Page 78 of Her Dom's Secret Past

Chapter Twenty-Three

Anabelle

I kept staring at the bracelet on my wrist and hugging myself. I knew how important it was. I’d read enough aboutDomsand subs by now and I knew this was kind of like a collar in a way. I loved the engraving—Sir’s property. Yep, that was exactly what it was like when we were in the dungeon. In fact, I kind of felt that way all the time, but not in a bad way.

He made me feel extremely loved and protected. I knew he would never let anything happen to me. He would always treat me with respect and honesty.

When I discovered my favorite plus-sized lingerie shop was having a sale, I nipped out between appointments on Thursday morning. The place was only two blocks away and it wouldn’t take me long. As I went through the racks, I found too many things that I liked. Instead, I started thinking as if I were John, and what would I like to see me in? I knew how exciting it was to take off my clothing one piece at a time and I wanted something stunning to make John’s eyes pop when I was revealed.

I found a very sexy red bra and panties with a black lace overlay, then a sexy wine-lace bra with matching caged-back panties. As well, I discovered a navy-blue translucent set that should have him begging for more—or ripping them off, if that was possible. Delighted with my purchases, I headed back.

I’d just crossed the road and was on the block with the boutique when suddenly someone grabbed me from behind, dragging me over the gutter. I dropped my shopping bag and my phone as I tried to tear myself away. I went to scream as a hand clamped over my mouth, and I was quickly bundled into a dark car. Lashing out with my hands and feet, screaming at the same time, I fought desperately to get away. Whoever it was tried hard to grab my arms, but I was just as determined not to let them. Before I had a chance to do any real damage to him, or her, a pad was held over my mouth and nose and that was the last I knew until I came to later with a terrible headache.

As I woke, groaning at the awful pain in my head, I slowly let my eyes focus. I was on the filthy floor of some old building. There was rubbish and broken glass everywhere. I went to sit up, only to discover my hands were tied behind my back and my shoes were gone.

Oh shit, this is for real.

My heart started an attempt to break through my ribs as I tried to do a sort of shuffle to get myself upright, but I didn’t make it. The wall was nearby. I half-rolled, half-wriggled to reach it. At least I had something to lean against. I took stock. It was semi-dark.

There were windows all along one wall but they were rather high up, frosted and most were barred. It was only the windows giving dappled light to the vast area. I noticed some of them were broken, but they were useless to me. With my hands tied, I doubted I could get through, and then there was the long drop to the ground—I’d probably kill myself.

On the wall I was leaning against were two doors, and I could make out a big, wide door opposite, like a roller one underneath some of the windows. That was it. No furniture, no people, nothing. The room I was in was large, almost like a vast warehouse floor with a high catwalk around the edges. I wondered if I climbed up the steel stairs if I could get out through the one of the windows.

I called out. “Help!”

Silence.

“Is anyone there? Help me?”

Nothing.

Maybe another hour or two went past before I finally heard voices. I was about to yell for help again and then wondered if maybe these were the men who had kidnapped me. One of the doors opened and light spilled out as two men came through. One was tall, scary-looking, and solid, and the other had a large, ugly, and jagged scar over his face. They walked over to me and one roughly dragged me to my feet. I was pulled through the doorway and forced onto a stool. The room was empty except for an old metal table and the stool I was perched upon.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“Shut up, bitch. We ask the questions. Where’s Gordon Jennings?”

“Who?” Confused, I had no idea who they were talking about. “I don’t know any Gordon.”

Smash. One of the bastards, Scarface, backhanded me across the mouth. Oh fuck, it hurt! He wasn’t holding back.

“I don’t,” I screamed in agony. “I don’t know anyone.”

“Don’t fucking lie, bitch. We know you know him. Fucker killed my brother.”

Desperately, I shouted in panic, “You’ve got the wrong person, I don’t know him! Honestly.”

Another rough slap across the face, and I almost fell from the stool. I tasted blood and I realized these men were deadly serious, but how the hell could I get them to believe me? I honestly had no idea who this person they wanted was.

One of them, not Scarface, the other scary one, pulled out a flick knife and held it at the top of my dress.

Scarface growled at me. “Think again, lady. Where is he?”

I started crying and screaming at the same time over and over, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Scarface motioned to the other, who slid the sharp edge of the knife between my skin and my dress. With a swift stroke, he slit the top of my dress to the waist.

“Once again. Where is Gordon Jennings?”

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