Angel sat cramped in a nondescript black SUV that he'd hot-wired off an impound lot. He was parked two houses down from his prey, far enough away that no casual passerby would notice or think anything of it, but close enough that his night vision binoculars could see all that he needed to see.
Angel wasn't his real name. He'd long given up the quaint notion of a real name. What was a real name anyway? The name a loving mother gives her sweet infant hardly seemed appropriate for him anymore. He doubted his mother—God rest her soul—would have imagined or hoped for this future for him.
He didn't normally take jobs this close to home. And he hated leaving a body behind. Being located near a private South Carolina beach gave him easy access to ocean disposal when the job was within driving distance. So that was nice.
Tonight was his night. Finally. Joey Callazaro would be alone. The wife had driven off in a white sports car seventeen minutes ago to catch a red-eye flight. She was en route to a work-related convention. She'd be gone two weeks; when she returned, her husband would be gone forever.
Unfortunate, but it was how these things went sometimes.
The burner phone resting on the dash screeched out the least annoying ring tone he'd found in the available menu options.
He answered on the second ring. “Angel.”
“Is it done?”
“Patience is a virtue, you know. It'll be done tonight. Don't worry.”
“I'm not worried. I'll wire the rest of the money when I have proof of death.”
The client disconnected the call.
Goddamn right you will, or you're next on my list. Angel had no trouble doing pro bono work when it came to people who didn't pay their bills.
Ideally he preferred a client who could back off and let him do his work. He couldn't wait to get this job done, get paid, and toss this fucking burner into the Atlantic. He'd disappear off this asshole's radar, get a new phone, and start the process again.
This particular job had taken more prep work than he generally liked. It wasn't only the demands of the client, but the fact that he'd had to do some computer hacking to fill in the gaps of the dossier he'd been given on the target. Angel liked to know what he might be walking into. He had the requisite nerd skills to get what he needed, but he preferred wet work to geek work.
Angel was motivated less by some primal drive to kill and more by mercenary opportunism. On the most basic level, he was simply unbothered by other people's deaths—especially when they deserved it. And the people who made it onto his list... you could bet they deserved it. He didn't take petty vendetta jobs. Crimes of passion were too messy, even when acting as an intermediary.
As far as he was concerned, some piece of shit bites the dust, he gets paid. Everybody wins. He was practically a goddamn superhero.
He wasn't sure how others worked. It wasn't as though there were some hit man handbook out there. He preferred clean kills with distance and a finely calibrated scope, but he took requests when the money was good enough.
The hovering helicopter client in question didn't want a missing body. Or a job that looked like a professional hit. He wanted it up close and personal. Knife. Make it look like a home invasion gone wrong.
Fine by Angel.
The houses were spaced far enough apart in this neighborhood that nobody could be too far up in anybody else's business. Several houses additionally had privacy fences around them. The last set of lights on the street, with the exception of Joey Callazaro's, had just gone off for the night.
Callazaro was involved in human trafficking. Prostitution mostly, but also organ harvesting. The same unfortunate victims played both roles usually. After all, when a whore was all used up, if you'd adhered to basic care and maintenance, you could still sell them for parts.
The client didn't want Callazaro dead because of what he was doing but because he was moving in on someone else's territory and drawing too much attention from the authorities. This was their corner. So basically, it was a little bitch fight.
Callazaro was an amateur and had gotten in way over his head. Half a million to snuff out this little fucker? It hadn't been a hard sell, even with such an antsy client who clearly hadn't ordered a lot of professional hits from outside talent.
Ultimately Angel was chopping off the heads of a many-headed hydra. Two more would grow back as soon as he killed this one. But if a bunch of slimy dipshits wanted to pay him to off each other, who was he to complain? That was a pot of gold that never ran dry. He'd become quite well-off taking advantage of this state of affairs.
He glanced at the dashboard clock. Almost midnight, and this fucker was clearly not going to sleep any time soon. Probably watching porn, and that was the best case scenario. With the wife gone, he might call in one of his girls for some entertainment, which was the last thing Angel needed.
He slipped on a pair of snug black gloves and took a gleaming knife from his bag. He'd never handled it with bare hands. When it had been delivered, Angel had worn gloves to remove it from the box and put it in the bag he'd brought to the job. This was the first time he'd touched it since. This way he could ditch the knife without fear his prints would be on it.
His prints were in nobody's database, so no danger there. Still, he didn't like the idea of anyone having any of his prints or DNA in some evidence locker somewhere. Technology changed, and he didn't doubt there would come a day when everybody's DNA was in a database somewhere—guilty or innocent. Such a change to the social order would only make his work more difficult.
With the exception of Callazaro, the neighborhood was asleep now. But if someone had been awake and looking out their window, they would have seen nothing but a shock of blond hair, and then only if the light of the full moon hit Angel just right. Beyond the privacy fences, the tree cover in the neighborhood was plenty to keep him well-hidden. He could have, and maybe should have, worn a mask. But he hated them. They were uncivilized and made his face feel like it was inside an oven.
He picked the lock on the back door next to the kitchen and quietly let himself in. Joey owned two dobermans, but Angel had already dosed them with a sedative a couple of hours ago when they'd come out into the yard for their last bathroom break of the night. They were now in a heavy slumber on the kitchen floor. Even if they woke, they'd be too lethargic to be much threat.
But the fact of the dobermans meant Joey would be less jumpy. He assumed they'd bark if there was trouble. So that floor creak just now? It was nothing. Just the house settling.
Angel found his prey in the front room, predictably wanking off to some kinky porn on the computer. It was certainly Angel's flavor of choice, but he happened to know for a fact these were some of Joey's girls, and none of them had wanted to be there, let alone be filmed. When the cops took apart the house, they'd uncover a lot more than a B&E gone wrong.
Joey was lost in the pre-orgasmic haze when Angel crept up behind him. Callazaro's eyes widened as he caught a flash of an intruder in the reflection from the monitor the moment before his throat was slit. This was hardly going to look like a standard home invader caught in the act. Oh well. The worthless shit was dead.
Angel smashed some things around the room and took Callazaro's wallet. Even with that, any entry-level forensics intern would be able to tell something was off about this scene.
And if that weren't bad enough, before Angel could make another move, the front door opened. Mrs. Callazaro stood in the entryway, a look of horror on her face as she took in the scene in front of her.
Wow, she was beautiful. It was the only thought that could work its way through Angel's brain.
He'd seen her of course, but not this close. Her features were delicate and sweet. She was pale with a natural pink flush in her cheeks. Long red curls flowed around her like a goddess... and those brilliant green eyes looked like they were cut from emeralds.
Surprisingly, she didn't scream. Instead, she dropped her bags, turned, and ran. Angel looked down to find he still held the bloody knife. He flung it to the corner of the room. He didn't need a knife for her.
Fuck fuck fuck pounded through his head in rhythm to his footsteps as he ran after her. The only mercy was that in her panic, she'd dropped her keys. At least she couldn't get into her car and drive away. He had a chance to contain this.
***
Astrid's lungs felt like they were on fire as she ran. She couldn't even scream. She should scream. There were neighbors. But most of them were old and feeble, and she doubted any of them would wake in time or have the presence of mind to call 911. And if they did... how many minutes would she already be dead by the time help arrived? Besides, screaming would only give away her location—if the sound of her footsteps crunching over crisp fall leaves wasn't enough.
She could barely process what she'd just walked in on. Astrid cut through a neighbor's yard and slowed down. She didn't hear footsteps behind her anymore. She needed to put as much space between herself and the house as possible, but she had to catch her breath a minute. Hidden behind the Winslow's privacy fence seemed like a good place to do it.
At least until a strong arm pressed against her throat and everything went dark around her.
Astrid hadn't expected to wake up. She'd been sure as the world faded away that it was doing so for the last time. But here she was, a seemingly split second in time later, in the passenger side of a moving car, her wrists and ankles bound with rope, a blindfold covering her eyes.
Why hadn't he killed her? It couldn't mean anything good. If he hadn't killed her it only meant he had worse plans in store. Considering what she'd walked in on, she couldn't let herself consider the brutal violence that might lie ahead.
“I know you're awake,” he said. “I heard your breathing change.”
His voice sounded more cultured than your average street thug—not that he'd looked like he fit that profile. The small bit she remembered. He hadn't seemed like some meth addict looking to steal jewelry for his next fix. Was it someone with a grudge against Joey? Was it a professional? Her mind raced to put the pieces together as if just having more facts could somehow give her an edge and help her escape.
“Why didn't you kill me?” She didn't want to know, but somehow she couldn't manage to stop herself from asking.
“I tried. I failed. I've never had problems performing before.”
Was that some kind of hit man humor?
“I'm sorry about the ropes. They were necessary,” he said.
“What are you going to do with me?” Stop asking these questions!
“I can't let you go. You saw me.”
“It was dark. I don't remember what I saw.” It hadn't exactly been dark in the living room when she'd walked in on his crime, but she was hoping maybe he wouldn't remember those details. “I'm not a threat. I wouldn't say anything.”
“Liar. I killed your husband. That's hardly the kind of thing that gets me brownie points.”
“You obviously don't know my husband. Fuck him. I'm glad he's gone.”
The stranger laughed. “I'll give you one thing. You're a hell of an actress. I almost buy it. But I haven't done what I do for as long as I've done it by being stupid and believing every story told by a pretty girl.”
“You're a professional.” That knowledge deflated her. It seemed less likely a professional killer would just let her go or be swayed by empathy or negotiation attempts.
“Card carrying,” he confirmed.
She jumped when his hand brushed her cheek and wiped tears away. She hadn't realized she'd been crying.
“Easy. I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?”
“A-Astrid.”
“Pretty name. I'm Angel.”
“Not a very fitting name for a killer.” This was really the kind of thought that should just remain in one's head.
“It is when the last part is of death,” he replied without missing a beat.
Suddenly the blindfold was gone.
For someone just caught at a crime scene, he appeared cool and collected driving down the road in the middle of the night like everything was fine. To add another level of emotional complication, he was distressingly good-looking—something she hadn't been able to fully process when she'd walked in on him at the house.
She didn't want the guy who held her life in his hands and might be planning something really terrible to be this beautiful. She'd fallen into that stupid trap already with Joey. But Joey was nothing next to this guy. This guy could have gotten rich just on those looks. So if he was out killing people, it wasn't because it was his only option in life. It was because he liked it.
A cellphone rang with a dated ring tone that she hadn't heard in at least five years.
“Astrid, I'm going to answer this. The person calling me is not someone who will help you. In fact, he's likely to panic and offer to pay me more to kill you. I find it difficult to turn down good money so if you're smart, you'll stay quiet. Are you smart?”
She nodded quickly.
“Good girl.” He answered the phone, “Angel.”
A pause.
“It's done. I ran into a complication. The plan changed.”
Astrid couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but she could hear the rage behind the voice.
“Simmer down. Look, I told you, preferences for exact details would be taken into account, but you'll recall I also told you realities on the ground don't always allow for them. Best laid plans and all. The kill looked too weird. Believe me, it would cause too many questions and too much investigation. This wasn't going to be the open and shut case you wanted it to be. It's better if there is no body at all.”
