Chapter 21 #4
Bastard. He had shaggy brown hair. Average height but a huge chest. Tattoo sleeves peeked out from under the cuff of his long-sleeved tee.
Avoid him for sure.
“He seems kinda mean.” As Blaize watched the scene, Ray twisted far enough to keep an eye on Savage.
She blinked when he carried her drink into the hallway and turned to the right. Into the bathroom.
What in the world?
Before Blaize noticed where her attention was, she focused on the spanking. “Ouch, she’s not going to be able to sit down for a week.” Wiggling, she added, “I’m going to have problems too. Thanks for that, Sir.”
“Sir is good.” Blaize gripped her hair painfully hard. “I prefer Master.”
“Uh… Yes, Master Wick.” Master Slime-sucking Guttertrash.
“Much better.” He turned. “Ah, here’s your drink.” He sounded so disgustingly smug her hand itched to slap him.
Instead, she accepted her undoubtedly drugged drink from Savage. Holding it to her mouth, she wet her lips and pretended to swallow.
The satisfied gleam in Blaize’s eyes nauseated her.
Her hand trembled so much she almost spilled the drink. I have to—have to—get rid of this.
No convenient flower pot. However, the carpet was a variegated brown shag—and ugly.
“Oh, look, the spanking is done.” She tried to sound disappointed.
Blaize followed her gaze across the room.
Now. She bent and set the glass on the floor beside her foot, sloshing the liquid onto the carpet beneath the couch.
Straightening, she put her hands on her lower back and arched with a groan. “I tell you, woodworking for a living is sure hard on the back.”
Her breasts captured his attention, and he ran his hands over them. Again. “I admire your industry, subbie-girl.”
Gag me.
She giggled, as if the alcohol—and drugs—were hitting. “You’re so funny.”
Picking up her glass, she pretended to drink again, before flopping over his knees. “Maybe you should swat me a couple of times too.”
This time, while wiggling and waving her ass in the air to keep his attention, she spilled the last of the drink beside his foot. With her hand wrapped around the bottom of the glass, she pretended to finish it off. “All done. Spank away.”
He hit her, fairly hard—but at least her jeans made it less painful. Still, she yelped and played it up.
At the front of the room, the innocent club members were starting to leave. Several offered to help with the clean-up and equipment takedown.
Holding the door open, a Dom with dark red hair laughed and said, “We got this. But thanks for offering.”
A harder swat to her sore bottom made Ray half-scream.
“There, that should keep you in line.” Laughing, Blaize helped her sit up.
Damn him. Unlike the spanking with Drake, this one simply hurt. Hurt a lot.
Blaize wiped her face with her shirt. “You’re a real crybaby, aren’t you?”
What a tool. She half-lowered her eyes, whispering, “Sorry, sorry, Master.” How did I act when I was drugged before? From what the other victims reported, the same drugs were used each time, starting out with ecstasy. Rona had told her how it affected people. Time for some acting.
She sniffled, then giggled a little. “I don’t know why I’m crying; I feel so good!” She giggled more. “All full of energy—and you’re so nice to me.” She flung her arms around Blaize, hugging him hard and slurring her words. “You’re just amaishing. So much more commanding than Drake.”
“Yes, I am.” He was so arrogant, she wanted to plant her knee in his balls. “Now let’s—”
Before he could come up with something painful, she squeaked and bounced on the cushions. “Oh, oh, I gotta pee. Before we do anything else. Bathroom first, please, Master?”
Blaize helped her stand, chuckling when she staggered. “First room on the right.”
“Thank you, Mashter.”
The hallway had two doors past the bathroom. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Blaize joining the Doms at the front door. They were sending off the regular club members.
No one was watching her. Marisol, where are you, dammit? She turned the handle on the first door. Unlocked. An empty bedroom.
The door at the end of the hallway was locked. Ha, not a problem. How many doors had she unlocked as a teen when helping Pa in his handyman business?
She even had lock picks to use. Thank you, MacKensie. She reached into her left sock and pulled out the lock picks.
Old building, interior door lock. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. After tucking the lockpicks back in her sock, she silently eased the door open. The dim light from the hallway spilled into the tiny bedroom—and over the woman on the bed. Tied-up, gagged, eyes closed.
Marisol. Ray barely kept from shouting. She glanced around and behind to ensure none of the assholes were around, then hurried inside.
A dark, swelling bruise on Marisol’s cheek sent anger flaring through Ray’s blood. Someone had slapped the girl. Hard. She’d probably wanted to leave, and they decided to drug her and lock her up for later. But thank all the gods, she was still fully dressed.
