Page 67 of New Year

A fucking leather collar and leash.

Austin had made him wear that once for a video, and Nat had hated it with every fiber of his being. It had been too tight, too humiliating for words. He hadn’t been able to come until Austin took it off at the end of every other humiliating thing Austin had forced him to endure that night. The sight of it made Nat want to both vomit and kick Austin right in the balls.

Austin put the collar on him, and Nat couldn’t fight. Could barely move. When Austin straightened, he pulled a pocketknife out of his jeans. “I’m going to cut the tape around your ankles and knees so you can walk. If you kick me, I’ll stab you in the thigh. There’s a major artery in the thigh, and I don’t know where it is.”

Fuck you.

Nat nodded.

Austin cut his legs free, then cut through the tape binding Nat to the seat. “All right, time to stand up, baby doll.”

Face flaming with humiliation, Nat allowed Austin to help him out of the car. His butt was sore from sitting, and he swayed once before getting his bearings. His hands were still bound in front of him, which was a small advantage, but Austin wrapped his end of the leash around his left wrist several times, securing it. He’d also swapped the knife for the gun.

All around them, leaves rustled, birds tweeted, and water rushed in the distance. It was a genuinely peaceful place, soon to be marred by violence. He expected Austin to begin his assault by the car, make his first demand, but the backpack and leash suggested a hike. Farther from the road and anyone who might drive past the turnoff.

I’m so sorry, Zack. I do love you. I wish I’d said it back.

Austin tugged, and Nat resented him with everything inside him as he followed, careful to watch for useful weapons in the brush. But Austin kept the leash short, so even if Nat tried to lunge for a branch, he’d get yanked sideways, maybe even shot for his troubles. Not shot dead. He had no illusions Austin would make this easy for Nat; he was exactly that vindictive. He’d shoot Nat somewhere painful but survivable.

Nat pressed his tongue against the duct tape still covering his mouth, desperate to get it off. Not just to make breathing easier, but so he could talk. Ask questions. Anything to fill the semi-silence of them walking down an underused path toward the creek. Sparrow Creek ran down the mountain—Nat wasn’t sure exactly how long it was—before joining a larger creek farther south. The widest Nat had ever seen it was about six feet wide, maybe two feet deep, its bottom covered in small rocks and sand.

Any other day, it would be peaceful, if hot, and the perfect excuse to splash around in the sparkling stream. Today, it looked foreboding, like the perfect place to drown someone in shallow water, and then hide the body in the thick underbrush.

Austin stopped in a small clearing by the creek’s edge and swept his right hand out. “It’s our spot. Remember all the times we made love here?”

Nat flinched. The first few times, it had definitely been making love. The final time had been a last-ditch effort to salvage any scrap of romance remaining between them, and the encounter had been awkward. Nat hadn’t even come before Austin demanded it was time to leave. No sentimentality remained for this piece of rough earth covered in pine needles, old leaves, and dirt.

Then Austin seemed to remember Nat couldn’t answer him. He tucked the gun between his thighs so he could yank the tape off Nat’s mouth. Nat screeched as it tore away fine hair and probably a few bits of skin. His lips throbbed, and his chin and cheeks burned.

“It always looks so easy in the movies.” Austin crumpled the tape and put it in his pocket.

“That’s because it’s not real duct tape,” Nat retorted.Fucking dumbass.

Austin tied his end of the leash to a low-hanging branch. “If you try to run, I’ll shoot you in the leg, so don’t.”

Nat grunted. Austin seemed to take that as an agreement. He opened the backpack and pulled out a red-and-black buffalo-check blanket. The same one he always had with him, because it was thick enough to keep random stones from hurting too much. Nat wanted to be brave enough to try and run anyway, but he was too scared of being shot. One bullet to the leg now meant zero chance of escape later.

He also couldn’t fight the rage boiling inside him at being tied to a tree like a dog. He tried to channel that rage somehow, focus it into helping him survive whatever came next. He modulated his breathing and observed his surroundings, while Austin set up a camera and tripod, aimed at the blanket. Perspiration prickled across Nat’s neck and shoulders, and it began to collect in the small of his back. The red recording light on the camera blinked to life.

Fuck.

Austin left the backpack on one corner of the blanket, open, and Nat swore he saw the handle of Austin’s favorite flogger sticking out.

Great. He’s going to torture me, before he dumps my body off the nearest cliff.

“Time to get more comfortable,” Austin drawled. As he turned around, he pulled his polo off with one hand, exposing his broad, tanned chest. “Your turn.”

Nat held up his bound hands. “You’re going to have to cut me free.”

“Tsk tsk.” Austin circled behind him, which was not a place Nat wanted him to be. Nat tried to turn, but Austin grabbed the back of his collar. The choking pressure kept Nat from screaming when Austin forced him to his knees. His shirt tightened against his chest, and then a ripping sound clued him in to Austin cutting his shirt open from the back.

Nat held still, too aware of a sharp blade millimeters from his skin, even though one of his knees was pressing against a stick. One wriggle might get him cut. Austin moved in front of him, and Nat held up his hands, assuming Austin would tear the rest of the shirt off. Instead, Austin wrapped the ripped fabric around his wrists, reinforcing the duct tape already there.

Fuck.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Austin said. “Wrists bound, neck stretched, at my mercy.” He dragged the tip of his knife across Nat’s clavicle, so light it might have tickled if Nat wasn’t so terrified. “Seeing my marks on you.”

Nat bit his tongue hard against the instinct to beg. Beg for his freedom; beg for his life; beg for the leash to be loosened. Or at least untied from that goddamn branch. “Are you going to kill me?”

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