There was a long bit of silence from Angel's side as he listened patiently to the person on the other end.
“I've got it with me. I'm dumping it.” Angel sighed. “Just because things didn't happen as I planned, doesn't mean my backups aren't solid. It will never surface.” He laughed. “You don't want to negotiate with me. I'm doing extra work without extra pay so if I don't see the exact amount of money we agreed to, it's coming out of your hide. I'll send you a photo before I dump it. Don't call me again. Ever.”
Angel disconnected the call.
Minutes later they pulled up at an abandoned marina.
“Don't bother screaming. Nobody ever comes out here,” he said as if she planned suddenly start screaming now.
Astrid watched him warily as he got out of the car and came around to her side. He carried her to the only boat at the dock and sat her on a blue vinyl bench. Or at least it seemed blue. The only visible light was the headlights from the SUV so it was hard to tell. It could have just as easily been green or purple. She tried to focus on these stupid mundane details so she wouldn't have a complete breakdown. She was fairly sure he'd kill her if she became too annoying, and hysterical freakouts would be annoying to someone like him.
“Don't go anywhere,” he said.
Hilarious.
Angel went back to the SUV. When he returned, he carried a body wrapped in heavy plastic. She still could feel nothing but relief at the sight of that son of a bitch's lifeless corpse. Angel started the boat without a word and took them out to sea.
Astrid shivered in the wind as she looked out at the dark water. What if he got over whatever had held him back from killing her and just threw her over? Why did she have to have that thought? Now that it was in her head it didn't seem to want to let go. Surely he'd had time to realize it made more sense to just get rid of her. Now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get the image of him throwing her overboard out of her head.
“Hey? If you change your mind about killing me, don't drown me, okay? J-just s-snap my neck first. B-before you throw me over.”
Angel was shrouded in shadow. “I told you, I'm not going to hurt you. I admit I'm not exactly following the standard moral code, but I kill for money, not pleasure. I kill people the world won't miss. I can't justify killing you. Even if I could, I don't want to. So stop thinking about it. It's not happening. I've already made up my mind.”
“Okay, well, then you have to let me go.”
“Like hell I do.”
“Well you can't just keep me a prisoner forever!”
“For someone bound on a boat with a killer, you sure seem certain of what I can and can't do.”
Astrid knew she was pushing too far, not a smart move with someone who was clearly comfortable with murder.
She wondered if it was really because she was an innocent that he'd spared her. It seemed more likely that it was because he found her attractive. She knew he did because she knew that look in a man's eyes. Since he'd taken the blindfold off she'd been trying to decide if she could somehow bring herself to seduce him. It wasn't as though sleeping with him would be repulsive. If she could forget what he was capable of...what she'd seen him do.
Whatever he believed, she'd been telling the truth about Joey. Joey was a piece of shit. He'd hurt her in ways she couldn't ever talk about. Aside from the terror of finding a killer in her house, the immediate feeling she'd had when she'd seen Joey's corpse had been relief.
It was the tiniest moment of freedom before becoming another man's prisoner. Maybe Angel would be a nicer jailer. Except for the bloody knife in his hand, he'd seemed in control of himself. Maybe a little sociopathic, but if that coldness didn't extend to her... if he hadn't been able to bring himself to hurt her... No. These thoughts were all crazy. She had to force herself to stop thinking them.
“What did you do with the dogs?” It suddenly occurred to her that Milo and Frankie hadn't been barking when she'd walked in on him.
“Sedated them. They're probably awake by now.”
So he wouldn't even kill the dogs. That had to be a good sign, right?
“All right. This is far enough out.” He seemed to be saying it more to himself than to her. Angel shut the boat off and turned on a light so he could see what he was doing. He lugged the wrapped body over to the edge. It looked like a macabre gift for the sea. Or a sacrifice.
He looked back at her, as if trying to gauge her reaction to seeing her husband's dead body about to be dumped in the ocean.
“Wait. Did you send that guy the picture?”
Angel looked at her like she was crazy. The last thing she needed was for him to skip a step because he got thrown off and not get all his money then be mad at her. Joey had been bad about that. If he lost money and could find a way to blame her, he did. She had more than one scar to show for it. She didn't want a repeat of that with Angel.
“I did it back at the car before I finished wrapping him up.”
“I really did hate him. I would have done anything to get away. I thought about just never coming back from the convention but I knew he could find me and... it would just be worse. I-I was trapped.”
Angel dumped the body into the ocean and dropped the phone in behind it. Then he stared at Astrid for a long time. “I want to believe you, but the price of being wrong just isn't worth it.”
Was it that or did he just not want to let her go for his own reasons? Maybe he didn't need to kill, but he no doubt had other needs. Maybe someone like her warming his bed was one of them.
He started the boat back up and turned it around to return them to the docks.
***
Angel didn't know what to make of her. Maybe she was telling the truth about her feelings about her husband. Maybe it wasn't just some con to get him to set her free.
They were back in the car, headed finally to his house which was still another half hour away.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. She must be. He was starving. All he could think about was the pizza in the fridge. The adrenalin dump after a kill always left him ravenous.
“Yes.”
He really should believe her. It wasn't as though it was hard to picture Callazaro hurting his wife. He hurt plenty of other women. Why should she be any different? She was probably just his cover to make him seem more respectable, to give him someone to take out in public so he could hide his guilt behind her innocence.
And she acted abused. The way she seemed to always be calculating how Angel would react to things. The way she didn't push. Sure, she'd tried to negotiate, but she hadn't thrashed around or screamed or fought him or had any of the normal reactions that unbroken women had to things like this. This was a woman who'd learned not to do those things the hard way already.
Callazaro had killed plenty of people in his time, but it was doubtful Astrid knew about any of that. In her eyes Angel might be the bigger danger to her safety, even if she knew he'd done her a favor.
So yeah. Maybe he did believe her. And if he believed her, there was no reason in the world she would turn in the man who'd freed her from that life. So why was he taking her back to his house instead of her own?
Did he need to play this game with himself? It wasn't as if he lived according to the rules set forth by society. However he justified it, he killed people for money without a ripple of guilt. So if he just wanted her, what stopped him from doing what he was doing? It would have been simpler to kill her even though she didn't deserve to die. Yet here he was, keeping her like a pet or something.
And how was this all going to play out? How could it work? She'd always be afraid of or resent him. And could he blame her?
“Where are you taking me?”
“My house.”
“Are you going to keep me locked in the basement?”
“In my paranoid security fortress mansion? That won't be necessary. You'll have the run of the place and your own room. I have a pool and hot tub you're welcome to use.” He was trying to make it sound like a vacation because for some reason the conscience that didn't work when killing people, worked with her.
“Too bad I don't have a swimsuit,” she quipped.
“If you packed one, you have one. I put your luggage in the backseat.”
“Oh.”
It was two in the morning when they finally reached their destination. Angel's house was located in the middle of nowhere with a huge empty expanse of lawn surrounding the place–an intentional design feature so no one could sneak up on the property from any direction. Beyond that, the house was surrounded by thick rows of trees, keeping it well-hidden from the outside world.
He had a security perimeter that extended to the trees so he'd get a very early warning if anyone set foot on the property, and there were cameras everywhere both indoors and out.
It was a huge Tudor-style mansion that looked like a fairy-tale on performance-enhancing drugs.
Angel parked the SUV and took Astrid's bags in the house. Then he returned for her, carrying her carefully inside. He set her on a chair beside the entryway, locked the door, and input the security code. He set the system so it wouldn't notify the outside world if it was tripped.
He retrieved a knife from his pocket, and immediately she recoiled.
“Oh, right. I'm such a psycho I want to cut you up. I could wait all night to do it but I can't manage to remove you from the front entry hall with the blond hardwood floor you could bleed all over and destroy.”
When the sarcasm didn't seem to reassure her, he said: “I'm just cutting the ropes off.”
She hesitated another moment, then held out her bound wrists.
“I don't think so. I free your hands first then bend to get your feet and you clock me over the head with something. Feet first.”
Angel cut her legs free, then started on the ropes around her wrists. He stared at the rough ropes wistfully as he cut through them. How he would love to have her bound in a more satisfying scenario, but he doubted Astrid got off on the same things he did.
He thought men like Joey Callazaro deserved to die. And yet, what scenario was he setting up in his own home? It didn't spring from heroism. Nor was he truly afraid she'd talk to the police and compromise him.
Was it somehow better that he wouldn't sell or share her? That he would give her pleasure and make her love everything he did to her? That he wouldn't harvest her organs after the fact? Yeah, a real hero.
Angel shook those thoughts out of his head. No. Somehow she would come to him. He could introduce her slowly to the things he wanted. When he'd been chasing her down in her neighborhood a few short hours before, he'd convinced himself he just wanted to keep her quiet, tie up loose ends. Don't leave any witnesses.
But the growing discomfort in his pants as he'd chased her told a different story. He'd never done something this impulsive and crazy. He still didn't know what the fuck he was doing or what he was prepared to do... to have her.
The night had taken an odd turn. He needed time and space to think.
He looked back to find her sitting where he'd left her, watching him warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Could she know the things in his mind? Could she see the images that passed through his head of all the things he wanted to do to her... of all the things he wanted to make her beg him for?
“If you open this door, sirens will blare. It won't notify any outside security company or authorities, but it will notify me. And as you know, I'm a strong runner. There are no landline phones on the premises, and my computers are all locked down with passwords. Basically there is no way for you to call the outside world for help. I keep a cell phone on me. Burner phones, that I change out with each job. My phone is always on me physically, and I'm a very light sleeper. I have no desire to harm you, but you aren't going anywhere until I decide. Do you understand all of this?”
She was looking down at her hands now, staring at those lovely light pink rope burns. The ropes had been so rough that they'd chafed her skin even without a struggle.
“Astrid?”
“Yes,” she said meekly. He tried not to let this obvious sign of abuse affect him. The more time he spent with her the worse he knew things had been for her.
“Good. Let's eat. I've got a whole leftover pizza. You like pizza?”
He hated these tentative one-word answers. What do you expect? You kidnapped her! But really, how else was he supposed to meet someone? It's not like he could just 'date'. Too much of his life had to be kept secret. This girl already knew he was a killer. Wasn't that some sort of weird social progress?
He was tired of paying strangers to meet his needs. As if Astrid would volunteer to do it for free.
She might. He had killed her abusive husband. And the last time Angel had looked in the mirror, he wasn't all that hard to look at. He could give her all the time she needed. It wasn't as though he hadn't already waited years to find someone he could be with long term—someone he didn't have to hide from.
Now that they were in the house, she seemed a lot more afraid of him. Of course she was. It was natural. They were locked inside his isolated secure property with no chance anyone would happen by to save her. He could do anything he wanted, and she didn't know what that might mean for her.
I should let her go. But he just... couldn't. He wanted her too much. Out of all the things he'd done, was this finally the thing that would make him feel evil? He'd never felt fully human, not bothered by the same pangs of conscience that got to most people, but that same lack of guilt also made it impossible to see himself as a monster.
Oh for fuck's sake, Angel. She's going to live in luxury for the rest of her life. And eventually she'll get to leave the property. Once she truly sees who she belongs to and accepts it.
If possible, his internal pep talk was only making this worse.
