Nicole

It's dark outside when I wake up and the world has that serene, middle of the night feel to it, even though too many lights are on in the building opposite the hospital for it to be very late. Mark is dressed again, standing by the window and gazing out. The distance between us feels so vast it's as though he's not even in the room, like he's just a figment of my imagination.

He turns to me as I move on the bed, and the love and care in his eyes is unmistakable, renders all distance pointless. Yet all that is encased in ice, transparent but thick, I realize once he walks over and just stands over me, his hands by his sides.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"Better…good," I reply, blinking up at him, because for some reason I want to cry, even though I'm perfectly safe and warm here, and Mark's standing right next to me. Close enough to hold.

But that's just it. We're not touching, because I freaked out the last time he tried.

"I have to go out for awhile," he says, staring so deep into my eyes I feel bolted to the bed. And I know he wants to be with me, in all ways, hot and tender, now and always. But he's not so much as brushing the hair off my face.

"Do you have to?" I whisper. And the desperation in my voice almost makes me cringe.

"Yes. This can't wait," he says and a fire lights in his eyes. Anger is the only way I can describe it. But it's not for me, is it? "I'll leave my men here to make sure you're safe."

I actually whimper at the word ‘safe’, and the anger flees from his eyes, replaced by care so liquid I could drown in it.

"I'll be back soon," he assures me.

I grab his hand in both of mine as he turns to leave.

"OK," I mutter, but I don't release him. Because I feel like I've waited forever just to hold his hand, and I'm not ready to let go yet.

He's just standing there too, letting me hold his hand, his whole face so unreadable he might as well be a stranger.

He finally pries my fingers off gently and takes back his hand. "You'll be fine, Nicole. Get some more sleep."

But he sounds more like he's assuring himself not me, and he's gone by the time I think to open my mouth and reply.

The nighttime serenity is broken now, and I can hear people walking in the hall, machines beeping, the traffic hissing and sirens blaring outside the window. And despite all the noise, the terror of being locked in that dingy, silent, cold room in the middle of the woods returns, suffocating me. I lunge off the bed, wince as the IV needle gets ripped from my arm. But the pain doesn't stop me from running to the door and opening it wide.

Thompson, the guy Mark had guarding me before Charles abducted me, is standing in the doorway, his eyes wide in concern. "What's wrong, Ms. West?"

I just shake my head. All I needed was for the door to be open, to know I could escape.

His eyes travel down my arm. "You're bleeding. I'll call a nurse."

I follow his gaze to the floor where the blood trickling down my arm is forming a tiny puddle. I came so close to dying in a puddle of blood much larger than this. And that's the puddle I'm seeing now.

The room sways under my feet and this time I can't stay upright. But Thompson catches me, carries me to the bed, yelling for the nurse, a very clear note of panic in his voice.

"Just rest now," he tells me as he pulls the covers over me. "Mr. Cross would lose it if something happened to you."

Then the nurse is reattaching my IV, telling me not to rip it out again. Something cool flows into me through the needle, flooding my awareness, turning everything black and cold, like that forest. But I don't see any images as I drift off to a sleep I can’t fight.

* * *

Mark

They locked up Charles in the slaughterhouse of the former meatpacking plant I own upstate. I bought it a few weeks ago, since the place is ideal for building condos to sell to rich people wanting to live just outside the city. Haven't had time to begin developing it yet though.

But that's not what I'm thinking about right now. I'm thinking of all those rusty metal hooks still hanging up in some of the rooms. And how I'll use them to add the smell of new blood to the rotting stench of old blood still permeating the slaughterhouse. Reynard’s blood.

The stark terror in Nicole's eyes as she fought me off this morning wasn't fear of me. I know that. Or a part of me does. Because it was me she fought, yelled and screamed and couldn't calm down. The rejection felt like a kick to the stomach, or more like ten of them. I'm still in pain. Because Reynard terrorized her, possibly broke her, and I don't know if I can help her get better. Because I have nothing but darkness, hatred and anger, and if her light goes out there's no hope for either of us.

Pierre's waiting for me by the entrance, his gaunt face illuminated by the stark white floodlight over it. It serves to cast shadows more than reveal his features and makes his new cast glow a soft blue.

"Have you questioned him yet?" I bark as I stride past him into the building.

"No," Pierre says, falling in step. "Which hasn't stopped him from spewing all sorts of shit this whole time. I had to gag him."

I let Pierre get in front of me to lead the way, since I don't know exactly where Reynard is being held. Though following the manic moaning and muffled screams, along with the three guys guarding a single door would be enough to find it.

The room where Reynard is held is one of the smaller ones in the basement, and reeks of rotten old meat. He's handcuffed to a wooden chair in the center of it, a blood soaked white cloth in his mouth. But despite the bruises, scratches, and scabs on his face and chest, his eyes are alive, burning with a hatred so powerful and all consuming it's unnerving.

I'll wipe that shit from his eyes, fill it with terror before I'm done here. I'd kill him right now, but I need to find out which of my friends was working with him, see if they're still a threat. And he has to pay for what he did to Nicole and Melanie first.

He's perfectly silent and still, his eyes boring into mine as I walk over and yank the gag from his mouth.

