Page 8 of Blood
I leave her where she is and round the couch to sit. She’s still leaning over the arm of the couch and, in this position, her head is practically in my lap when I sit down.
When she realizes how close her face is to my crotch, she gasps and bolts upright, stumbling away. Her face is as red as her ass must be, underneath those cute panties, and her leggings are still around her thighs, limiting her movements. I try not to laugh.
“What the—?” She’s trying to be angry, but her face gives her away. She’s embarrassed. Humiliated, even.
I offer her a lazy smile. “Feeling better, princess?”
She meets my eyes briefly, then swiftly averts her gaze. “Of course not, you dick.”
“Language,” I admonish her as I tilt my head.
I’d hate to have to bring her in line with another punishment so soon, but she needs to get it through her head that I’m the one in charge. I don’t care how embarrassed she is by her body’s reaction to the spanking. I also don’t really give a fuck about her cursing. I just care that she’s learning to listen and to obey me.
If I’m being honest, though, I like that she’s aroused by my punishment.
“I don’t fucking care what language you want me to use, asshole. I can’t believe youspankedme. You let me go right now. When the Kings find out what you’ve done…” Her face grows even redder, if that’s possible, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, like she’s physically trying to hold in a secret.
I smirk. “The Kings, huh?” She’s broken one of the cardinal rules, giving away who she works for. She should know better. The more I learn about her, the clearer it becomes that this little girl is innocent and that she’s in way, way over her head.
I watch her face as the anger drains away, replaced by something else. Fear, hopefully, if she’s smart.
I stand up, now towering over her. She must be a foot shorter than me. Maybe more. I usually don’t use my height to intimidate women, but right now, I’ll use any advantage I can get.
I use my fingers to raise her chin, so she meets my eyes. “Let’s get something straight; I didn’t plan to bring you here. But that doesn’t change anything. You’re here now. I am in control, and you will listen to me. I have no problem punishing a little brat who’s out of control. Pull it together and behave.”
She sucks in a breath through her nose. When she speaks, her voice is calmer, at least a little, or she’s very good at pretending. She hasn’t moved on. “Anyway. When my people find out, you’re fucked.”
I chuckle. God, I love a brat. Or rather, I love the challenge of taming a brat like this one. She has no idea what’s waiting for her at home, does she? “Again, language. But while we’re on the topic, who exactly is fucked in this situation? I know you think I’m screwed, but what about you?”
She looks down. I can practically feel the anger emanating from her, but she doesn’t speak.
Then, there it is. A slight slump of her shoulders as she realizes the truth of my statement. Stumbling upon a crime scene and being taken hostage? The Kings would be a laughingstock if that became their reputation. Her vulnerability pulls at my heartstrings. Even with her tearstained cheeks, she’s beautiful.
She needs to realize that the Kings don’t tolerate screw-ups. They’ll do anything they need to clean up this mess.
7
Everleigh
I’dbeenwillingtokill Bobby Martinez if I had to. But now I know what it feels like to really want to murder someone.
This asshole is so sure of himself. He’s not wrong about the Kings, which is what pisses me off the most. But his arrogance grates at me, reinforcing just how far out of my depth I am right now.
Who does he think he is? I know I can seem passive, innocent even, and younger than I am. And maybe he’s better at this whole thing—murder, kidnapping, all of it. It’s new to me, but that doesn’t mean I know nothing. He’s treating me like a child.
I get it, to some degree. I keep most of my thoughts to myself. And when those thoughts come out, if I’m stressed, the things I say are either strange or sassy. It used to bother me a lot as a kid. It’s one of the biggest things that I got made fun of for in high school. Ninth graders are ruthless. The fact that my big brother had moved out of the house by then and wasn’t around to protect me from their jeers didn’t help, either.
I’ve grown into my face—and my body—now, and I’ve learned that if I keep my mouth shut, I can pass as pretty. But my experience with men so far in life has made me want to avoid their attention as much as possible.
I don’t think it’s working with this guy. So far, he seems like he’s not attracted to me, at least. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that it stays that way. He’s hot as fuck, and I’m attracted to him, I’ll admit that much. The way he took control of my body and spanked me was humiliating, but it unlocked something inside me. Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome. Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s a big, strong guy who could really hurt me but is choosing not to.
Either way, I’ve been in situations before where men I’ve been attracted to have proven that I have poor judgment. Even attractive men can treat you badly. In fact, it’s the hot ones that can be the most casually cruel.
He sits his gorgeous ass back down on the couch, looking as casual as if he were here to watch a baseball game on TV. It’s frustrating as hell that he’s so nonchalant about this. My future, mylife, is on the line here. And he’s playing games.
I lean down and yank my leggings up over my punished ass. I hiss as the fabric rubs over the new welts. I hate that he spanked me, and I hate myself for letting him. More than either of those, though, I hate that my body responded to it.
I look around. There are a few windows, but all of them are small and too high off the ground for me to reach easily. The rest of the cabin is sparsely decorated, with just the single couch, a side table, and a bookshelf in the living room we’re in. There’s a doorway that seems to lead to a kitchen, then another door that’s closed.