“I'll show you to your room, then we'll eat.”
“Okay.”
Angel took her luggage and led her out of the main entrance hall, up a flight of stairs, and down a long hallway. “This is my bedroom if you need something,” he said, gesturing as they passed it.
He took her to the far end of the hall as far from his room as it was possible to get in this wing. He flipped on the light to illuminate a bedroom decorated in pale calming greens and blues with clean minimalist lines and thick white bedding. There were natural handwoven green and blue rugs on the blond hardwood. The furniture matched the floor with aged silver knobs on the various drawers. There was a dried lavender bouquet in a vase that still gave the room a light pleasant scent.
He set her luggage down beside a table with a flat screen TV on it.
“There's a walk-in closet and your own bathroom,” Angel said as if these amenities made up for the fact that he was now keeping a prisoner in his home—someone who definitely didn't deserve his brand of affection.
He really was the most perfect opportunist.
Angel pulled back the blinds on a sliding glass door and opened it to reveal a tiny balcony with a white table and a single chair. “It overlooks the pool, and there's a great view of the mountains in the distance. You can't see any of it well at night, but in the morning, you'll love it. You get the sunrise from this window. What do you think?”
“It's very nice.”
You have to let her go.
“Let's eat,” he said, ignoring the voice of reason.
***
Astrid followed him down to the kitchen. He had to know she wasn't a threat to him. But how could he? She could just as easily be lying. Maybe she should show him the scars to prove it. Then he might let her go. The whip lashes Joey had left on her back should make things clear enough, but she wasn't sure she wanted to set up a situation Angel might take as an invitation. Lifting her shirt enough to show him all those scars might be too intimate a thing to do if she wasn't sure she wanted him to touch her.
She wasn't sure she didn't want him to touch her. Which was crazy. She definitely shouldn't want him to touch her. What was wrong with her that she kept being attracted to bad men?
He hadn't stopped looking at her in that way. She kept waiting for him to... throw her down or something. Back in the bedroom she'd barely been able to breathe. Standing so close to him and a bed... when he looked at her like he did—like a wolf that wanted to eat her. And what if he hurt her? Joey liked it rough.
There were a million reasons why she shouldn't be attracted to Angel starting with the casual way he could kill and dump a body.
She should have learned these lessons the first time with Joey. But Angel seemed different. More in control of himself.
Even in the beginning, Joey had been a loose cannon, someone whose swirling vortex of emotions seemed to drag him along and control his every move. It had seemed exciting in the beginning. And he could take care of her. It had been so easy to overlook the bad stuff until the bad stuff had made her bleed and left permanent marks.
“Is ginger ale okay with your pizza? You probably don't want caffeine this late if you want to sleep.” Angel took a big box from a local pizza place out of the refrigerator.
“That's fine.”
“I'm going to pop this on a stone and heat it in the oven. It'll take a few more minutes, but it's better than microwaving.”
He turned the oven on and put the pizza in, set the timer, and poured them some drinks then sat across from her at the table.
“Look, I know you say he abused you, but did you know what he was into?”
Astrid stared at the table, unable to meet those sharp blue eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.
“And what was he into? I want to make sure you really do know,” Angel said.
“H-he trafficked girls, and when they didn't bring as high a price anymore... h-he... o-or... one of his guys killed them and sold their organs.” It was even worse saying it out loud.
She'd never said any of that out loud to anybody.
“He didn't just threaten to kill you if you left, did he?”
Astrid shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to somehow block out the memory.
Finally she opened her eyes and immediately wish she'd left them closed. She was afraid of the darkness she saw in Angel's face. Somehow it didn't matter if that darkness had been directed toward killing Joey and not hurting her or innocent girls, it was still the same dark look—the look Joey got. It felt wild and dangerous. Like it could burn her alive.
“So... see? You can let me go. I-I'm not going to say anything. A-and my work will miss me. Isn't it going to look weird with my car and Joey's car at the house, but both of us missing and never returning? And... the scene you left...” She remembered seeing things smashed up in the house before she'd dropped her stuff and ran.
“I'm not letting you go.” There was a long pause, and then he added, “I don't want to.”
Astrid felt everything inside her freeze. It was exactly what she suspected, the reason he hadn't killed her. That look.
“W-what do you mean you don't want to?”
“I just... don't want to,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he said again.
But every time he said it she became more worried it was a lie. What if he was like Joey? And wasn't holding her hostage hurting her? By definition?
“A-are you going to...” but she couldn't complete the thought.
“Force myself on you like some animal? No, Astrid. I'm not.”
What did that mean then? What did any of this mean? It was wrong that he'd taken her—especially when he knew she wasn't a threat. It could almost be understandable if he was just doing it to protect himself. Almost.
She'd thought she'd never be free of Joey, and just when she'd thought maybe there was a chance for her, here she was in this fucked-up situation with someone people in the real world actually referred to as the Angel of death.
“So what do you do for work?” he asked as if this were some sort of date.
“I manage a restaurant.”
“Do you like it?”
As if it mattered. She clearly wasn't going back.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It was a front business for Joey. After hours he used the place... for other business.”
“I thought you were going to some kind of convention?”
“I was. And it was a real convention for restaurant managers, but he just wanted to get me out of town for a while. He had another shipment coming in, and as the operation grew he was starting to get antsy I think about me knowing so much. He wanted me to deliver something to a friend of his at the convention, but other than that I think he just wanted me out of town for a few days.”
The oven timer beeped and Angel got up and took the food out. He put a couple of slices on her plate and several on his own and brought them back to the table.
“Why did you come back tonight?”
“I missed my flight. I got the time wrong, and when I arrived they had already boarded and the plane was pulling away from the tarmac. I'm such an idiot. I can't believe I got the time wrong.”
Angel stopped asking questions, and she stopped volunteering information. Instead, Astrid focused on her pizza. It was from one of the best pizza places in the area. Joey had taken her to Naples, once in the early days. The pizza there had been on a whole other level. This pizza was a very close second.
When they were finished, Angel took their plates and put them in the sink.
“You've had a long day. You should try to get some sleep. You can explore the rest of the house if you like tomorrow.”
“Angel...” she wanted to ask him what his plans for her were. She knew what he wanted. That had been pretty transparent. But how did he plan to get it, and what was he going to do with her after he did?
“Go to bed, Astrid.”
“Okay.”
***
A sudden boom of thunder jolted Astrid from sleep. It was followed by another crack so loud it sounded as if the world was being ripped apart. She jumped at a flash of lightning, thinking that she saw the shadow of a man standing over her. Against all common sense, she imagined it was Joey. Somehow he'd crawled out of the ocean and followed her here. But it was just the shadow cast from a tall plant in the corner.
Rain pounded hard at an angle against the glass door like an angry spirit trying to get in. And then the fragments of the dream came back. Joey's voice inside her head calling her a fucking whore, asking why she was worth so much trouble? I'll find you, I will always find you.
Said by someone else in another context those words could be almost romantic. But out of Joey's lips it was a threat—the chain that kept her always tethered to him.
She got up and slipped quietly down the hallway. The entire house was dark, with the occasional light from the storm pulling strange shadows from otherwise ordinary objects and turning them into threats to fight or run from.
Astrid stopped at Angel's door. She hesitated. What was she doing here? Though she couldn't answer the question, she didn't let it stop her, either. She didn't feel safe by herself. She couldn't sleep by herself.
She moved silently across the hardwood floor, her feet sinking into a soft rug beside the bed. Another crack of thunder. A streak of lightning lit up his peaceful face as he slept.
A moment later his hand clamped down over her wrist.
“I told you I'm a light sleeper. What are you doing here?”
“I don't want to be by myself.” It sounded so stupid out loud. And she wanted to be in the room with a killer who had kidnapped her, not because he thought she was some threat to his freedom but because he just wanted to?
He let go of her wrist and turned on the bedside lamp. The blankets barely covered his waist now, revealing an expanse of tightly muscled flesh she had the wild urge to run her tongue across. Oh shit what was she wearing? She looked down suddenly, having forgotten in all the storm and nightmare panic that she was half-naked herself, wearing only a thin flesh-colored camisole and white panties.
She caught him as his eyes roved over her.
“So, what? You thought you'd sleep in here with me?” He sounded amused. And why wouldn't he be?
“I'm sorry I bothered you. I-I don't know what I was thinking.” There was no way she could sleep in her own room. Not after that dream or with the storm violently pounding at the windows. But obviously she couldn't stay in Angel's room, either.
He pulled back the sheets on the other side of the bed. “Well, get in.”
“J-just sleep?”
His gaze was steady as it held hers. “You can sleep in my bed, but sleeping in my bed means I get to touch you. No sex. Just touch.”
This was crazy. She should go back to her room. But she didn't want to go back there by herself. And couldn't he just do whatever he wanted anyway? How much restraint and decency could a contract killer possibly have holding him back? How long would it hold out? Shouldn't she try to stay on his good side? Would having his hands on her really be such a terrible thing? Maybe she could just try it and see how she felt about it.
“Astrid, do we have a deal?”
“I-”
“If it becomes too much or upsets you, you can tell me to stop and I'll let you go back to your room. I don't allow beautiful women to just sleep in my bed. Those are my terms.”
She turned to go back to her own room.
Angel sighed. “Eventually you'll come to me.”
But he wouldn't chase her? He'd let her sleep down the hall if she wanted? She didn't want to sleep down the hall. She couldn't stop seeing Joey's looming shadow. She couldn't stop feeling like his spirit somehow haunted her—as if he was waiting for his moment to hurt her again from beyond his watery grave.
Angel clicked the lamp off. “Close the door on your way out.”
Astrid went to the door, but instead of leaving, she found herself shutting it and getting in the bed beside him.
He rolled toward her. “You won't regret this choice,” he practically growled in her ear.
But her heart pounded faster than it had when she'd been woken by the storm.
Her breath caught in her throat as his fingertips trailed lightly over her panties.
“Open for me,” he said.
Astrid spread her legs to let him stroke her. Why was she letting this happen? Why was she agreeing to this? It was fucked up. Sick. She could convince herself she'd been young and naïve when she'd fallen into bed with Joey. She hadn't really known what he was. But she knew exactly what Angel was.
He sighed and pulled his hand away. “Go back to your room.”
He didn't seem angry, but he was serious about the terms of her sleeping in his bed. It wasn't as if it was entirely unreasonable. She was the lunatic who seemed to think sleeping in here with him was preferable to being down the hall alone with her husband's ghost.
“Please, I-I can't go back there,” she whispered, knowing she must sound like such a child. What grown adult woman prefers to share a bed with the man who just killed her husband when she had the option for anything else? It didn't matter how good he looked or smelled. He was a killer. Just like Joey.
“I told you my terms. Either spread your legs or leave.”
Astrid didn't do anything. Frozen in indecision, she lay there waiting to see what his next move would be. Would he force himself on her? It would be so much easier to be the victim than to willingly choose to let a monster touch her again and then blame herself endlessly when he inevitably turned on her.
“You have exactly thirty seconds to make a decision,” he said.
She lay there, the sound of her heartbeat rising in direct competition with the howling winds and rain outside as she counted the seconds in her head.