"Come to have a pleasant conversation, Mark?" he spits at me. "Seems you are a every bit the pussy I always knew you were. How about you release me and give me back what you stole from me? Because we both know you won't harm me. Your new girlfriend wouldn’t like that."

I punch him hard in the jaw, the contact jarring me all the way to my shoulder, but I feel no pain.

"Who took those pictures of Melanie?" I ask, surprised I can keep my voice this icy when talking about her.

"Melanie, ah, yes, she was a beauty," Charles says, bubbles of blood popping on his lips. "Ever wonder how I knew exactly what to do with her?"

He whipped her before he killed her to fuck with me even more. That's all I need to know.

"I watched you doing those kinds of things to her," he continues. "Sick, I thought, but I rather enjoyed playing with her in the end. Do you think she thought of you as I laid the lashes across her back? I bet she did. But perhaps not in a good way."

I'm seeing red, nausea welling up from my stomach. I don't even feel the punch I land on his mouth this time. And a huge part of me wants to just keep going, keep hitting him until none of his face remains. But I need information from him.

"Who took the pictures?" I repeat once he manages to focus his eyes on mine again.

"The only thing I regret is not getting started on your journalist girlfriend sooner. Then she'd at least remember me each time you touched her that way. You're a sick man, hitting women, getting pleasure from whipping them."

I hit him so hard the chair topples over, his head bouncing off the concrete floor.

My hands are shaking, and the room is all jagged and blurry. Because he succeeded in turning Nicole away from me just fine. But it's too late to lament that. Just as it's too late to wish he never came into my life. All that I have to do now is make sure Nicole is safe. Or as safe as she can ever be with me.

I pick up the chair and set him upright, tell Pierre to bring me a bucket of cold water.

"You'll kill him this way, Mark," he complains. "Then we'll never know who was helping him."

But a glare from me is enough to hurry him along and come back a few moments later with the water. I toss it over Charles' face, some of the blood it washes off landing on my clothes.

"Tell me who was helping you, or get ready for a very long and painful wait for death," I hiss, forcing him to look at me by grabbing his jaw.

He laughs, droplets of his blood and spit landing everywhere. "Just try tying her up. I bet you'll get a lot of terror out of her now. That's what turns you on, right? So really, I did you a favor."

Inspiring terror in women never turned me on, and my stomach clenches as Nicole's wide-open eyes right before she started screaming this morning swim before my eyes.

Pierre grabs my arm before it can connect with Charles' jaw. And I fight him, but someone's helping him, and they manage to drag me out into the hall.

"What the fuck?" I snap when they release me and turn back to the door, but Pierre blocks me.

"He's pushing your buttons and it's working, Mark. You'll kill him, and that's what he wants," Pierre explains. "But that's not what you want. Go back to Nicole and let me handle this. I'll get him to talk."

He's matching me glare for glare this time, and I'm the first to back down. Because he's right. I want to be with Nicole. I need to be with her. There's only one more thing I have to get from Reynard and then he'll be wiped out of my life. And I'm sure Pierre can get that information just as easily as I can.

"Fine, but I kill him, no one else," I hiss and leave.

* * *

Nicole

"But I feel fine," I complain after the hospital psychiatrist explains it'd be best if I take it easy for a few more days. "I just want to get back to work."

And my life. But I don't add that, because it sounds naive and childish even inside my head.

Mark's standing at the foot of my bed looking at me so intently, I feel the force of his gaze like sunlight on my cheek.

"What you went through was very traumatic," the doctor explains. "You're still in shock now, but it will surface soon."

It's already surfaced, I can't deny that. And as much as I want Mark to touch me, take me, I'm not sure I can stand it. And it's killing me inside.

"I'd keep you here if I could," the doctor says. "But you'll be more comfortable at the Four Oaks Facility."

The doctor and Mark exchange a look, nodding at each other curtly. So I nod too. Because as much as I want to go back to my normal life as soon as possible, there's a deep and tumultuous well of panic inside me, which I'm afraid will spill over and drown me as soon as I step foot outside the safety of this hospital.

I've been here for two days now, mostly sleeping, so it's easy to pretend everything is alright out there. But it might not be. Mark's been here with me most of the time too. But he never did anything more than hold my hand and sit beside the bed. I didn't ask him to do more either.

He brought a pair of my old bootcut jeans and a baggy sweater for me to wear. I want to be dressed in something sexier for him, but at the same time, the familiar safety of wearing my old clothes is welcome too.

I don't mean to, but I tense as he slides his arm around my shoulders on the way out the door. He removes it immediately, and the request for him to hold me dies on my lips. Because I don't know if I should let him, don't know how my twisted mind will react to it.

"So, where is this Four Oaks place?" I ask once I'm sitting beside him in his car. Why do these nursing homes always have such whimsical names? I wonder if they actually have four oaks planted there just so the name makes sense. They probably do.

"Upstate," he says, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Will my insurance cover it?" I ask.

"You don't have to worry about that." He glances at me as he says it, such a lost, faraway look in his eyes I nearly tear up.

And because I'm very close to crying, I don't say anything more, and neither does he.

It was sunny when we left the hospital, but the sky's overcast once we reach the facility, a freezing wind picking up.

