Page 9 of Brutal Surrender

I still can’t figure out who it is I killed or wronged that made her want to take me out. All I know is that she’s Italian-American. Esen, the head of my security, has been working with the Cosa Nostra to identify who it might have been, but nothing has come up so far. I’ve never had beef with any Italians before.

What if I don’t figure out who she really is? Just like I haven’t figured out who ordered the kill on Irene.

I shake off my doubts. I’m going to find out who Ramona is. And I’m going to find whoever was behind Irene’s death. Till then, there will be no peace for me.

I clench my fist. This fucking Ramona has stirred up a bunch of shit in me. It’s like her presence is rubbing it in my face that I haven’t made good on my promise to Irene. I need to finish this thing with Ramona.

Despite my headache, I head back down to check on my would-be killer and oversee her next torture.

Reggie and Cho, my second security team, have her prepped for the waterboarding. If I were doing this in play with a true submissive partner, I would give her something to hold, like a weight, which she could drop to the ground as her safe word.

But this isn’t play.

Ramona is strapped down to a long plank with her feet elevated. My gaze traverses her naked body, athletic but still sensuous. Looking into her eyes, I see a glimmer of trepidation and mostly hate. After all that I’ve done to her in the last three days, I fully expect her to hate me more than ever. I did something to hurt her or her loved ones, though I don’t know what that is.

I know everyone I’ve killed or placed a hit on. [I know whom my people have killed, even the accidental ones.] Unnecessary deaths are not my style. There was even a time in my life when I avoided killing altogether.

But I would’ve thought, given how exhausted, thirsty, hungry, and battered she must feel, that there would be some sign of her breaking by now.

That’s okay. I’ve got all the time in the world. She’s not going anywhere.

Originally, I had thought to kill her after three days, but to have gotten on my yacht, to have cleared security, she must have someone working with her on the inside. I want to know who they are. I also want to know who she really is. She’s a mystery I want to solve. I haven’t had anything perk my interest like this in years. Having taken the Black Dragon Triad to exponential heights, I no longer have the same drive or ambition.

My only remaining purpose has been finding the person or persons who’d ordered the hit on her.

The woman before me bears her name, supposedly, if Irene is her real name, but the two couldn’t be more different. My Irene wouldn’t hurt a fly. This Irene not only tried to kill me, she looks like she would happily stab me a hundred times just for fun. So it must gall her that not only am I alive, but I own her. Her fate. Her life. Her body. They’re all mine to do as I wish.

To annoy her, I grab her tit and give it a good squeeze while I ask, “You know much about waterboarding?”

“I know it doesn’t work as well as people think,” she replies.

“I’ve never heard that, but I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

I nod at Cho while I cover her face with a cloth that I hold down with both hands. He pours water from a pitcher onto the cloth. It’s just a few seconds, and she’s not actually drowning, but it feels like it to her.

Cho splashes more water over the cloth. Her body jerks and strains even more. I lift the cloth, letting her gasp freely. Her eyes are wide and filled with panic. Finally I’m getting somewhere.

So far she’s taken everything I’ve thrown at her with surprising forbearance. Impressive forbearance. Waterboarding is more torturous, at least physically, than what she’s endured so far, and it seems a particularly potent form of torture for her. Almost as if she’s had a bad experience with water. I think I’ll finally have the confession I’m looking for.

I replace the cloth over her, stretching it tight while Cho pours the water. Her body strains against the leather bonds. She’s lucky I didn’t strap her down with iron cuffs or she might break a bone in her attempt to free herself. Lifting the cloth, I look her in the eyes. The swelling on the one eye that connected with Vlad’s fist has gone down, allowing me to see the golden flecks in her hazel eyes.

“How’s my pet doing?” I ask. “Ready to talk?”

She shivers as she sucks in a shaky breath of air but manages to glare at me through her fear.

Such a little spitfire.

I pull the cloth back over her face and nod at Cho for more water. The convulsions come a few seconds later. My gaze traverses her body, taking in her breasts, her belly, the swell of her hips. Reaching for her bush, I slide a finger between her thighs. I wonder if she can handle any pleasure with the pain of waterboarding? I stroke her clit. From beneath the cloth, I hear a whimper.

Encouraged, I continue to play with her nub. The crueler thing to do would be focusing on just the waterboarding and not to provide a distraction from the terror and sensation of drowning. I can tell that breath play is triggering for her. So why am I bringing pleasure into the situation?

One, it’s fun watching her come, and getting to rub that in her face is cruel. Secondly, her arousal brings out the beast in me. I crave it. My orgasms haven’t been this potent since…since my time with Irene.

She would be horrified at what I’m doing right now. When she fell in love with me, I wasn’t quite the monster I am today. If she knew me now, I doubt she could love me.

So I fondle my captive till she starts to get wet for me, to assuage some of the guilt I feel. And because my body wants this. It wants to inhale the scent of her arousal. It wants to hear her gasps of pleasure. It wants to see her body shaking in ecstasy.

“You get wet for me easily, you know that?” I ask with devious intent. “That’s proof I own your body.”

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