Finally, Angel got out of bed, came around to her side, picked her up, and carried her back down the hall to her room. He set her down on the fluffy white bedding and turned to leave.
“Angel, wait.”
He stopped.
“Please don't leave me by myself.”
He turned back and took a couple of steps toward the bed, causing her to involuntarily draw back. Lightning lit his face making him look almost as terrifying as Joey used to.
“I'm going to warn you once, Astrid. It's not wise to tease me.”
“I'm not teasing.”
He sighed. “If I get in that bed, I'm doing whatever I want with you. It would be better if you told me to leave now.”
She shook her head. “Please. I can't be by myself right now.”
***
Angel watched her chest rise and fall. The terror on her face was real. Was the fear of him or the storm? Why would she be begging him to stay with her if it was him? He'd promised himself he'd be honorable and let her come to him, but he wasn't the kind of man who would let a woman just sleep in his bed.
And he hadn't expected her to come to him tonight. He'd thought it might take a few weeks at least—until she felt safe. Even then, he thought he might have to make some small overture because he couldn't picture her being the type of woman who would make the first move—especially not in a situation this twisted.
But if she came to his bed, she was there for whatever he wanted to do with her. She had to understand these rules. He'd already been kinder than normal by giving her an out. A sort of safeword.
He wasn't sure where this strange sense of honor was coming from. He should have just pushed past her defenses. She'd come to his bed half-naked after all. It wasn't as though he'd stalked her across the house.
Fuck it. This was too complicated. If he stayed another minute, he'd end up doing things he couldn't justify in his mind because she wasn't a contract. She was just an innocent woman he'd been too attracted to. That might be to her own detriment in the end.
“I'm sorry, no. Sleep with the light on. You don't want what I want, and I'm not going to be your sleepover bodyguard.”
Angel turned to leave, figuring the issue was settled. He had barely made it to the door when she launched herself at him.
“Please, don't go. I'll do whatever you want.” Her voice was desperate.
He should leave. Let her deal with whatever this panic was on her own. It would be the honorable thing to do. It bothered him that he suddenly cared about honor. It bothered him so much that he was willing to do whatever it took to stuff the urge to be noble back into the box.
So instead of prying her off him, he picked her up and carried her back down the hallway to his room. He set her on her feet as soon as they were inside and shut the door.
“Get in the bed.” His voice was dark and unrecognizable even to himself.
She got in. Angel leaned against the door and watched her face as the lightning illuminated the room.
“Turn the lamp on.”
She turned it on. He desperately wanted to train her. The last shreds of decency had fled him as he'd carried her lithe body back to his room, this time set on his course for better or worse.
“I'm not going to be played,” he said.
“I-I'm not...”
He held up a hand, and she wisely shut her mouth.
“I want to fuck the breath from you. I want to make you come so hard and so long that you forget your own name. You have... an extreme effect on me. So you cannot come into my room half-naked in the middle of the night under some scared of the dark pretext, and expect that I'll be a gentleman. Take off the top. I want to know you're committed before I get in that bed.”
He expected her to resist or change her mind again, but instead she took the flimsy nude camisole off, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.
“Good girl. Now lie back and spread your legs for me.”
Once again, he was surprised when she did so. Maybe she'd made a decision after all. He couldn't begin to guess at the insane mental ramblings of a woman willing to hop into bed with her husband's killer before the body was cold, but he couldn't say he was upset by the turn of events. Angel probably would have fucked her senseless already if he hadn't had the inconvenient burst of conscience where she was concerned.
He crossed to his closet and took out a green and navy striped tie. She flinched when he approached her.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Removing the temptation to bat my hand away when I start touching you. Scoot down and raise your arms over your head.”
He marveled at the fact that she did what he asked. Though, really, what other choices did she have? He'd already made it clear she wasn't sleeping in his bed without a little quid pro quo. Angel looped the tie through one of the iron headboard slats and tied her wrists together, then he got into the bed with her and turned out the light.
The rain continued to furiously pelt down, this time joined with hail. The room was pitch black except for the occasional strike of lightening which lit the sordid scene he'd created briefly before casting it back into the privacy of darkness.
Her nipples pebbled into hard points as he ran his fingertips over them. Angel stroked her breasts and her stomach as her breathing deepened, and he felt her begin to surrender. He ran his fingers lightly back and forth over her thighs until goosebumps rose over her skin in anticipation of more of his touch.
The women he paid weren't like this. They were hardened professionals. Nothing shocked them. Nothing made them timid or vulnerable. While it was certainly true that they were to some degree vulnerable and ultimately at his mercy once they came to his estate, they never seemed to comprehend that danger.
So many of these women were so jaded they showed an almost careless lack of regard for their own well being.
But Astrid comprehended the danger she was in. It was clear from each ragged breath he drew from her, each tremor. She knew her life rested in the hands of a stranger she'd caught killing her husband only a few hours before. Not exactly a meet cute story.
Obviously a woman like Astrid wasn't a blushing virgin, not with a husband like Joey Callazaro. And yet... a type of innocence clung to her like the faint scent of lavender in the guest room.
The sky lit up again, this time for several prolonged seconds of raging storm. In these moments he could see the smooth lines of pale flesh quiver beneath his fingers. The only scrap of fabric still covering her was a pair of virginal white cotton panties with delicate lace around the edges.
“Angel...” she whispered when the room was plunged into darkness again.
“Spread your legs wider,” he said in response.
Whatever she'd intended to say—whatever weak protest—died on her lips as she obeyed his low-growled order. He rubbed gently between her legs, long, slow repeated strokes... feather light... causing her hips to rise to meet him, her body pleading for more.
He continued to caress her, alternating heavy and light pressure as he lowered his head to take one of her perfect tits into his mouth.
“Please,” she whimpered.
The way she moved against him—striving for more contact—left no doubt that she was begging for more, not less.
He slipped his hand underneath her panties to fondle her now-swollen clit. When he dipped two fingers inside her, she was hot and far wetter than he'd expected. Angel could easily fuck her right now and she would beg him to pound her harder, but he resisted the temptation. He'd promised he would only touch her. The price of sharing his bed tonight was touch, nothing more.
He released her breast and laid his head against the center of her chest. He could hear her rapid heartbeat, could feel the heavy rise and fall of her chest.
He increased the pressure between her legs until he had her right at the edge. Then he pulled his hand away and moved off her.
A beat.
“Angel, please...” she whispered so softly he could barely hear her over the pounding rain.
“Please what? What do you want? You have to say it or you can't have it.”
“Please let me come.”
He pulled her panties off, and took a glass dildo from the bedside drawer. He liked to keep a few toys nearby. She gasped when the cold, ribbed glass slipped inside her. He fucked her with it until she screamed out her orgasm.
The noises she made rivaled that of the wild howling storm, until finally she was quiet. The storm, seeming to take its cue from her, lowered its own volume down to a gentle rain.
Angel untied her wrists and pulled her against him to sleep. He felt her tense against his raging hard on. He was larger than the toy he'd just shoved inside her. He wondered if that was why she'd tensed or if she was afraid he was about to break his promise.
“I told you only touching tonight.”
***
It took Astrid a moment to remember where she was. Sunlight streamed in through the window of Angel's bedroom, the sky a brilliant blue after the previous night's storm. She was alone in his bed. What did that mean? Was he still in the house?
He had to be.
She closed her eyes and thought again of the previous night. There was no good reason she could give why she hadn't put up even a token resistance once he'd brought her back to his room. All she knew was that she didn't want to be by herself, he clearly wanted her, and drinking in those delicious sculpted muscles it was so hard to remember why that was a bad thing.
Astrid had found it nearly impossible to maintain the thought in her head that this was a killer. He'd killed Joey. Though how bad could a man who killed her abusive husband really be? Despite the danger he posed, there was an absurd sense of gratitude mixed up in her feelings. She was so unbelievably grateful the bastard was dead.
And the man who'd done this amazing service for mankind came in a package so seductive, how could she be expected to do anything but go along with whatever he wanted? The end results had been better than she'd expected. Now that she knew that, it was even harder to mount a narrative where she might resist his future advances.
Astrid tossed the blankets aside, put on the scant amount of clothing she'd come to his room in, and went down the hall to her own room. She stopped in front of the large sliding glass door to look out at the incredible view. Angel hadn't been kidding about the mountains.
The air up here must be so crisp and clean. She stepped out onto the balcony to find out. Angel had set the alarm when they'd come inside, but he'd opened the balcony door, too. So was the balcony door not connected to the rest of the security system? No alarm had gone off, so it couldn't be.
It seemed like such a foolish oversight until she actually stepped outside. The drop was far too high, and where railing would have been, there was instead a pane of heavy glass that came up to her waist. So there wasn't even a sturdy way she could tie or attach something to climb down some bedsheets or something. And did he even have enough bedsheets to tie together for such a project? Men didn't typically have endless amounts of linens in their houses unless they lived with a woman.
And did he plan to ever leave her alone long enough to try such a scheme even if he had them?
She considered all this while she got cleaned up. The shower in her bathroom was a slate gray tile and had the most amazing water pressure she'd ever experienced in her life. When she finished, she put on a pair of jeans and a soft cotton T-shirt with a vintage grunge band from the 90s emblazoned across the front.
She crept down the stairs, thinking she might avoid him a while longer and get a better grip on what obstacles faced her if she wanted to get out of here.
Do you want to get out? Her internal voice seemed skeptical. Of course she wanted to get out. What kind of idiot wanted to be a hostage?
“I thought you'd sleep the whole day away.” Angel was in the kitchen in clear view of the front door. So much for stealth.
Light grey pajama pants rode low on his hips as he stood in front of the stove flipping pancakes.
Astrid's gaze flitted to the table where he already had two plates out with sausage and two glasses of milk. Butter and maple syrup sat in the middle of the table. The syrup was in a small metal container which rested on a warmer plate that she imagined must have come with it in a set from some fancy boutique kitchen gadget store.
He brought the food over and put a couple of crisp, almost-burnt pancakes on each of their plates. He took the pan and spatula back to the stove then joined her at the table.
Astrid studiously avoided his gaze. She couldn't bring herself to meet those startling blue eyes in the light of day. Everything that had happened since the moment she'd walked in on her husband's murder until she'd woken this morning had felt like some sort of surreal dreamworld. It couldn't be real.
But with the sunlight pouring in through all the windows, it became increasingly difficult to pretend.
“You should fix your pancakes before they get cold,” Angel said. He was either unconcerned or oblivious to her discomfort.
“You kidnapped me,” she said. She felt she must continue to say things like this, if for no other reason, to hear them out loud. Because otherwise she might lose her mind. He was acting too cozy and domestic—like this was normal. She couldn't let any of this become normal.
“I'm not sure what that has to do with pancakes,” he said.
She stared at her plate of food, still unable to look at him. After another strained stretch of silence, Angel spread butter over her pancakes for her and poured some warm maple syrup on top.
“I can cut it up into little triangles if you'd like, but I can't eat it for you.”
“I'm not a child,” she said. But her voice sounded so strange in his kitchen in the daylight.
“Then eat.”
Astrid took a bite of the pancakes. “You aren't ever letting me go, are you?”
“Probably not.”
