Page 138 of Bound By Her

Crest tried to pull his whip back, but Adria did not let go. With a subtle flick of her wrist, and a turn of her body, the handle flew out of his hand and ended up dangling from her grip.

“These slaves need to be taught a lesson. We are helping to facilitate this,” Jonathan said, pulling out and stuffing himself back into his pants.

His voice was soft, but his face was not. Grown menwould have prostrated themselves under that gaze, but Bryson watched Adria stare him down, positioning herself between Kaydon and his attackers.

“Indeed,” she said. “But might I suggest we punish the ringleader, not the lackey?”

CHAPTER 32

NORTH CAROLINA

An electric thrum radiated through Adria’s entire body. She rested her palm on the side of Kaydon’s face. He would not look at her, his bravado siphoned away. Eric came to her side as she unhooked the device wedged in his mouth.

“Bring him upstairs to my room,” she said to Eric in a hushed tone.

Fury pulsed through her as she watched him put an arm under Kaydon, steadying him as they left.

In a perfect world, monsters would only go after other monsters, but Adria knew first hand that was not true.

Monsters went after people like Kaydon. People who were good, who saw the best in others. The type of person who made you think you could change.

In her world, death wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

It was decay.

Slow fractures, separating the treasured pieces of you. Leaving a slow death of everything you held dear, slowly decaying, losing the bits of you that gave people hope.

Adria wasn’t ready to lose Kaydon to decay.

The grand mahogany table stretched long before her; its twenty-six occupants frozen in a tableau of unease. Even the submissives at their Masters’ feet shifted uncomfortably.

Jonathan had done exactly what she didn’t want. He had dragged his world—her world—into this place.

Her stomach twisted as her gaze caught Alesandro’s eyes. Alesandro’s piercing stare held hers, his expression was clear.

Get them in line, or suffer the consequences.

A cold sweat prickled along her spine.

Her mother’s death.

Her death.

She forced herself to breathe.

Jonathan sat to Alesandro’s left, his gaze slicing through her like a razor. She felt it in her bones, in her marrow—the way he still saw her as that scared little girl.

The little girl he had ruined.

Her father and Jonathan had been close.

She had been eight years old when they invited her into the office—her father’s inner sanctum. A place where business was conducted, where men spoke in hushed voices over crystal glasses of liquor. She had never been allowed in before.

And she had been so happy.

She had thought it was because she was special. That they were finally seeing her.

It had started with a touch.

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