The nurse smiles a lot as she leads us to my room, which is more like a suite, with a large living room, and a separate bedroom. The living room is all done up in lovely, calming pastel colors and everything, from the curtains to the sofas has either skirts or frills, or both. The living room opens onto a small garden separated off from the rest of the grounds by a low stone wall.

"We hope you'll enjoy your stay here," the nurse says and I just nod, then watch the door close behind her.

This place has a serene, dreamlike feel to it and I get the unsettling feeling like I'm not really here. Like maybe I died in that forest, but just don't know it yet.

"How long will I have to stay here?" I ask Mark who's still standing by the door holding my suitcase.

"Until you get better," he says. And it sounds like a command, but at the same time not at all.

"I think I should just get back to my normal life," I say, strolling over to the patio doors. "That way we can put all this behind me as soon as possible."

I feel him approach by the rising heat. But then he just stands there next to me, not touching me. "You need to rest."

"Do I? Will the police come out here to question me?" Anger at Charles for destroying the hope of closeness between Mark and me lends fire to my question.

"Don't worry about that right now," Mark mutters, checking whether the patio door is locked firmly.

I round on him, my anger taking the last trace of sadness with it. "I want him to pay for what he did to me. To us."

A dangerous light flashes across Mark's eyes, but it's a cold flame. "He'll pay. I'll make sure of it."

"But the cops have to take my statement," I counter. "Did they collect any evidence off me at the hospital? I don't remember them doing that."

I don't really know how the process of collecting evidence is supposed to work, though I've seen a few TV shows on the subject.

"They'll do their job," Mark says and carries my suitcase over to the bed. "Why don't you get some rest now?"

I am tired, but I'm also tense, jittery, aching to do something to make this right, make it the past, make it so Mark will hold me again.

I follow him to the bedroom, slide my arm down his back as he's bending over and opening the suitcase. He flinches, but it's a barely perceptible motion.

"I'm sorry this happened," I whisper. “I know it must have been horrifying for you to find me like that. In the same way as your wife was killed.”

The sudden breeze as he turns fills my nose with his cologne, along with the baser, inviting smell that's his alone. His palms are cupping my cheeks, his touch hot and soft. "No, Nicole. I'm the one who's sorry that you had to experience that. It was all my fault."

And his voice is so firm, yet so blindingly desperate I sway.

"Why did it happen?" I ask, tears accumulating in my eyes.

"Because I stole something from the last person on earth I should've stolen from," he says, defeat strong in his tone.

"Charles mentioned money," I mutter, the words sticking in my throat.

He gazes into my eyes like he's trying to decide something. Then he releases me, sits down on the edge of the bed and gazes off into the distance. But I know he's not seeing the living room, that he's seeing something much farther away than that.

I sit down too, lean against him and rest my head on his shoulder. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

I don't really have to know. Learning his secret won't change anything between us. I love him, and that's all I need to know.

He grips my hand and squeezes. "Not money. Diamonds. A lot of diamonds. Our unit found a stash during a raid on a rebel compound. Me and Reynard were the only ones who knew about them, and I stole them all from him. It was the single worst mistake of my life."

"That's where your money came from?" I ask pointlessly, remembering how none of the reporters covering his story were ever able to come across this information.

He squeezes my hand again. "Yes. I was young and arrogant, and thought I could get away with it."

"You did," I mutter.

"But at what cost?"

I know he means me, but he's also talking about his wife, the escort, Lucy.

"Just the threat of that would've been enough for me to give it all back," he says quietly, and I don't doubt his conviction, not even a little bit.

So I just slide my free hand over his and squeeze too.

"What's done is done," I hear myself say, and I'm not sure I mean it. Because it’s not a simple thing, not something that will ever truly be alright. "But we have each other." And I know I mean that.

"Do we?" he asks, moving so my head slides off his shoulder, and looks down at me.

"Yes," I whisper, wishing I could sound surer of myself.

But this fear I have of him will fade, it has to. So I lean forward and kiss him, feel the tension leave his body. And all is well in this moment, no regret marring the soft kisses we exchange, his lips hot and firm under mine. Because I won't let anything spoil this for us, not ever.

I don't know how long we stay like that, with our arms around each other, just kissing softly, the fiery passion we once shared merely a promise somewhere beyond this slow-burning love.

"I should go now," he says later, once I'm just resting against his chest, his words reverberating through me.

"Do you have to?" I whisper. It's getting dark outside and this suite doesn't look as harmless and serene anymore. Shadows are sticking to everything, and it feels emptier than an abandoned house. The thought of having to spend the night here by myself makes my eyes burn with imminent tears.

"I won't be far," he assures me. "There's a motel close by."

He disengages from me and stands up, straightening his sweater and opening my suitcase with his foot. "You need to rest anyway."

He pulls my ratty flannel pajamas from the suitcase, offering them to me.

Tears are a hard ball in my throat, but I'm not sad. "You didn't pack anything sexier for me?"

He grins, but it's small, barely perceptible. "I wanted you to be comfortable."

I'm moved beyond words, but I still manage a thank you as I take the pajamas from his hands and stand up.

"I love you, Nicole," he whispers, and I fall into his arms so hard he almost loses his balance.

