ago?
Fuck it. Wolf has more stamina than I do.
I close my fists around my leash and yank. I can’t break the nylon that holds me, but I can rattle the rack. I tug over and over again, using both arms to maximize the impact.
“Stop,” he says, without looking up from his computer.
I pause, just long enough for him to settle back into whatever code he’s studying. Then I jerk my chain three times fast. Wait for almost a minute. Pull once.
I want to keep things unpredictable. I don’t want him able to ignore me.
I’ve just finished two sharp tugs when he stands up from his desk.
Moving with the efficiency of an apex predator, he strips his belt from his black jeans.
His fingers are icicles as he wrestles my arms behind my back.
He lashes my wrists together with the cool efficiency of a surgeon making an incision.
I try to kick him. When he neatly side-steps my foot, I sprawl in an effort to trip him. He spares me one long, disappointed glance, and then he returns to work.
Howling behind my gag, I thrash like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum. I scream that I hate him. I vow I’ll get revenge.
And finally, exhausted, I stare up at the framed painting on the wall, the crimson flower with its coal-black heart. I wish I’d never swapped out the artwork. I should be staring at a piece of meat. That’s how he’s treating me.
I fall asleep to the even sound of his breathing and the spatter of his keyboard, spraying out whatever code he thinks is so important.
When I wake, I’m not sure how much time has passed.
Stretching, I realize I’m curled around down pillows, three or four of them, almost as if I’m in bed.
A blanket covers me, something light, something soft.
Opening my eyes just a slit, I can see the light fixture on the ceiling, the bulbs glowing with a warm golden light.
Someone—it must be Wolf—left the light on.
But I’m still leashed to the steel stand. My hands are still tied behind my back. My leg aches where Dr. Patel left his stitches.
And my bladder is turning my predicament into something of an emergency.
Groaning, I struggle into a sitting position. My blanket slips to my waist. Blinking hard, I focus on Wolf’s desk across the room.
He’s holding up one hand, a silent command for me to wait. I consider screaming a protest, but my throat is still raw from last night. I think about kicking the rack again, but I’m afraid I’ll lose control of my bladder.
Just last night, I scrubbed the words—Fuck You—from my chest. Just last night, he took me to meet the Andersons. Just last night, we laughed together over pot roast and chocolate cobbler.
I was wrong, deciding to cut. He’d set a rule. I’d made a promise.
But his response is insane. His need for control is pathological. I’ve married a feckin’ madman.
I’m running away, the first chance I get.
I’ll need to free Granny too. Take her with me. Take Mrs. Watson too, if she’ll come. Find another nurse, if that’s what it takes.
I can go back to Baltimore. To Da. He’ll have to take me in. He won’t tolerate anyone insulting the Canton Crew, the way Wolf has insulted me. He needs my money.
I think.
I hope.
I pray.
“Jesus…”
My eyes fly open. I wasn’t aware that I’d closed them. I didn’t realize I’d looked away from my captor.
Wolf kneels beside me. His face is pale against his black turtleneck, dark bristles prickling his jaw, as if he hasn’t shaved in days. Purple stains the stretched skin beneath his eyes, making him look bruised. The man barely sleeps—I know that—but he looks like he hasn’t been to bed in months.
“Kate…” he says, reaching for my bound wrists. When I can’t keep myself from flinching, he closes his eyes. Takes a steadying breath. Opens them and forces himself to work his belt free.
He supports my arms, holding them steady when my instinct is to gather the blanket close around my naked body. “Hold on,” he says. “Give the blood a chance to flow back.”
He’s helped me this way in the dungeon, supporting me while my body adjusts to freedom. This time, though, I’m not lost in post-orgasmic bliss. This time, my brain screams that I’m in danger.
He must see that, because he strips off his sports jacket, handing it to me so I can cover myself. My arms protest, though, so he has to help me, feeding my hands through the sleeves like I’m a helpless child.
He works the padlock on my gag. The one on my leash, too. He helps me stand, and then he walks me down the corridor, to the jacks at the end of the hall.
He leaves the door cracked, and I can see his shadow on the floor. I want to scream at him to let me pee in peace, but part of me is afraid I’ll need his help to stand again.
It’s humiliating, knowing he’s listening to every sound. I feel my cheeks color, which only makes me angry. The blush spreads to my chest. After I flush the toilet, I lather my hands twice, delaying opening the door for as long as I can.
“Kate—” He starts talking before I step into the hall.
“Fuck off.”
“I was wrong—”
“Do you fucking think?”
“There was so much blood…”
“Jaysus,” I swear. I was wrong to cut, but his reaction was so far beyond a normal response. “Yer a lousy Dom.”
“I—”
“Yer one job is t’ be in control, and ya didn’t come close t’ that.” Irish makes my voice run thick.
“I brought you pillows. A blanket. I—”
“And ya didn’t think t’ take me off my leash?”
“I didn’t want to wake you. You were so exhausted—”
“Tryin’ t’ get free!”
“I left the light on!”
He honestly thinks that makes it better. I storm down the corridor, rage keeping me steady on my feet.
“What are you do—” he starts to ask.
I throw myself across the room. There. His phone is on his desk. I snatch it up, whirling around to shove it in his face, to unlock the screen.
“What—” he tries again.
“Alert the feckin’ media! Call the goddamn police! You left the fucking light—”
On.
That’s what I’m about to say. He left the fucking light on.
But my hip bangs against the desk when he grabs for his phone, and I jostle his computer mouse. The screensaver on his computer monitor clears.
The banner at the top of the page is familiar—ice blue and winter white. The stylized lettering spells out words I know well: Winter Reckoning.
Beneath that, though, is a screen I’ve never seen before. I glance at the first line—this is an administrative page. Something behind the scenes. Something only a superuser can see.
My profile is there. My character name—CyberGhost—my weapons, the names of everyone in my raiding party.
“What the fuck—” I start, but I don’t bother completing the question. Instead, I scroll further down the page.
There’s a record of every action I’ve ever taken in the game. And at the very bottom of the page, in stark red letters framed by ominous black boxes, there are three options:
Delete player account.
Block Ice Knight consideration.
Grant Ice Knight status.