Page 203 of Deep Cover

Vincent flew backward and landed hard on his back, arching it over a shoebox lying there. It was empty and collapsed under his weight, but the seconds it afforded me to get to him was the difference between my reaching him before he caught his breath, and him catching his breath and then catching me.

I got there first.

What my mind's eye saw: Driving punches down into his face, his throat, his chest, hitting him and hitting him and hitting him until he splintered and broke and then ramming my hand under his nose to drive the cartilage up into the brain.

What I had time for before security realized something was wrong and came in through the unlocked doors: Smashing his head into the floor.

But there were already footsteps outside the room and I wanted to shout, Not fair! My hands fastened around his throat. There was no way out of this anyway. I was taking him with me.

But the door slammed open, figures surrounded us.

To my horror, Vincent was laughing. It didn't even sound crazy. It sounded like he was having fun.

My breasts ached, and my throat, and my scalp felt like it was on fire. I knelt where I had been, head down, arms dangling, because there was just nothing else to do.

Security was armed. Security was always armed. I suppose if I were a psychopathic billionaire who had kidnapped a deep cover narc and was all but raping her on a regular basis, I'd surround myself with armed men too.

But it was Kie who came into the room, her grin big. "I told you, didn't I?" I wasn't sure who she was talking to.

But of course it was Vincent who answered. "You said she'd try to defend you. You weren't even in here, and you can't prove that, and anyway, she didn't."

Vincent sounded sulky and it took me a second to realize he probably was. For the moment, he wasn't the center of attention. Kie's crazy comment had put her in the limelight.

It was on the tip of my tongue to state the truth: I wouldn't save her if she was the last crazy bitch on earth.

But then self preservation caught up with me and I shut my mouth tight and swallowed several times, head down, eyes unfocused.

Kie was the one who zip-tied my hands together behind my back. That gave me a real bad feeling. The guards lifted me almost gently, which was insane, but true. It was almost as if they knew what was coming for me and were resigned to at the very least, not making it worse.

What was I supposed to have done? I couldn't just let him –

My brain stopped trying to defend its actions. My actions. He already had me. I'd proved to myself as much as I needed to that every repeat violation was a brand new violation, whether it was ego or consciousness or whatever. Every time I was stripped I felt naked and embarrassed. Every time Vincent grabbed me and twisted, it hurt with renewed vigor. The body and mind didn't have a button that said Okay, we've been through this before, just let them get their jollies and it will end.

Probably that was all part and parcel of self preservation. Probably it was a good thing. But it was hard to still be hurting and humiliated this far into the fucked-up game of Vincent Geddes.

It wasn't self preservation that meant I was still daydreaming scenarios, though it would be that Vincent starred in none of them. It was still Cole I dreamed of. Maybe on purpose. Because sometimes in the opening salvos, when Vincent first started whatever he was going to do this time, it still felt like something I wanted. Like somehow we were going to get started and Vincent would turn from someone I hated into someone I desired. And what he did to me would continue to be good.

I'd never had anything that wasn't violent, not since discovering the dark side of sex. Yes, Mark had unwillingly (or if he'd had a few drinks, willingly for the time being) handcuffed me to the bed and had his way with me, a little rough but it was vanilla rough, not real. There was no danger with Mark. He didn't know how to go too far.

What I wondered now was, if someone set the scene – cue scary music, bring on the menacing alpha with his whips and chains – of domination and sadism, and did all the right things right up to the striking, then used something like a tawse on me, something made of butter soft suede that had a tiny, tiny sting to it and only because it was being wielded, not because of any inherent danger from the toy – would that be enough? If the spanking was all by hand, or hand and hairbrush, or belt, with never any danger of even needing a safe word, or going beyond the pinkening of the skin, no furious red, no blistering – would I be satisfied?

If the answer was no, did I belong anywhere other than where I was?

But being dragged through the house by private security for a man I believed would have killed to take me away from his rival, the answer was yes. Yes, I belonged somewhere else. Maybe that place was with Cole rather than Mark, or with a Jesse of sorts. Maybe I was meant for that kind of treatment. Certainly hearts and flowers had never intrigued me.

But I belonged somewhere safe. Nothing I had done in my life warranted the intrusion into it by a Vincent or a Kie. If I had deviant desires, so what? Even I recognized that they were strange, not mainstream. Even I realized that most of it was fantasy. Because reality fucking hurt.

Maybe that was the answer. Fantasizing. If I had my way with you right now, do you know what I'd do to you? Asked the fantasy voice in my mind.

Its owner was armed with nothing more than his big, hard hand.

But the introspection was over because we'd arrived.

The guards deposited me in a room I hadn't seen before. If it was Vincent's, he seriously traveled light. There was nothing any more personal about it than my room. There was a bed, very big and beautifully appointed. There were windows, spacious with views that weren't the same as mine, but that didn't help me figure out how my room was situated and that really didn't matter until I could get out of it.

There was a couch, a pile of blankets, a walk-in closet, a bathroom, a locked door behind me.

There was Vincent. Probably not more than an hour after I was deposited on my knees and told to stay there. Though one of the guards gave me a long drink from a water bottle. I hadn't taken as much as he thought I did, for fear of being drugged.

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