"I love you too, Mark," I mumble into his chest as he hugs me tighter than anyone ever has.

"And I won't let anyone hurt you again," he adds. "Least of all me."

"You won't hurt me," I mutter.

* * *

Mark

"He's not talking yet, Mark," Pierre informs me. "But he will."

We're standing in front of the door, and he's blocking me from entering. I'm very close to shoving him aside.

"I'll have another try," I hiss. "Your way is clearly not working."

"Perhaps you're right," he muses, matching my glare. "But I have someone coming in who can get information from a dead man. Or so I hear."

"Torture? Is that where we're at now?" I ask. "If anyone does that, it'll be me. Now get out of my way."

He doesn't though, so I step around him and enter the building, don't let a single thought linger all the way to the basement room. All the love I have for Nicole is wrapped up tight inside the black, toxic ball of hatred I feel for the man tied to the chair there. Because while I can kiss her and hold her, and profess my love for her, I can't have her the way I want her, willing and able to submit to my fantasies of control and domination. All because of Reynard. So, yes, he will pay.

Me have control and dominance? What a joke! I never had either. My whole life was always run by someone else. First my father, then the wardens at the reform school, the officers in the army, and finally this sick psycho. I can pretend none of that's true, but what's the point anymore? I'm just dancing to someone else's tune. And Reynard's taken away the one person who was willing to pretend with me. The only person I could truly let inside my heart.

Reynard’s face is a mess of black and blue flesh, and caked blood. I'd like to imagine the flash in his half closed eye is fear at seeing me, but his cold chuckle tells me different.

"Come to finish the job, Mark?" he mumbles. "It's about time."

"Tell me who helped you. Who took the pictures of Melanie?" I ask.

"This again?" he spits. "I'm not telling you anything. Loyalty is what I always demanded, and I am giving no less. Not that you would know much about loyalty."

I punch him hard and he gurgles in pain, but the venom shooting from his eyes as he looks back at me is just as strong as it was before.

"If you'd shown loyalty to me, you'd have gotten your share," he mumbles. "And then you could have your cute little girlfriend tied up somewhere right now. Hell, you could have your wife tied up too. But now one is dead, and the other fears you."

He's shooting in the dark with this talk, but it's still hitting all the marks. I'm not even seeing red anymore, just nothing at all as I drag him out the door, chair and all, up the stairs and to the room with the hooks.

I no longer need any answers from him, I just want him to suffer. To die in pain and blood the way Melanie died, the way Nicole almost did.

The guards are saying something, and then Pierre's running towards me, shouting, but their words don’t register.

"Unchain him," I bark at the man closest to me. Yell it when he doesn't comply right away.

He looks at Pierre for confirmation, and it's good for him that he shrugs and nods.

Reynard tries to fight me off as he's set loose, but he has no hope of succeeding. I'm stronger than ten men right now, and completely bent on destroying him. No other thought exists in my mind.

I attach his arms to the meat hook by ramming it through his palm. His scream of pain is more animal than human. But that's to be expected. He's not human. He's the devil.

"Tell us what we want to know?" Pierre hisses at him, perhaps sensing this could be the last chance to get the information.

"So he can go home and comfort his girlfriend in peace?" Reynard says through gritted teeth. "No, thank you."

I punch him in the stomach, making him howl. I do it again. And again. My hatred of him is fueling the punches now, I have no conscious control left.

And I don't stop until my men drag me away.

"He's passed out," Pierre says. "Can't tell you anything now."

And I fight them so I can hit Reynard some more, but they're holding me too tightly.

"Leave him like this," I say when I finally settle down. "There's more for him when he wakes up."

"He could be dead already," Pierre muses, and pauses as he checks Reynard's neck for a pulse. "But he isn't."

"Just don't take him down," I repeat myself, shake off the guys holding me and stride out.

I need to be with Nicole right now, because I'm floating so far away from sanity that I fear even her presence might not be enough to ground me.

* * *

Nicole

Mark's sleeping on one of the skirted armchairs in the living room when I wake up the next morning. The sky outside is a chrome grey, and the room is warm, yet the light makes it all seem very hospital like, morgue like even.

Why didn't he wake me? Why didn't he share my bed?

The knuckles of his right hand are swollen to twice their normal size I notice as I sit on the sofa across from him. He looks older than he ever did too, like he just aged ten years in the space of one night. And he must be cold.

So I go back into the bedroom, find a blanket in one of the closets and cover him. He grabs my wrist as I do, fire shooting from his eyes as though he wasn't sound asleep just a few seconds ago.

"Sorry," I mutter, trying not to shake. "I thought you might be cold. I didn't mean to wake you."

He stands, his fingers digging into my wrist, and the manic look still in his eyes. But I know this look. It's the one he gets right before he ties me up and takes me, on his terms, demanding my complete and utter surrender. And a pleasant warmth floods my belly at the memory, my pussy twitching and growing wet. But terror is still a deep, horrifying well in my chest, a large gaping wound too huge to ignore.

"Sorry, I can't," I mutter.

His arm twitches, but he doesn't release me. "You sure? What if I ordered you?"

I whimper at the cold command in his voice, because I've never said no to him when he’s using that tone, and I'm not sure I know how.