She knew she needed to have a reaction to this. A big reaction. She should scream or cry or beg. She could imagine herself throwing the plate. In her head she could hear the china shattering against the refrigerator, could see the sticky sweet syrup trail slowly down its stainless steel door face.
Instead she kept eating. The pancakes were good, but it was hard to fully enjoy them knowing this was the first day of an eternal prison sentence. It didn't matter how attractive her jailer was—or the way he'd made her feel the previous night. That was the main reason she couldn't look at him.
She'd never felt this way after a sexual encounter with a man before. She'd never become this agonizingly shy. He'd kept his word about only touching her, but he'd opened something very raw and vulnerable. Even with all that Joey had done, Angel had made her feel like some strange innocence had wrapped itself around her again.
And now he seemed intent to strip it away layer by layer.
Wasn't she safer here? It seemed insane to even think such a thing. But with Joey gone, his successor was likely to kill her, keep her for himself, or do what Joey had once threatened. The next guy in line was Little Tony. He was repulsive in every way imaginable, the kind of man that even the thought of touching him would have made her want to die instead.
Angel's bed was far preferable. Still. It seemed wrong that she should capitulate to his crazy whim to just keep her. As if she were some stray cat he'd picked up at the animal shelter. Like this was a totally normal thing to do. He acted like it was.
Any mild hesitance he might have almost seemed to show the previous night was absent now. Now that he had it all figured out.
“How are they? I like them a little burnt and crispy around the edges,” he said.
“They're good.” She was surprised she could even taste the pancakes let alone form an opinion about them.
“Angel?”
“Hmmm?”
“You know you can't just keep me, right?”
He laughed. “You're adorable.”
“People will be looking for me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
He studied her as if he could suck the thoughts out of her mind and then reassemble them into an easily readable format.
“No. The only people who will be looking for you are people you wouldn't want to find you. You know you're safer here.”
Which was exactly what she'd just been thinking.
“Is that how you're justifying this to yourself? Like you're rescuing me and keeping me hidden from Joey's goons?”
“Well? Isn't that the state of things?”
“Fuck you.” She said it quietly, but loud enough for him to hear.
He smirked. “I didn't think you'd be ready so soon.”
She looked up, startled by the innuendo. Even though she knew she shouldn't be after last night. Seeing him in full sun like this was overwhelming. He was even more beautiful than she'd remembered in all the glimpses in much dimmer lighting.
“You know you want me,” he said, a smug self-satisfied smirk on his face.
She looked back down at her plate, trying not to think about how he'd made her scream the night before, the way his hands had felt on her, the intense urge she'd had to just beg him to fuck her. How long would she be able to hold out before making that humiliating little request?
She did want him. It was so sick she didn't know how to even categorize the wanton lust that surged through her in his presence. He shouldn't have this effect on her. And yet he did. The worst part was that he knew he did.
He finished eating before her and rose to put his plate and glass in the sink. She watched him slink like a jungle cat to the other side of the kitchen. Of course he would look like a predator. He was a predator. And she was practically panting to be his prey. What a fucking idiot she was.
When things turned bad, she would remember this moment and the stupidity and shame of not fighting him every step of the way. The night before she'd had the excuse that she didn't want to sleep alone with the storm, even as stupid as that sounded now over breakfast. But from now on, she had to resist. Every single step. Everything he tried to do. If she just gave in to him, what did that say about her?
It would have been different if they'd met a different way—if she didn't know what he was. But she did know.
She quickly looked back at her plate as he returned to the table.
“Are you finished with the syrup and butter?”
“Yes,” she mumbled, taking another bite of pancakes.
He took them off the table and put them in the fridge, and again she watched him.
“I've got a bit of work to do in my office, so feel free to explore the house when you're done eating.”
When he'd finally left her alone, she let out a long shuddering breath. Suddenly her hands were shaking from the adrenalin. She got up and paced back and forth next to the table. He scared her on a level no one had ever scared her. And it was as much what he was as it was how attractive she found him. He made her nervous in ways she didn't have names for.
She put her plate and glass in the sink and went to explore the house to try to settle her nerves. As she peered in room after room, she tried to convince herself things were okay. After all, she was away from Joey and safe from Little Tony. She had a very nice place to stay with an absurdly beautiful man who she knew could protect her and provide anything she needed.
And that would be fine, except for the inconvenient other facts. Murder. Kidnapping. Ambiguous molestation. Maybe? She had begged him to let her come, after all.
There was a large fitness room on the first floor that led out to the pool. Without thinking, she opened the sliding glass door to the outside patio. A shrieking siren started to wail. Astrid fell to her knees and covered her ears as if she could burrow through the floor to get underground and make that horrible noise stop.
A few minutes later, the sound stopped and Angel found her still balled up on the ground.
“I'm sorry. I didn't think. I was just exploring.” She cringed, waiting for some retribution to fall.
“I'll redo the security and figure out something in the next day or two so you can go outside when I'm home, but not off the property.”
“Okay.” Like there was anything else she could say.
He went back down the hallway, leaving her alone in the fitness room. She'd been afraid he'd be angry when she forgot and opened the door, but he'd been completely stoic.
Astrid took a few moments to collect herself and continued exploring. There was a study/library combo on the other end of the house. The décor was a bit more traditional than previous rooms. Next to that was a very elegant formal room that looked a bit like a ball room and contained a black Steinway piano. A few feet from the piano was a pole that went from the ceiling to the floor. Along the far wall was a fully-stocked bar.
At the end of the bar was a door. As she moved toward the door, Astrid's pulse started to race. There was no reason this should happen except that the pole next to the piano seemed like some sort of warning buzzer. She'd seen enough of Joey's life. She wasn't the naïve girl she'd been when she'd met him. She couldn't pretend the pole was just some random support for the room. It was exactly what it looked like it was. A stripper pole.
Even knowing she should just leave that door alone, she crossed the room to it and turned the knob. It was locked. Astrid was almost relieved. But as she turned away, she saw a small glass bowl on the bar with a key sitting inside it.
That couldn't be the key to that door. If he wanted to keep a door locked in his house, why would he keep the key right next to it? That begged the question of why he even needed an interior door locked at all when he lived alone. He certainly hadn't been expecting company so maybe he hadn't thought about the key. Maybe the key wasn't even to that door but for something else entirely.
She should just leave the room.
But she couldn't. Not with that key gleaming from the bottom of the glass bowl. She felt like Alice in Wonderland faced with a cookie with a message saying “eat me”. It was foolish to do it but impossible not to. If that key went to that door, now she had to know what was behind it.
Astrid took the key from the bowl and unlocked the door.
***
Angel sat in his office watching the security monitor. He'd been watching the monitor feeds from the various security cameras hidden throughout the house since Astrid had left the kitchen. He'd watched with fascination as she'd opened the pool door and then reacted. Such a strange reaction.
He hadn't expected her to trigger the alarm, but once she had it would have seemed more normal to go outside away from the sound. Now here she was in the piano room.
When he'd woken that morning, before starting breakfast, he'd put the key in the glass bowl on the bar. He wanted to see what she'd do. He wasn't sure exactly what he thought he was doing. After all, if Joey had been hurting her, and with the sorts of things he'd been into, it would be so easy for Astrid to take this the wrong way.
Still, he needed her to know, and the sooner she knew the sooner she could start processing it and make peace with the new layer of reality in her world. Besides, he needed her to react. He wanted to chase and hunt and subdue her. He needed to feel her panicked little body writhing in a feverish panic beneath him. He wouldn't hurt her, but he was hungry for something more than the desperate pleasure he'd pulled from her the previous night. He'd gotten that small taste, and now he wanted infinitely more. Of everything.
After what felt like a small eternity, she took the key from the bowl and unlocked the door. The lights had motion detectors and came on as she descended the stairs to his dungeon. He'd brought a lot of women down there, women he'd paid for from expensive escort services that allowed him to keep his location a secret. He'd brought women here blindfolded, but he'd never let anyone discover the dungeon alone.
Angel watched the shocked expression spread over her face, her hand coming to her mouth to silence a scream before it could find voice on the air. A few moments later she had turned and ran up the stairs.
He heard her tear down the hall, and then the sirens came on again as she flung open the front door.
Angel rose slowly from his chair and went to turn the alarm off. They were pretty far out, and it was simply too much ground for her to cover on foot. Let her run. The brief conscience he'd felt the night before over taking an innocent, had been swallowed up by the desire to possess her completely. To own her. He needed her to beg him and cower and call him master—needed it like he needed oxygen.
If she hadn't come so undone under his hands the night before... maybe he could have maintained some self-control. Perhaps he could have been more patient. But her hot little body writhing under him, begging him to take her... By the morning, he'd moved past all hesitation and shallow noble intention.
No matter how he'd tried to rationalize it and lie to himself and make up excuses, the second she'd walked in on his kill, the moment he'd seen her, some part of his lizard brain had lit up. Something deep inside his subconscious in that moment had already decided she would be his slave.
He was done paying escorts to play a game. He wanted something permanent. And real.
Angel stepped outside just as she reached the tree line. He took his time going after her. As much as he wanted to chase her, it was better to let her wear herself out a little. When he stepped into the wooded area, he heard nothing. No branches snapping or crushing or crackling of dry leaves. She was hiding somewhere within the dense woods—probably not far from where he stood. After all, she would need to catch her breath from bolting up the stairs and across that large expanse of open land.
“Astrid, come back to the house with me and let's talk. We're too far out. I don't want to have to chase you down.” Yes he did. He wanted it very badly.
Let her run. Let her try to defy him. He could picture her running and flushed, him tackling her to the ground and holding her there with her fiery red hair spread out like a blanket on the grass, looking up at him... begging him.
No one had ever had such a disturbing effect on him. He'd always felt so in control. Whether it was a kill or a sex game with a prostitute, he'd always been so... steady.
Nothing inside him felt steady now. Even though he was sure she couldn't escape, he thrilled at the possibility—the threat that she might somehow slip beyond his grasp forever.
“Astrid... come back with me. Let's play a game.” As he spoke to her, he walked through the woods, stopping every few steps to listen... for a snapped twig, breathing, tears.
What he heard instead was an unexpected sneeze.
He turned to find her several yards away, bolting back into the open field. Angel ran after her, quickly eating the distance between them. Finally he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her flush against him. He was sure she could feel his erection pressed against her.
It took her a moment to catch her breath so she could speak. “P-please. You said you wouldn't hurt me.”
She seemed hurt by this as if he were in the act of betraying her. And that bit of conscience sprung free to scold him again.
“And have I hurt you? Last night you didn't seem to think so.” If anything her response to him had been far more than he could have hoped for. It was obvious she wanted him on a level so primal that it scared her. Angel was sure she was fighting with herself and her own desires because of how wrong it was.
Intellectually he could understand this. Objectively it was wrong to fall into bed with the man who'd just murdered your husband, no matter how awful the husband had been. But Angel couldn't feel these things in the way she could. Whatever moral reasoning tormented her, didn't trouble him at all. For him, it was an intellectual exercise, nothing more. But she was far more sensitive and emotionally fragile.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I can't. Please, I can't. You're just like him. Please... please.”
“What did he do to you?”
She stopped struggling and looked at him for a long moment as if trying to decide something. “L-let go of me and I'll show you.”