Ray bent and whispered in her ear, “Hey, Marisol, wake up.” No movement.
A shaking didn’t help much.
“Mmm, mmmh.” Eyes opened, gaze unfocused, and pupils so dilated her brown eyes were black.
Damn, damn, damn. Ray’s worst fears. Drugged. And already falling back asleep. Shallow breathing.
Call 911? No, if Blaize and the other Doms heard sirens, who knew what they’d do to keep an obviously drugged woman from being found? One with restraint marks on her body.
Ray glanced around the room. One narrow window with a bush in front of it. I could get through it with some scratches—but not hauling a limp body. Not quietly.
And then what? If I don’t go back in the living room real soon, Blaize will come looking. Find they’re missing Marisol, and they’d come after us. I wouldn’t get far trying to carry her.
Marisol might be short, but she was solidly built, and she wasn’t a lightweight.
Bending, Ray whispered in her ear, “I can’t rescue you. But others can—and they’re coming. Hang on. Just hang on.”
Tears burned her eyes as she slipped out of the room, relocking the door behind her. Leaving her friend behind.
Lips pressed together to keep from sobbing, Ray walked into the bathroom, closed and locked the door.
Now what? What can I do? Gods, there were too many bad guys here.
Simon or Drake would have to take Marisol to the hospital—or maybe both would leave if she woke up confused or needed medical care on the way.
And there were too many belligerent assholes here for only one man to handle.
What if Alex and Bear couldn’t get out of the traffic jam for… for hours?
Her internal voice felt as if it was shrieking. I’ll be here. Alone.
Fear swept over her, and she started to shake. If they catch me, they’ll do it to me too. Drugged, tied up, assaulted. Again.
I can’t do this. She eyed the window. Get out of here and run. Can’t. Have to get Marisol out.
Breathing hard, she took a moment. Then dropped her pants and sat on the toilet. And was still so scared it was even difficult to pee. While sitting, she worked the mini phone out of the hem pocket Hope had sewn into her jeans.
Such a tiny thing. I can call Drake. Everything inside her needed to hear his voice.
No. Can’t risk the sound. She blew out a breath, checked the sound was off, and texted Simon—the only phone number in the directory.
93515 Hazelwood M in locked back bedroom north side of house. Drugged—pulse weak. Needs hospital. How soon can you get her free?
She stared at the tiny display. Please, please, come soon.
Us-approx fifteen minutes. Will break into back bedroom. Z&A-unsure.
She calculated distances in her head. Drake and Simon must have gotten through the traffic pileup and were getting off the bridge. Bear and Alex must be stuck farther back.
Stupid bridge.
She bit her lip. If there was trouble, they needed Bear and Alex. Because… A couple of the Doms looked really aggressive.
Hell. Okay, girl, play it by ear. It’ll work out.
Her laugh came out bitter. Sure it would.
After replacing the phone in the hem pocket, she washed her hands and…frowned.
Why did the bartender bring my drink in here? How about I make like a detective and search the joint.
The medicine cabinet and counter drawers were empty.
But! Beneath the sink was one of those fireproof safe boxes. Small enough to be portable. I bet they take this to all their “club” party houses.
It was locked, of course.
Hoorah, I’m a master of locks. It only took her a few seconds to get the safe open. Inside the padded box were corked vials. Some labeled MDMA, which was ecstasy. Two vials were empty. Yeah, probably from going into her and Marisol’s drinks. Damn them.
Three were labeled R, probably for Rohypnol. One empty one. The one they used for Marisol?
It kinda seemed a shame for perfectly good drugs to go unused.
No, don’t do it, Ray.
But… The boys would simply lurve to try out their own drugs, right?
Gotta. Just gotta.
She already had her keys and wallet in her tight jeans. The two Rohypnol vials barely fit.
As she walked out, the cool air in the hall wafted over her bare skin, making her far too aware of being half dressed. I hate this.
But—no choice. She needed to keep the men’s attention on her until Simon and Drake or someone got Marisol free. Less than fifteen minutes until help would arrive. Hopefully.
I mustn’t give up yet.
Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t even swallow.
As she entered the living room, Blaize and the remaining Doms were on the front steps with a couple of persistently flirtatious submissives who didn’t want to leave.
Yes! Elder Gods, bless those horny women.
Now how to use these vials?
In the kitchen area, Ray opened the fridge and found ready-to-drink cocktails, including Cutwater tequila margaritas. Score. She set up four glasses, rimmed them with salt, emptied the vials into two of them, swiping some of the salt off to mark them. The canned cocktails went in last.