He removes the need for my answer by releasing my arm and pulling me into a hug, his breath hot on my hair. "I won't force you."

I don't say anything, just enjoy his hard, confident body pressed into mine, his strong arms around me. I'm trying to stop shaking, but failing.

"What if I never can again, Mark?" I whisper so softly I hardly hear it myself.

"We'll figure it out," he answers just as softly.

"Could you…" I start to say, but the rest lodges in my throat because it's too scary to contemplate right now. On top of everything else it's downright terrifying. But I need to know. "Could you be with me if I couldn't do those things with you?"

The silence that answers my question makes my whole chest cramp up.

"We'll figure it out," he repeats, more firmly than before. But also more coldly. Like he's already given up on me. So I hold him even tighter, because I won't give him up. I'll never do that.

* * *

A nurse comes to call me to breakfast just before eight. She frowns at Mark who's just getting out of the shower, but doesn't say anything to him.

"And after breakfast, you have an appointment with Dr. Salinas," she tells me with a forced smile. "Someone will show you the way."

I nod along and try to smile too, but I'm sure she sees the fakeness in it.

"Will you be here when I get back?" I ask Mark once she's gone.

"I'll be here tonight," he assures me, walking closer.

He's naked save for the towel wrapped around his hips, and my body responds to the sight of his wide chest, chiseled abs, strong muscular arms, but the person feeling the attraction seems very far away. We spent the last two hours in bed together, kissing some, but mostly just holding each other. And it was pleasant, relaxing, sweet beyond compare, but I know he wanted more. So did I. But I'm too afraid I'll just have another screaming fit if we do anything more than kiss.

He didn't press for more either, which hurts in a whole different way. Like all this is just a prolonged goodbye while I heal.

I help him get his shirtsleeve on over the bandage covering his bicep, but I let him button it himself.

Then, after another long, slow kiss that's lacking any fire, holds only love, he's gone.

I hardly touch my breakfast. The other patients are all sitting at their tables like they're the only ones in the room and I do the same.

I've never needed therapy and I don't now, is playing on a loop inside my head as another nurse escorts me to my appointment.

Dr. Salinas is a black haired older lady, who must have been a stunner when she was younger. Hell, she's still gorgeous.

"Have a seat, Ms. West," she says as I enter, pointing to a sofa in the corner of her office.

But I don't lie down on it, that would be too much of a cliché. I sit on one of the armchairs instead.

She sits on the armchair opposite me. "Is there something you would like to ask me before we begin?"

"How long will I have to stay here?" I blurt out.

"For as long as you need to," she says, jotting something down on her pad.

"I think I'm ready to go home," I tell her, and meet her eyes as she looks at me over her glasses. "I mean, I was only kidnapped for a day and I got away before anything really bad happened to me."

That's the other thing that's been playing through my head for the last couple of days. Why am I such a mess, when I got off so easy?

"What happened to you was a very traumatic experience," she tells me, clicking her pen closed and setting it on the coffee table between us, along with her pad. "It takes the mind some time to process it fully. And the length of your abduction has little to do with the effects of it on your psyche."

She's right about that. I can't even think of having sex with Mark without seeing myself strung up in that tree.

"How do I heal?" I mutter.

"By taking care of yourself," she says and smiles. "And talking."

"I'm ready to speak to the police about it," I say. "I think that'll help me get to terms with it faster."

She squints at me, then adjusts her glasses. "I would advise against it, since it's too soon. But we've received no official request for you to do so."

"They must have spoken to someone at the hospital, though, right?"

She shrugs. "I wasn't informed about that. I would suggest you first speak with me about your experience."

I lean back and cross my legs, lacing my arms over my chest. "I was an idiot, what else can I say? I trusted the wrong man, and didn't trust the right one, and I almost paid for it with my life."

I choke a little on the last words, the fear of dying engulfing me like I'm still locked in that room, all alone with little hope of escaping.

"You were following a lead for an article when you were abducted, if I understand correctly," Dr. Salinas says and I nod, still unable to speak.

"So you were just doing your job. You aren't to blame for what happened to you."

But she doesn't know everything. I was to blame. Yet I can't tell her why, because the truth of that could still ruin Mark's career, or even get him arrested.

"I keep reliving what I went through," I mutter. "It's like I'm still stuck there, or a part of me is, anyway."

She smiles and picks up her pad again. "That's a normal reaction, Ms. West. Everything you are feeling is a normal reaction. Those feelings will fade in time. I could prescribe some medication."

I shake my head. I've never taken pills and I don't want to start now.

"Then I would suggest some mindful meditation, and gentle yoga," she says, checking her watch. "There's a class in half an hour, which I think you should attend. We will speak more when you are ready."

"OK," I say, getting up.

But I don't think yoga or talking to her will help. What I need to do is make sure Charles is locked up for good. Sure I was abducted, but it was such a freak occurrence, and lasted a very short time. I should suck it up and get on with my life. All this talking and feeling sorry for myself isn't helping at all, it's just making it worse.

* * *

I did attend the yoga meditation class, but I couldn't calm myself to anywhere near the level the teacher wanted us too. My heart was racing throughout, and weird tingles appeared all over my body each time she said to relax.