Angel released her and took a step back to give her some space. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.
She turned away and pulled the light blue Nirvana T-shirt off. “Please don't do this. I-I can't go through it again.”
Angel stared in shock at the scars on her back. He shouldn't have been surprised, after all, he knew what Callazaro was into. And her timid behavior and lack of fight when he'd first taken her suggested the same. Yet, seeing it was different. No wonder she was having internal conflicts and fighting her desires. The evidence was painted quite starkly across her back, why she shouldn't give in to men like him.
Long angry whip lashes. It made him want to kill Callazaro all over again. Except more slowly this time. He felt an irrational sense of possession toward her. It offended him that piece of shit had done this to what he increasingly considered his.
She flinched when he ran his fingertips over the marks. “Shhh,” he said. “When he did this to you, was he angry?”
“Y-yes.”
“I don't use that room when I'm angry. It's for pleasure. Not pain. Any pain is mild compared to the pleasure—and it's meant to take you to pleasure. I don't hurt women like that.” He doubted she could understand how pain could become an instrument of pleasure, particularly when it obviously hadn't been used that way with her.
She pulled her shirt back down and turned to face him. “B-but you have whips like Joey.”
“A lot of people have whips. That doesn't mean they are all abusive monsters.”
“But you kill people. How can I trust that?”
He couldn't deny that part. But his work and what he did with women were two completely separate compartments in his life. He didn't even take contracts for women.
Something almost tender overcame him. Suddenly instead of chasing her and making her afraid, he wanted to make her trust him. He wanted her to learn she would be safe if she did. He needed her to see he wasn't Joey and could never be such an out-of-control psychopath.
“Do you want me, Astrid?” He knew that she did. No woman who was indifferent or repulsed, responded like she had responded the previous night. Nor would she have been so shy at breakfast, or looked at him with that desperate hungry look she didn't realize she telegraphed. She had such an open face that showed every emotion that flitted across it.
“N-no.” Astrid flushed bright red as she looked away. “It's wrong.”
“Why? Is it wrong, or are you just afraid?”
She looked back at him, her expression shocked. “Of course I'm afraid.”
“And if I'm a threat to you, giving in to me won't change that. I could do whatever I wanted anyway. So what difference does it make if you enjoy the fall?”
She actually seemed to consider this line of reason. She should. It was utterly insane to Angel that she would fight something they both knew she wanted based on some irrational moral reasoning which no longer applied in the situation she'd found herself in.
“Let's go back inside.”
She shook her head and took a step back. “I can't.”
“I wasn't asking.”
He waited a moment to see how she would respond. His suspicion was proven right when she gave him one final pleading look before moving back to the house. He was stronger and faster than her, and they both knew that. She'd likely only run in the first place because of blind panic at what she'd seen downstairs. He needed to get some kind of security bracelet or ankle monitor to keep her on the property.
When they were inside, he took her hand and led her back to the piano room. She didn't struggle, but the fear emanated from her like palpable waves threatening to consume them both. He took her back down the stairs to the dungeon.
“Please,” she whimpered.
Reluctantly she let him lead her down the stairs. He stopped next to a large bondage bed with various means of restraint around it.
“Sit,” he said.
She sat.
The dungeon was a warm, exposed-brick basement with plush white rugs over a dark hardwood floor. The walls contained hooks and shelves which displayed an endless array of toys and whipping implements. High-end sex furniture and bondage equipment were spread throughout the room.
In one corner, was a large dark walnut wardrobe. Angel opened it and retrieved some sexy black lingerie that would be just about her size. He laid the lingerie beside her and put his hand gently on the side of her face.
“A-Angel...” she said uncertainly.
“I want you to call me, Master.”
“I-”
He let it go for now. It was, after all, very fast. She'd been with him less than a day. What had happened to his noble idea of giving her weeks to come to him? Well, she did come to him. And then she'd come for him. Angel had decided he now had an all-access pass and was no longer willing to wait weeks or months to woo her. Any fears she had could be dealt with this way just as well as by pretending to be a gentleman.
“Astrid, let's say we had met in a different, normal way. What if you had never met Joey, you met me instead, and you never knew about what I did for work. If I was kind and took care of you, would it be okay under those circumstances for you to want me?”
“Y-yes, I think so.”
“And then, what if... in the course of this normal relationship, you discovered I had some kinks and I wanted to play a trust game with you? What if you played it, found that you liked it, and learned that it was safe to trust me? Would that be okay?”
“I mean... yeah. People do that stuff safely. It's just that you're a killer and...”
Angel pressed a finger to her lips. “No. This is a hypothetical conversation. In this world you don't know that.”
“But I don't like it,” she said.
“Because of Joey?” Angel asked. “Is that your only experience with this?”
“Yes, but...”
“And in the scenario I laid out, you never met Joey. I was your first exposure. Is there no part of you that can see the possibilities?”
She shrugged and looked away. “I don't know.”
“Well, I do. The way you responded to me last night, I could make you want anything. Play a trust game with me, Astrid. You'll see.”
She shook her head. “I could never trust you.”
“I'll make a deal with you. Give in to me today, everything I ask, and if you don't love everything, I'll back off.”
“You'll let me go?”
“I didn't say that. I said I'd back off.”
“Again, how can I trust you?”
“If you couldn't, would I have bothered with this conversation? We both know I could have done anything I wanted with you from the moment I took you. I don't need to negotiate. There is nothing to stop me. If I was really the monster you fear, you'd already be chained down to that bed accepting whatever I decided to do to you. So I'll ask again, will you give me today?”
She bit her bottom lip and sighed as if this were the weightiest decision of her life. How could it be when he was allowing the decision to begin with? She had to know this was the truth of her situation. Maybe she thought if she said no she could delay things. As if slowing down the timeline changed the destination.
“O-okay,” she finally said.
“Okay, Master,” he corrected. “If you're giving me today, you're also giving me the title I requested.”
“Okay, Master,” she said.
“Good girl.” Angel was sure if he were to slip his hand underneath her panties, she would be warm and wet and ready for him already. He gestured to the lingerie on the bed. “I want you to change into this and then come upstairs.”
He saw the excitement in her eyes when he gave the order. Yes, this girl was his. She just didn't know it yet.
***
Astrid sat alone in the dungeon room staring at the lingerie beside her. It was an elegant black leather corset, lace panties, and a black satin robe with lace trim.
Classical piano music drifted down the stairs to her. She was surprised he played. She'd just assumed he had a piano because it seemed like the kind of thing someone with a lot of money would have to appear more cultured—though as far out as he lived, who would he have to impress? Angel didn't seem the type to host large gatherings.
It made her wonder who he even brought to this room. Had they been girlfriends? Prostitutes? What if they had been women like her? Where were they now?
But he was right. About everything. She was attracted and wanted him, even though she knew it was wrong. And he could do whatever he wanted. No one could stop him. Joey had never shown this sort of patience or willingness to reason with her. Wasn't that a sign that these two men were not the same?
Her experience with Joey had colored things to the point her first urge was to flee. She'd tried to run from Joey once even before she'd known too much about his business. It had ended in pain and blood and bruises. He'd been absolutely enraged that she would dare try to leave him. She'd learned quickly from that mistake. And the lesson had only grown stronger when she'd discovered how much criminal power he held in the underworld and just how secure her cage was.
Angel hadn't reacted that way. She'd been sure he would. After all, if she got free, he had a lot to lose. But instead he'd tried to reassure her.
The piano music upstairs turned darker and more fast-paced, almost as if he were playing his frustration and impatience. Astrid quickly changed into the lingerie and put the robe on, tied the belt around her waist, and went upstairs hoping she was right that this was a different thing from Joey and somehow it would be okay to want this.
Angel looked up when she came into the room and switched to a slower, more soothing song. He paused and motioned her closer, then went back to playing. Astrid crossed the room to him feeling all fluttery and nervous.
The horrible truth was that he did excite her. Even after everything she'd been through with Joey. Part of her couldn't help seeing Angel, not as the Angel of death, but as an avenging angel rescuing her from the pain and terror she'd been trapped in with no way out. She felt ridiculously grateful to him for getting rid of Joey, even for kidnapping her in a weird way.
If Angel hadn't brought her home, it would have been Little Tony next, and he was as bad as Joey, but in a much more repulsive package. Just the idea of Little Tony touching her was enough to make her want to vomit.
She kept saying she wanted Angel to let her go, but the truth was, she knew she was safe from Joey's people here. They would never find her.
She'd had more than one illicit thought since the previous night about Angel throwing her down and fucking her into oblivion. Each time these thoughts attempted to intrude upon her mind, she'd tried to shove them away and think of something else. She didn't want to think about him that way, but it was impossible not to. He had a powerful energy that pulled her in.
He was right, though. He could have just done what he wanted already. She'd known what he wanted the moment their eyes had locked when she'd walked in on her husband's murder. There had been a raw, naked lust in his eyes. And the truth was, she wasn't sure if she'd run from him because of the murder, or because of that look. That absolute look of possession.
Had she been afraid he would kill her... or fuck her? And that she might like it?
Angel stopped playing the piano and poured a glass of whiskey. He must have gotten it from the bar.
He offered the tumbler to her. “Drink?”
Astrid shook her head.
“You sure? It might loosen you up.”
She probably needed it, but she wanted to maintain the smallest pretext of control. Alcohol would erase the one thing she still had control over.
He took a sip of the whiskey and set the glass back down on the piano. “Come here.”
Astrid felt her pulse pounding in her head as she moved closer to him. The last time she'd been this scared was the last time Joey had chained her up and beaten her. Was that what she was afraid of this time?
No. It was hard to pinpoint what she was afraid of exactly. Maybe she was afraid that there was just something profoundly wrong with her. She should fight him. She should make him be a monster if he wanted to fuck her or do anything else with her. Because it was wrong to want him. It made her wrong.
With Joey she'd been dumb and naïve. She could perhaps be given one free pass for a youthful indiscretion. But she knew what Angel was. And yet all she wanted was for him to put his hands on her—like the night before in his bed.
As soon as the memory arose in her mind, an intense throbbing arousal started between her legs.
Angel continued to play soft, soothing strains. It wasn't until she began to relax that he stopped and pulled her toward him. He stroked her ass over the satin robe and kissed the side of her throat. She couldn't help the moan that escaped her. Nor could she help rubbing against him like a cat begging for attention.
“Are you going to be a good girl for me today?” he whispered in her ear.
She knew there was only one correct reply to that. “Yes, Master.” Even as she said it, she wanted it to be true. If he'd decided to shove aside the robe, rip off her panties, and fuck her over the piano, she wouldn't have protested.
But instead of doing that, he pulled away and went back to playing the piano. “Go over to the pole and strip for me. Slowly.”
“I-”
“The appropriate reply to that is, yes, Master.”
“Y-es, Master.” What was wrong with her that even saying that turned her on? Everything about this man turned her on. No doubt there had been a sense in which she had been Joey's slave. She hadn't been truly free to leave him without consequences... and the things he'd done to her most people wouldn't even do to a dog. But Joey had never made her call him master or any other title.
The raw honesty behind what Angel demanded made her want to trust him a little more. If he were being so honest about this, could it also be true that he was being honest about not hurting her? He'd said it so many times. Joey had never uttered the phrase 'I'm not going to hurt you.'
