FIFTEEN

BELLA

When he came staggering down the stairs, I thought for one hideous moment that he was injured again. Then I saw the bottle in his hand. He wasn’t hurt. He was drunk. Or at least he was well on his way to being drunk. He stopped when he reached the bottom of the steps, looking at me as if he was about to say something.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m not.” He walked across to me. “I’ve fucked up, Bella.”

“What? How? Come and sit down a second.”

He sat on the edge of the bed next to me, his face turning to mine as he leaned over. He stared at me for a second too long before muttering, “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“How what was supposed to go?” I felt the anger in my voice. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I need another drink.”

“Join the club.”

“Hang on,” he said, passing me the bottle. “I’ll get some glasses. They say you shouldn’t drink alone.”

I watched him go. There was no stagger to his walk. The effect of the booze was obviously wearing off. He stopped at the top of the stairs. “You want anything else?”

“A book to read?” I asked, wincing as I did so, not sure how he’d react. But he just nodded and headed out of the door. I looked at the bottle. Could I get him drunk enough to let me go? Was it safe out there after what had happened? Was there really someone after me? But could I believe this man? I got the feeling he was just telling me what he needed to in order to keep me where I was. But if that was true, where had the cut on his back come from?

He was back a couple of minutes later, two glasses in his hand and a few books under his arm. Maybe if I got him drunk enough, he’d talk to me, tell me the truth. Then I could decide what to do.

That was the plan anyway. What actually happened was quite different. He passed me a glass and I poured myself half an inch, putting a far more generous measure into his. “To keeping you safe,” he said, tapping his glass against mine.

“To keeping me safe,” I replied, taking a sip. The liquid burned a trail down my throat and I let out an involuntary cough.

“Not used to it?” he asked, draining his drink and reaching for the bottle.

“No, I’m a big drinker,” I replied, taking another sip as he took the bottle and poured more into his glass.

“Liar,” he said, refilling mine. “Bad girls lie. Good girls tell the truth.”

“What about bad boys?” I asked.

“What about them?”

“Do they lie or do they tell the truth?”

“They tell the truth.”

“Then tell me the truth. Why am I really down here?”

“I told you, to keep you safe.”

“But who’s trying to hurt me?”

“Someone bad. Listen, Bella, I would tell you if I could. But I’m not allowed. Hell, I’m not even supposed to talk to you. I’m supposed to leave you down here and just keep you fed until he gets you out of here.”

“Until who gets me out of here?”

“My employer.”

“Who is?”

“Enough with the questions. You don’t get to interrogate me. I’m in charge here.”

“I’m not interrogating you.”

“That’s enough of the lip. Say anything else and there’ll be trouble.”

“But I need to know.”

“Right, that does it. Bend over the bed.”

“Excuse me.”

He snarled at me. “Bend over the bed now.”

Part of me wanted to push him. “Or what,” was on the tip of my tongue. But then I saw that darkness back in his eyes. It scared the hell out of me. I stood up and turned round, bending forwards at the hips, the flat of my hands on the middle of the mattress.

“Don’t move,” he said, moving behind me. I felt him lifting the back of my dress up my hips, revealing my thong. He grabbed it and yanked it down in a single motion. I gasped at the violence of his grasp. My thong slid down to my ankles. By the time it reached the floor he had already spanked me. The sound was deafening but I felt nothing. Then a second later, the stinging pain raced through me, my ass growing hotter as he spanked me again and again, each blow jolting me forwards against the bed. I bit my lip, trying to keep quiet for as long as possible, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing it hurt.

His hand moved from left to right, covering every inch of my ass in harsh slaps. Then he moved lower, the pain increasing as he slapped the tops of my thighs. “Get your legs apart,” he snarled and I obeyed at once, terrified of what he might do if I refused. His hand slapped down on the middle of my pussy and I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. I let out a scream of shock and anguish.

“You’re a bad girl,” he said, his hand back to slapping my ass. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” I said.

“That’s the wrong answer.” Another smack on my pussy. “What are you?”

“A bad girl,” I said, my breath ragged.

“You’re getting wet for me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.”

“Bullshit. I can feel it.” He grabbed my hand and brought it to my pussy, pressing it to my folds. “What do you call that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re fucking wet.” He leaned down to say it, his hand by my ear. The weight of him against me cost me my balance and I fell forwards onto the bed, him landing on top of me.

I was pinned under him as he yanked my legs apart, spanking my left thigh and then my right. I shrieked and squirmed but he just pressed me more firmly downwards. “You’re not supposed to be like this,” he said, smacking my ass again.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Not as sorry as I am,” he replied. “I’m a dead man.”