I'm still hyper now, hours later, like I just took a high power aerobics class. I've been sitting in the living room of my suite since lunch, wearing just a bathrobe and nothing underneath. Mark didn't even pack a single sexy piece of underwear for me. And the thought galls, even though I know it shouldn't.

I'm still convinced my reaction to the therapy was the right one. I want Mark, in any way he wants me. That hasn't changed. It just got muddied. And I think the best way to get through this is to face it head on, get back on the horse.

So tonight when he comes over, I'll let him tie me up. Punish me for disobeying him, running from the guards and getting myself into the mess with Charles. He can use the belt of the bathrobe to restrain me, or his belt if he wants to. I can handle it. I'm strong and willing. And I want to please Mark, want to submit to him, let him dominate me. Charles tying me up in the middle of the forest didn't take any of that away from me.

But Mark hasn't called yet, even though I left several messages that he should.

A knock sounds and I get up hastily, fix the most inviting look on my face I can manage, as I tell whoever it is to come in. But it's just the nurse telling me dinner is about to be served.

I'm not hungry, but I barely touched lunch and maybe I should eat. So I dress reluctantly and go to dinner. My phone starts vibrating just as I'm about to leave again, the fear of trying to sleep by myself in that room mounting.

"Are you coming?" I ask as soon as I pick up.

"In a while," Mark mutters, sounding very far away, but eager all the same. "I'm taking care of something."

"Can it wait?" I ask, trying to sound seductive, but it comes out desperate.

He sighs, and something rustles in the background, like he's rubbing his chin the way he sometimes does when deciding something.

"Yeah," he finally mutters. "It can wait."

But he doesn't give me a time, so I spend another hour or so sitting by the window, naked under the robe, thinking of nothing.

When the door finally opens, I'm more sleepy than anything else.

He flips on the light as he enters. "Why are you sitting here in the dark, Nicole?"

I stand up and don't adjust the fold of my robe, so it's plainly obvious I'm wearing nothing underneath. "Waiting for you."

My voice is hoarse from disuse, which works to make it sounds sultry and seductive. I smile at him as I say it, looking down at my chest, and pull the belt open slowly.

"I've disobeyed you, Mark," I whisper and look up at him without raising my head.

The light in his eyes is moonlight reflecting off a knife's blade. But this time the fear that rises in my chest is firmly opposed by my desire for Mark and kept at bay.

He closes the distance between us in a few long strides, but stops short of touching me. "Are you sure?"

I nod, biting down on my lower lip and smiling at the same time. But his touch is gentle as he slides the robe off my shoulders, groaning as my nakedness comes into view. I tremble as he slides his hand down my neck and cups my breast in his palm, flicking his thumb over my nipple. They're both erect and tingling, ready for whatever plans he has.

His hand slides down further, over my belly and my hips. I gasp as he pulls me to him by my lower back and kisses me, waking the lingering pain in my split lip. The passionate fire in his kiss is undeniable now, as is the soft undercurrent of love. I lose myself in the push and pull of it, the soft waves of my desire for him rising higher and higher, crashing down, returning grander.

He picks me up by grabbing my ass without breaking the kiss, and I wrap my legs around his hips, my fingers tangled in his hair. If I think of nothing else but his arms around me, his tongue playing with mine in my mouth I am fine. I will always be fine.

He carries me to the bed and sets me down gently, then just looks at me, his gaze waking flashes of warmth all over my skin wherever it touches.

But he looks tired, lost, years older than he is. I wish to see the cold, commanding Mark, the one in control, but he's not here tonight. And that's just fine too.

I sit up and pull him down on top of me by his collar, kissing him again. He returns it with fervor, his weight pushing me into the mattress, letting me know all is well, and always will be.

He's kissing me with wild abandon, the kind he hasn't showed yet, free from all restraint. And it's contagious, until I feel as though we're two high school sweethearts freshly in love, and like he didn't say no to me all those years ago. This is our second chance and no one and nothing, not even a crazy psycho will take that away from us.

But it ends too soon. He stands and rips open his shirt, then taking it off. He unbuckles his belt next, and I sigh in anticipation, but fear too, because I don't want to be immobilized. He doesn't yank it from the loops, just grins at me as he unzips his pants and pulls them down.

"There'll be time for punishments later," he says. "You're not ready yet."

He can read me so well it makes my head spin and takes my breath. And if I wasn't before, I'm now certain beyond a shred of doubt that my trust in him was never misplaced.

I giggle as he spreads my legs and kneels between them. His hot breath licks my clit, right before his tongue does the same. He alternates between slow gentle licks, piercing bites, and kisses, until all I know is my need for release from these mounting, suffocating waves of pure, searing pleasure. I'm clutching the bed sheets so hard my nails are bending, desire rising so hard and strong I can think of nothing else but my need for him.

I moan as his tongue finds the sensitive bud, heat so searing it's cold exploding from my pussy in every direction. But I keep perfectly still, don't try to hurry him along by bucking my hips, because I know he doesn't like that.

"Please," I can't help but moaning though.

"Please what?" he asks, his voice firm and commanding, just like I wanted to hear it.