Astrid wasn't a stranger to the art of the striptease. It had been a reasonably good way to appease Joey when he was in one of his moods. It resulted in a near fifty percent rate of avoiding an angry flip-out.
Of course Angel wasn't angry. It had only been one day, but even when he'd gotten into the argument with the guy on the phone the night before, he'd been pretty calm about everything. Of course, calm wasn't necessarily a great sign in a killer.
Killing someone calmly or killing them hysterically, they were still dead. Perhaps it should worry her more that he could take a life so calmly.
“Astrid? Care to let me in on your internal monologue? It looks interesting from over here.”
There was a touch of amusement in his voice.
She considered not answering, or answering with a lie, but she felt compelled to know how he would respond to what was really inside her head. So she told him what she'd just been thinking, practically letting her thoughts of only moments before spill out word for word.
Angel continued playing. He didn't miss a note.
“Would it interest you to know I've never killed a woman? I've never killed anyone I haven't been paid to kill, and they were all men. My interactions with women are strictly for pleasure. I've never hit a woman outside of play in the dungeon, and I definitely don't leave behind permanent marks.”
A shiver skated up her spine. “How many women have you brought here?”
“Dozens.”
“And where are they now?”
“At work, I presume. They were escorts.”
“Oh.” Well, that was comforting at least. If he was telling the truth. “What will happen when you get bored with me?”
“That's very unlikely, but if I somehow lost my good taste and got bored with you, I wouldn't kill you, if that's what you're asking.”
“Okay.” What else could she say to that? Could she even trust him?
This still didn't explain what he would do. Would he let her go then? If he lost interest? The idea of him losing interest was suddenly upsetting on a level totally separate from 'what he would do with her'. She found she didn't want him to lose interest—if he really wouldn't hurt her. In fact, it was the only thing that stood between her and 'enjoying the fall' as Angel had put it—the fear that she would willingly give in, and that he would take that trust and use it to abuse her.
If there had been no Joey and if she didn't know what Angel did for a living, Angel was exactly the kind of man she would have fantasized about and wished for. Wealthy, even-tempered, capable of protecting her, good looking, and absolutely consumed with her. Could her attraction to him be somewhat normal after all? What if she'd found out about what he did long after they were bonded?
It had been that way with Joey, but Joey was abusing women. Selling them. Doing sick, twisted things that were unforgivable. Angel was killing people like Joey. He was doing the world a favor. Joey profited off the pain and suffering of innocents. Angel profited off the pain and suffering of the guilty. These things were only the same by the most simplistic, surface understanding of the world.
She'd lived in Joey's world long enough to know that Angel killing him was a just act—an act no one else seemed willing to perform. Where had the institutions meant to protect and serve as well as punish the guilty been while Joey was torturing innocent women—Astrid among them?
The fact that Angel was financially rewarded for the lives he took, somehow seemed just in itself. She knew too much about what Joey had been into to see it any other way now that the immediate panic and fear of Angel was beginning to fade and her ability to think clearly was returning.
She watched him as he played the piano, seemingly lost in music centuries removed from him. An intensity built in him as he played. It was an intensity that had been present the night before in his bed and which she desperately wanted aimed in her direction again. If it could somehow be safe.
It occurred to her that it was possible Angel was exactly the kind of man she'd truly craved from the beginning. Joey had merely been a false positive. Qualities she'd thought she'd seen in Joey early on had been something quite different. It was sometimes hard to tell the difference in a man who was dangerous in all the right ways versus a man who was dangerous to her.
The world of sexual choices for a woman now were divided into completely weak, pandering men and men who would hurt her. Where were the strong, alpha males who would keep her safe? Why were the choices... a man who would be kind to her but couldn't protect or excite her... or an abuser?
Astrid had beaten herself up endlessly for choosing a man like Joey. For choosing wrong. But she hadn't chosen Angel... so why not just see where it could go? In any event, pissing him off wasn't exactly a sane survival strategy just so she could have the virtue of not giving in to another monster. And what if Angel was that man she so fervently wished existed?
Who was there left in the world to judge her? Who could wag their finger or say “I told you to stay away from men like this, Astrid”? It was increasingly likely that Angel would never let her go, and that any attempt of escape on her part would be just as weak and doomed to fail as today's attempt. And escape to what? The clutches of Little Tony? One of Joey's other goons?
The absolute best-case scenario was somehow fully escaping Joey's world and all his sordid underworld associates and ending up settling down with a man who drank soy lattes and microbrews unironically. Both outcomes sounded like hell. What if Angel and what he offered was real?
“You're stalling. Strip. Do my game today, and we'll do your game of twenty questions tomorrow.”
He still sounded amused. Not angry, or impatient. Astrid was sure it was because he knew he'd won. He somehow knew she'd crossed this distressing bridge in her mind and now she was ready to play this game with him. Even though she was afraid it was stupid to trust him, she was willing to go along for the ride. Because really, what other option was there? If her only issue was that she was afraid he might hurt her—even though she had no evidence yet that he would. Especially given that, inconvenient realities of how they met aside, he was the total package. And the other male options in the world involved far too much soy.
In any other scenario, scores of women would have clawed Astrid's eyes out just to get a chance to be with Angel. And here he was, his entire, total focus... on her.
Finally making up her mind, Astrid went over to the pole. She'd never stripped to classical music before, but there was a first time for everything. She untied the robe and let it pool at her feet. Then she grabbed the bar to steady herself as she slowly swayed with the music. Fuck all the reasons this might be stupid. It was stupider to keep fighting when she was so attracted and hadn't chosen any of this to begin with.
“Good girl,” Angel said. “I want you to move so that the pole is between your legs and grind and slide up against it.”
Had he really just said that? Oh please let this guy be the real deal.
He continued to play but didn't take his eyes off her as she obeyed his order trying not to let such simple words from him completely undo her.
“It's so cute when you blush,” he said.
Astrid had no doubt she was blushing. Her whole body felt hot. She wanted to get the remaining clothing off her just so she could feel cool air on her skin.
“Please... can't you just take me downstairs and fuck me?” And there it was. The humiliating request. Even with those words hanging in the air, more than anything now, it was the tension of the space between them that bothered her. To feel so on display with so much physical space separating them. She wanted him to be with her, rather than far enough away that he could only observe her.
Angel chuckled. “I told you, you wanted me. Strip first, then I'll consider the second request.”
She straddled the pole and rubbed against it. She wasn't sure if this was meant to excite him, or her, because if he didn't stop her, she could probably manage to come this way.
“Slowly,” Angel reminded her.
It was meant to excite him because slowly wasn't going to do it for her in this situation. Somehow this idea excited her even more. The fabric of the panties helped her slide against the cool metal pole. After a few moments of this she moved away and began to unhook the seemingly endless fastenings of the corset while her hips moved in a serpentine fashion to the music.
When she was down to only panties, she cupped her breasts and then put a hand between her legs. Angel stopped playing abruptly and motioned her to him. She went perhaps a little too quickly.
He rose from the bench and took her hand and led her back toward the dungeon. This time she didn't resist. He'd shown no true indication he was willing to hurt her, but it was hard to keep that thought at the forefront of her mind when confronted again with the basement and all the frightening things in it. It was too similar to the set-up Joey had. It was too much like awful things she'd seen and been subjected to. How could she be safe here?
It was one thing to convince herself that things could be okay when she was upstairs, but once again confronted with this room she found herself scared again—scared he would go too far, that he would hurt her. What would stop him?
Angel led her to one of the pieces of sex furniture. It was a long padded bench that had a sort of metal ball shaped thing that rose halfway out of the padding and was otherwise sunk down out of sight.
“Close your eyes,” Angel said.
“Master?” She wouldn't risk calling him anything else right now. She didn't think she had much negotiating power anyway, but she definitely didn't if she couldn't manage following the smallest speech rule.
“Astrid, I promise you're safe. You can ask me to stop, but only if I'm doing something you really find terrible. You can't abuse this privilege and do it just because you think you might be upset at some future point. Understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good. Now close your eyes.”
Astrid sighed and closed her eyes. When her eyes were closed, Angel blindfolded her. She shivered as he pulled the black lace panties down.
“Step out,” he said.
He held her hands to steady her as she stepped out of the panties. Then he helped her onto the bench and made her lie on her stomach straddling it. He positioned her so that the half-protruding metal ball was positioned right between her legs, pressed against her clit. Her wetness was already beginning to lubricate it.
He used restraints to secure her to the bench, both arms and legs.
“Lift your head.”
She did so.
“Now lie back down. I want you to be comfortable.”
When she lowered her head back down, she found she was resting on a soft pillow.
There was a small click like a button of some sort being pushed, and then the metal ball between her legs began to move, rolling in place.
“Oh,” she gasped. Although she'd had a sort of idea of what this part of the bench was for, she wasn't prepared for the actual sensation of it. It was a slow, relentless, torturous kind of building pleasure. Each revolution of the metal ball drove her arousal just a little higher, sensitized her flesh just a little more.
In a distant sort of way, she was aware of Angel collecting various things from different parts of the room. Drawers opened and closed. Things came off hooks. Objects were laid on a nearby table. But her largest point of focus was on the exciting sensations from the masturbatory metal ball that continued to revolve over and over on an endless pleasure treadmill. The metal felt slippery with her wetness, creating an even more intense sensation.
She jumped when she felt Angel's hand on her, then relaxed when he began to gently stroke her back. Then he was caressing her ass. There was another click sound, and the ball began rolling faster, creating even more intense sensation between her legs.
“I'm going to let you come once before we continue,” he said. “So don't hold back.”
A moment later, he'd pressed two fingers inside her pussy, and began pumping them inside her. She squirmed and pushed back both against the feverishly moving metal ball, and his fingers.
He continued to caress her ass with his free hand. “Let yourself go, Astrid.”
She'd been just on the edge when he said those words. Suddenly all these things combined to culminate in the strongest orgasm she could remember having. Ever. Astrid clawed helplessly at the leather padding, screaming out her pleasure until she was utterly spent.
Another click, and the intense sensations stopped.
“Now you get to choose from a menu of options of what comes next,” Angel said. His voice seemed to float above her, detached from everything. “Option one: I can untie you and take you over to the bed and fuck you. Option two: I can whip you. Option three: I can turn the machine back on and make you come again. Choose.”
The choice was obvious. She definitely didn't want to be whipped and she was too sensitive to handle the rotating metal ball again right after such a strong orgasm.
“Fuck me.”
Angel chuckled. “I would prefer it if you'd frame that as a request. And address me the way I taught you.”
She felt her voice go soft and shy, “Please fuck me, Master.”
“Very good.”
Astrid knew she was falling into his trap, but option one really did sound the best. And even if it had been the only option, she wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted to feel his body against hers. She wanted to be cradled in his arms. But would he do it that way? Or would he fuck her like an animal from behind?
“A-Angel?”
He was silent.
“Master?”
“Yes?”
“Will you...”
“Will I what?”
“Never mind. Nothing.”
“No. Ask.”
“I can't. I feel stupid. You'll laugh.”
“You want me to make love not fuck,” he guessed. Maybe she really was that transparent.
