Page 109 of The Dark Before Light

They have no intention of keeping me alive.

Bradley and Oliver argue in low tones on the other side of a massive, ostentatious kitchen—all dark wood, granite, high coffered ceilings, and gilded wallpaper. They’ve been at it off and on since dragging me kicking and screaming to a chair and tying my wrists behind my back.

Keeping my gaze trained on them, I will them to continue arguing. The longer they don’t pay attention to me, the closer I get to freeing my hands. The rope is a cheap, hardware-store variety. Horrible for bondage, it produces bulky knots and abrades the skin. The knots themselves are amateur and would normally be a breeze for me, but my hands are shaking.

Oliver’s voice lifts, thick with irritation. “For the last time, I didn’t know there’d be three of them.”

He looks nothing like the man I’ve met twice before—his face is pasty and sweaty, his eyes bloodshot with abnormally constricted pupils. I don’t know what drugs he’s taken, but I hope they give him a heart attack.

“Get the fuck over it,” he continues. “You survived and you’ll get your payday. We both will.”

I freeze as Bradley’s gaze shifts to me. Staring into his brown eyes, I see nothing of the man who came to me years ago, equally desperate for and ashamed of his desire for a woman to dominate him. I saw him for three months, until the day he showed up with flowers and a declaration of love.

Charlie warned me early on about the risk of clients developing emotional attachments. The newer they were to kink, the more vigilant we needed to be. I was always careful, maintaining emotional distance while committed to the role I played. My aftercare routines rarely included touching, revolving instead around serving them comfort foods and drinks, heated blankets, and the like.

In my seven years as a working dominatrix, Bradley was one of only three to develop feelings for me, and he’s the only one who slipped through the cracks. No warning signs, no red flags. He was perfectly polite, respectful, and never breached the boundaries I set.

As irritated with myself as I’d been for missing the cues of his infatuation, I’d let none of my emotion show as I’d gently reiterated that my actions in our sessions and afterward didn’t mean I harbored feelings for him. I then referred him to a kink-friendly therapist. He was disappointed and hurt, which was natural, but he’d seemed accepting. We never spoke again, and I never thought of him again until I read the article in which he basically accused me of brainwashing him.

“I want something else, too,” he says.

There’s no mistaking the innuendo. Rage smothers my guilt, dissolving the fog of fear from my mind. I hold his stare, unblinking.

Fuck you, I tell him silently. I’m the bigger predator here. Even if you hurt me, I will never submit.

His gaze drops, then snaps back to me. Fury flushes his cheeks.

“Fine, whatever,” Oliver says, mopping his damp forehead with his forearm. “After I get the confirmation I need, she’s all yours.”

Ice wraps around my spine. I’m glad Bradley’s attention is back on Oliver, otherwise he’d see how terrified those words made me. I’m under no illusions I can stop him from hurting me by glaring at him.

My fingers scramble to loosen the last knots.

“Then quit wasting time and make the call,” Bradley snarls.

Oliver gets even redder. “You work for me, asshole.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Oliver’s eyes dart to me before he hisses through clenched teeth, “Shut the fuck up.”

Doors suddenly unlock and open in my mind, connecting disjointed observations. Their combativeness. Bradley’s attitude; Oliver’s anxiety and overall lack of composure. The comment about both of them getting their payday.

Someone else is pulling the strings.

My heart dances from side to side, amplifying the pounding in my temples. Lowering my head, I attempt to slow my breathing.

“Okay. Here we go.”

I glance up to see Oliver tap the screen of a cell phone. Ringing fills the kitchen. Three trills later, the line connects. Voice distorted by an app, he asks, “Are you prepared to take me seriously now?”

“Yes,” answers Kieran. “I’ll give you whatever you want if she’s released unharmed.”

A whimper leaks around my gag.

“Good,” says Oliver. “You have one hour to confirm that the lab in Limerick, including all research and prototypes, has been destroyed.”

I expect Kieran to say that’s impossible—because surely it is—but instead he says, “Done. I want proof Talia’s okay. Let me hear her voice.”

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