"Please fuck me," I say, smiling at him with my eyes half closed.

He needs no urging as he stands up, lifts my hips off the bed so my needy pussy is level with his cock, using his forearms to spread my legs wide. I sigh as the wide head of his cock presses into my hole, and he grins at me, pulling my hips forward and thrusting in at the same time. I scream out as I come undone from just that single thrust, the intensity of my orgasm surprising me.

The billion burning specks left by the explosive orgasm all over my entire body, are already converging again, building into an explosion even greater than the one I just survived. I'm gasping, trying to catch my breath as he pounds into me, holding my hips up, preventing any escape as he takes his pleasure. The explosion comes again, taking my sight and my mind, and I'm coming over and over, the last orgasm hardly fading before another, bigger, hotter consumes me.

And a tiny part of my mind is aware that I'm making too much noise and that everyone in this retreat must know exactly what we're doing. But I don't care.

I'm filled with white fire and it's burning away all my fears, all my doubts, healing me in ways no medicine, no amount of talking or yoga ever could.

* * *

I wake up at dawn ensconced in Mark's arms. He's not sleeping though, just staring straight ahead, with a look so glassy it sends my heart racing in fright.

"What's the matter, Mark?" I mumble, looking up at him.

His eyes flick to mine, but lose none of the glassiness. Nor does he answer my question. But I know he wants to tell me things, I can feel it in my belly.

"You didn't surrender Charles to the police, did you?" I whisper, not even sure where my certainty is coming from, but I feel that too deep in my soul.

He purses his lips like he's trying not to answer, but I think we both know that's a lost cause.

"Did you kill him?" I ask, the cold woken by the mere thought of it making me shiver. I know he's killed people, in the army he must have, but he's not a coldblooded murderer. I'm certain of that too, especially now that I faced one myself.

"Not yet," he says so quietly I'm not even sure I heard him.

I lunge up and stare down at him, my lip quivering. "Don't, Mark. He's not worth a lifetime of regret."

His eyes lose the glassiness in a flash of black flame. "He's already given me a lifetime of regret. What's killing him for revenge on top of that?"

I don't know the answer, and a part of me is certain Charles deserves to die. But I'm terrified neither of us would return from that whole.

"You disapprove?" he asks, his lips curling up and his eyes boring so deep into me it's like he's looking right through me.

"I know you're not a murderer, Mark," I whisper. "And I don't think you should let Charles make you one. Hasn't he done enough harm? I'll testify against him. He told me what he did in detail. And I'm sure they found his DNA on me. He'll get locked up for a long time."

"That's what I thought the last time, when they locked him up in Africa for Melanie's murder," Mark says, shaking his head. "But he got out."

"He won't this time!"

Mark just gazes at me after I say it, like he's trying to make a decision. And I'm shaking now, hoping he'll make the correct one.

"You're right," he finally says, flings the blanket off and gets up, then searches in his coat pocket for the phone.

Shadows and light attach themselves to his naked body in the most enticing way as he stands by the patio door, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hand Reynard over to the police," he says harshly to whoever picked up on the other end then pauses to listen.

"I don't care how, Pierre," he barks after awhile. "Just make sure they can't tie his injuries to me. Fake a car crash or something, figure it out."

I wrap the blanket around me and try to keep from shivering.

"OK, it's done," he says once he hangs up. But he doesn't move from his spot by the window. "Not sure it really is the right thing to do though."

"It is," I assure him and lower the blanket.

And if nothing else, the lightness in his step as he comes back to bed tells me I'm right.

* * *

Dr. Salinas, a nurse and two orderlies walk into the room as soon as the sun rises. Mark is dressing, getting ready to leave, and I'm sitting in bed wrapped in my robe wishing he didn't have to.

"I'm sorry, but I will have to ask you both to leave," Dr. Salinas says. "This is a place of healing, not debauchery."

I feel my cheeks grow hot, and I don't think I've ever been this embarrassed. I also don't think I've ever heard anyone use the word 'debauchery' in actual conversation.

Mark is struck speechless too, though judging from the storm clouds gathering in his eyes, he's about to argue her point.

"You're right, of course," I say to forestall it. "I was going to check myself out today anyway."

Dr. Salinas nods curtly. "I'll give you the names of a few good psychiatrists, and I strongly urge you to see one."

I nod, but I already know I won't be calling any of them. Mark is all I need. And I think I finally have him all to myself.

I start throwing my clothes into the suitcase as soon as the door closes behind them. "Let's go back to the hotel."

Mark wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. "How about we go home?"

I blink a few times, trying to figure out what he means.

"The apartment?" I finally say. "But it's not even furnished yet."

I can't tell how I really feel about moving in with him so soon, but it's not a bad feeling so I won't argue.

"Don't get mad, but I hired people to do that," he says in the most sheepish voice I've ever heard him use. "I know you wanted us to do it together, but I got sick of living in a hotel room."

"Well, I hope they picked nice furniture," I say trying to sound chiding, but really, with my lack of decorating skills and our busy lifestyles, we could've ended up eating off the floor for the foreseeable future.

* * *

Judging by the living area, the decorators did an amazing job, and I can't keep the awe off my face as I stroll into the apartment. It looks like something out of a magazine, but cozy and homely too, like a place I could grow old in.