She didn't reply because she was afraid if she did, that he would say no and break this spell.
Angel didn't say anything else. Instead, he released her from the bonds securing her to the bench, and helped her up, then he led her across the room back to the padded bondage bed. He laid her out on it, but this time instead of feeling the leather padding that had been there before, she felt thick blankets and pillows which he must have set up while he was going through drawers and moving things.
She flinched at the sound of a belt going through belt loops, and then jumped when the metal buckle hit the ground. Then a zipper. Then the sound of fabric collapsing to the floor. A few moments later, he was beside her on the bed.
Suddenly the blindfold was gone and she was met with his intense ice blue gaze.
“Yes,” he said in answer to her previous request. Yes, he would make love to her, not just violently plow into her like some selfish monster. Like Joey.
Astrid gasped when he entered her. Even with being so wet and his fingers already having been inside her, he was much larger than she'd expected. He waited a moment for her to adjust then began to move slowly inside her.
He stroked the side of her face and rained kisses along her throat and over her breasts. He made love to her in the way of every sappy romance movie. Sweet and long and slow and careful and so gentle that she could almost forget they hadn't met in some sweet safe way. He treated her as something precious—something almost sacred. Given the surroundings of the room, she was surprised he had it in him to be this way.
“I won't always be this restrained,” he said. “But I will be until you learn you're safe with me.”
She was already convinced. Astrid couldn't believe that he could be this careful with her and be evil. At least toward innocent people.
He increased his pace and came inside her with a guttural animal sound that sent a shiver through her. He held her as both of their heartbeats resumed a normal tempo. She hadn't come again, but she didn't need to, and she didn't think she was able to after what had happened on the bench. Angel moving inside her had felt amazing in the way a full body massage feels amazing. It was comforting in all the right ways.
Finally he pulled out of her and got up to retrieve his clothing. He started to dress again. Astrid lay watching him in the low lighting, watching his sleek muscles tighten and relax as he moved.
When he was dressed he returned and extended a hand to her and helped her up off the bed. Then he put the blindfold back over her eyes.
“I'm not done with you,” he whispered.
He put her back on the bench where she'd started out and secured her just as before. There was a click, and the metal ball started to slowly move again.
“Please, I can't take anymore,” she said. Lying in the bed with him moments before, she'd been completely satisfied.
“I'm not done with you,” he repeated. His voice was dark and delicious, and the command in it sent another bolt of arousal between her legs when she'd been sure she was fully spent already.
Astrid heard some rustling and movement off to the side, and then she felt, more than heard, his presence behind her. She jumped when several leather cords snapped across her back.
“M-master, please,” she whimpered, her anxiety spiking at the sharp and unexpected sting. The strike hadn't been exceptionally painful, and if possible, it had heightened the sensation between her legs, but still. “You said I could choose.”
“Correct,” he said. “But I didn't say we were only doing that one thing. You were choosing which we were doing first. All three are happening. You have a whipping and another orgasm to go.”
Tears started to slip from beneath the blindfold. Her crying wasn't as silent as she thought because Angel noticed immediately and wiped the tears off her face.
“I told you, I'm not going to hurt you. If it gets too intense, you can ask me to stop.”
She wanted to ask if that would mean anything, but she didn't want to know the answer. Instead she decided to hold onto this one small thing.
The leather cords came down across her back over and over in a steady stinging rhythm. When she realized he wasn't escalating the amount of pain, she began to relax. When she relaxed, she noticed the strangest thing.
The pain was somehow opening up more space for pleasure. The contrast between the pain and the pleasure building between her legs made the pleasure feel sharper. After each lash, Angel waited and allowed the pleasure to build before continuing on.
He must have been observing her very carefully for signs she was about to come because each time she got to the edge, the leather lashed her back again in a sharp, jolting sting. It pulled her back from the ledge. He let the pleasure from the revolving metal ball build again. He did this over and over until she was driven almost mad by it.
Astrid began to writhe and squirm, not sure if she was trying to get away from the pleasure or closer to it.
Finally, she heard Angel fling the whip away. He pressed his hand firmly against her lower back to still her squirming.
“No. Be still,” he said. “You're going to come for me again.”
Another click and the machine went up to the more intense speed again. Angel held her in place with one hand and used the other to penetrate her with a hard phallic object that felt like what he'd fucked her with the night before. It was made more intense by the blindfold and the machine which seemed intent on pushing her to her limits. She moaned and whimpered and screamed out her second intense orgasm of the day.
He turned the bench off, then stroked and ran his tongue over the places on her back the whip had struck. Her flesh felt hot, and she was sure welts were beginning to form.
Once again, he freed her from the bench. This time he scooped her up and carried her up the stairs to the main floor, then up a second set of stairs. He set her down on a bed.
“Don't move. I'll be right back,” he said.
Astrid lay there in the artificial darkness of the blindfold, trying to pull her thoughts together. The experience had been so intense, she felt as though she had somehow fragmented into a million tiny selves, and she wasn't sure how to reassemble herself back together again.
She'd lost all sense of time, so it was impossible to know if a few minutes or hours had passed when he returned, but probably just minutes. He got in bed with her and pulled her into his arms so that they were both sitting up, her head resting on his chest.
He took the blindfold off and gave her a bottle of water, then he stroked her hair while she drank. Sunlight streamed into the room from his window. She couldn't believe it was still day.
“Are you all right?” he asked after she'd drunk about half the water.
“Yes, Master.”
He stroked her hair and let her lie against him. She felt warm and safe in ways she had never felt before. Just another indicator of her obvious insanity. Finally, Angel got up. “You might want to go take a shower. It'll help you feel more grounded.
***
Angel could hear the shower running from Astrid's bathroom. He thought about joining her, but decided to offer her some space. She had a lot to process. In the end, Angel was who he was. He didn't believe in morals. He believed in power.
He believed in opportunism and taking what he wanted. If another power, be it the government or some other person or group could catch him and stop him and somehow punish or eliminate him, fine. Such a thing was fair play. But outside that, he would simply do what he would do.
Until he'd seen Astrid, he'd been able to convince himself that his moral reasoning wasn't entirely disconnected from the rest of the world at large. Now there was no longer any doubt. He saw her. He wanted her. He took her. Simple as that. There was no justification needed, though he'd attempted to argue with himself about that. He'd done what any natural animal in the wild would have done.
She was his, and she would simply adjust to that reality. Her body had already adjusted. How long would it take her mind? That was up to her. But it seemed she was already halfway there. Or more. It would only take time and repetition before she melted into his control over her... until she trusted it.
Angel spotted one of her suitcases lying open on the bed. She still hadn't put her clothing and personal items away into drawers and closets. He didn't know if it was because she hadn't had time yet, or if she hadn't been able to make that psychological leap. Putting her clothes into drawers in his home was an acceptance, however small, of her condition. It was one thing to be coerced into calling him master. It was another, to, without direction, simply start inserting her personal belongings into neat organized places inside his home.
It would be a concession that maybe she wasn't yet ready to give. Resting on top of the clothes still neatly folded in the suitcase, was a small plastic bag. A label on the outside read: Deliver to Sam. Inside the plastic bag was a thumb drive. Angel took the bag and retreated downstairs to his office.
He didn't need to defend going through her things. Anything that belonged to her was now his business. But when he'd seen that bag with the thumb drive, something dark had activated inside a more primal part of his brain—a part beyond reason and logic.
He was unsurprised to find the file encrypted. Angel wasn't a stranger to breaking WEP encryption codes. But even with a packet-sniffing program and all his acquired knowledge, it was a pain in the ass. This was a time where his curiosity overwhelmed his annoyance. It took about ten minutes to get everything set up and his program running. It would be an hour or more before he could unlock it.
Angel let the program run and went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He sat at the kitchen table with a separate laptop and checked his offshore accounts. The money for Callazaro had been deposited that morning. He was glad the client had decided not to be unreasonable.
Astrid came into the kitchen wrapped in a terrycloth bathrobe. Her hair appeared darker and longer wet and without the bounce and spring of curls. She looked away from him and sat down at the kitchen table.
Right. Food. It was common for him to forget to eat when he was wrapped up in a project, and Astrid was more distracting than most of his usual distractions. But she was obviously quietly waiting to be fed, like a timid house cat, intent on making her presence at least felt until there was food in her dish.
“Are you hungry?” He knew she was, but thought speaking about normal things might help her adjust after what had just happened between them.
“Yes,” she said quietly, staring at the table. She'd gone incredibly shy. Even more than she had at breakfast. He couldn't blame her. It was too new yet for her not to feel embarrassed and shy in his presence. Despite whatever things Callazaro may have done to her, Angel very much doubted she'd been allowed to revel in wanton pleasure. There was a whole different level of shame when you were getting pleasure out of the deal and not just trying to survive.
“Yes, what?” he prodded.
“Yes, Master.”
“Good girl. You don't have to be so shy with me. I'm not going to judge you for anything we do.”
She didn't reply to that. Not that he expected her to.
“I'm afraid pancakes, sandwiches, and ordering pizza is about the limit of my cooking skills. I usually eat out,” he said, resuming the normal talk tactic.
“I can cook.”
“Well make me a list and we'll get stuff tomorrow. For now you're welcome to anything in the fridge. I have a bunch of leftovers. I think there's some Chinese food in there. I've got some sandwich stuff. Soup. Probably a few other odds and ends.”
“You mean we both will go to the store tomorrow. Together?”
“Yes.” He fully intended to keep her forever. At the same time, he didn't want her to never get to leave the house. And he was quite sure she would seek his protection from the dangers that lurked in her former world long before she would try to run from him again. As long as he made her feel safe, there was no danger of that.
“But... aren't you afraid I might try to escape?”
He smirked. “It's the last thing I'm afraid of.”
She blushed and looked away.
He watched her get up and search through the fridge and cabinets and put together a makeshift dinner. “Do you want something?” she asked.
“Not right now. I'm fine.” He finished his coffee and went back to his office.
An hour later, the encryption finally unlocked.
After reading the contents on the screen, he rose calmly and went to find Astrid. She was in the fitness room, wearing shorts and a T-shirt and running on the treadmill. When she saw him, she slowed the treadmill and hopped off.
“Come with me,” he said.
She seemed uncertain and a little afraid. She was still processing the things that had happened between them and no doubt was afraid he was about to demand more.
“I want to show you something.” He turned and went back out into the hallway. He had no doubt she would follow. She seemed somewhat subdued after the day's events.
He led her into his office and gestured to the chair behind his desk. “Sit, and read what's on the screen. You don't have to read it out loud. I already know what it says.”
Angel stood a distance away, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, observing her. He watched her face, lit by the screen, as she sat in the leather swivel chair and started to read. He watched her eyes widen in shock and horror. Her gaze shifted uncertainly to him.
“That's from the encrypted thumb drive you were supposed to deliver for Joey. You were never supposed to come back home.”
She looked up at Angel, a horrified look on her face. They were finally speaking the same language. She knew now, without doubt, that Angel was the lesser evil and her only hope of safety in the world. The document on the thumb drive was a bill of sale, and Astrid had been the merchandise. Somewhere out there was a very angry mysterious individual named Sam who'd paid a lot of money for a product that was never delivered.