I lose all pretense of trying to find fault in it as I explore all the rooms, each nicer than the last.

"You approve, I see," Mark says from somewhere behind me, as I'm admiring the master bedroom. The bed alone is majestic, with a black leather frame, and it’s big enough for a whole family to sleep in. All my suitcases are lined up next to the huge walk-in closet, which I will be claiming as my own.

"I do," I breathe and walk past him back out into the hall.

The only room I haven't checked yet is the one he meant to reserve for our playroom. The dark oak door to it is closed, and my heart is skipping somewhere in my throat as I approach it. I know Mark is watching me very closely, because I can feel his gaze like a raging forest fire all along my back, even though I'm still wearing my coat.

I throw the door open wide before I can change my mind. The room is completely empty, just as it was that first night.

"This one we decorate ourselves," he says, and I turn to find him standing right behind me.

I smile at him over my shoulder, and take a step inside. "I agree."

The memory of what we did in this room is so vivid, it's like I'm watching it replaying on TV. Inside me, the burning anticipation of reliving that memory is warring with fear of coming unhinged again, like I did in the hospital room.

But neither is winning, and the battle is making the floor wobble beneath my feet. Mark's still standing in the doorway, his gaze fixed on mine, his face an unreadable mask. Yet the charged tension between Mark and me is so taut I'm sure it'll bring this whole building down when it snaps.

His eyes change color, turn black and glassy, and I actually gasp in anticipation.

"You should've have obeyed me, Nicole," he says in that cold, commanding voice I missed, shutting the door behind him. "Are you ready to atone for it?"

I just nod, biting down on my quivering bottom lip.

"Strip," he orders and I obey immediately, tossing my clothes on the floor at my feet.

He walks over to me once I'm done, and I shiver under his cold, penetrating, predatory gaze. But it's not in fear, and never will be again.

He yanks his belt out of the loops of his pants, and my sigh matches the whoosh it makes.

"Down on your knees," he orders and I comply, wincing as the friction of my skin against the hardwood floor burns.

He walks behind me. "Hands to the back."

I gasp as he ties my wrists together in the small of my back, fear of being immobilized and helpless blinding me for a second. But I trust Mark and know he won't hurt me, and that's what this is about too. It's the only therapy I need.

"Lean forward," he orders, and even though I have no idea how I'll manage it without the use of my hands I obey without a second thought.

He yanks on the belt when I've gone far enough, holds me in place, the belt digging into my wrists as gravity pulls me down. But I don't move to lessen the pressure because I know that's not what he wants.

He caresses my ass, bringing my awareness to just how vulnerable I am in this position, because my back is bent in such a way I'd hurt myself if I tried to stand now. I'm his for the taking. And I love it.

"What did you do wrong?" he asks, his voice harsh yet controlled.

"I disobeyed your wishes," I mutter.

He slaps my ass and I yelp at the sharp pain, because the sensation is so at odds with the gentle caress before. He runs his hand over the spot tenderly, pleasure mixing with the pain now. Then he slaps me again, and proceeds to take the pain away with a soft caress. The mixture of pleasure and pain makes it hard to breathe as he does it again.

In my mind, the anger and fear of him hurting me is warring with the desire for the pleasure I know he'll give me in a second. I whimper as he hits me again, my whole body shaking now from the maddening battle.

"Will you disobey me again?" he asks, punctuating the question with another hard slap. My ass is burning, the heat and pain radiating up, slowly consuming all rational thought.

"Never," I breathe.

He slaps me again, twice in quick succession and I yelp. He runs his thumb over my clit afterwards, applying just enough pressure and I moan, surrendering to the pleasure. But it's short lived, as he slaps my ass again.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I won't ever disobey you again," I say, since I can't take the pain anymore, need just the pleasure now. "Please stop."

I hear his zipper open and then the head of his cock is pressing at the entrance to my dripping pussy. He squeezes my burning ass cheek, making my pussy clench tight as he rams his cock in deep, past all barriers. I scream out at the harsh intrusion, yet can't stop my pussy from clenching tight each time he kneads my aching ass as he thrusts into me.

But that doesn't matter, because pleasure is eating away all the pain now, and I'm coming hard. Heat is rising inside me with blinding speed, shattering right through all the residues of fear and hurt, until I emerge whole and cleansed, healed.

He's still thrusting into me, fast but controlled, and I'm screaming in pure pleasure, my orgasms not abating as the last of the pain gets washed away. He finally comes too, his cock buried inside me to the hilt, his hot semen flooding me, his cock growing soft inside me.

I sigh as he pulls it out and unties my hands. He picks me up afterwards, and carries me to our bedroom, planting soft kisses on my lips, neck and cheek. My arms are wrapped around his neck and I’m as light as a feather, and I know I'd just float away if he weren't holding me so tightly.

"You didn't just leave me in there," I mutter as he sets me down on our huge bed and climbs in beside me. But the pain I felt at all those other times he did exactly that is less than a faded memory, more like something that happened to someone else.

"I'll never leave you again," he whispers then kisses me, deeply and passionately, yet lovingly and lastingly too. "You're mine."

And he's right. I am his.

* * *

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