Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) (58 page)

Adam shook his head and turned to watch Marc struggle against his restraints.

That’s it, Doc. Exhaust yourself.

If Marc had already reached the mild psychosis phase, this interrogation might go quicker than Adam had predicted. Of course, Marc showed up Friday looking as if he’d had little to no sleep the last couple nights, which probably helped speed him toward the breaking point.

Adam continued, “Where’d you get that stun gun?”

“Made it myself. It’s great for a mindfuck like this.”

“Remind me never to volunteer to do a demo with you using it.”

Damián grinned. They watched silently a few minutes before Damián interjected, “Before I forget, Savannah, Marisol, and I are flying out to California Friday. Already got our tickets. Do you think you’re going to need me here that long?”

“No problem. Looks like he’ll be in aftercare no later than Wednesday. Hope so, anyway. That’s Karla’s birthday. Grant’s coming in tomorrow morning for the duration, including the week we’ll probably need for aftercare.”

Adam had never done a scene this edgy or drawn out, not for someone he cared about anyway. All three of them had been through SERE resistance training, but had been on the receiving end then, not dishing out the torture.

Marc stopped fighting but hadn’t fallen asleep yet, as far as Adam could judge from the strain in his forearm flexors.

“What’s taking you all to SoCal again so soon? It’s too early for any court appearances against those neutered scumbags.” Dishing out torture to shitheads like Savannah’s father and Lyle? Well, that had been pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“Nothing like that. Just a marriage prep talk with Father Martine.”

Adam had never had a church wedding so hadn’t had any preparation classes. Maybe he could have used some—both times. Karla was none too happy with him lately. Knowing she carried not one but two little Montagues just strengthened his resolve even more. He would let nothing jeopardize the health and safety of his family.

“That’s good,” Adam said. Savannah wasn’t strong enough to face her abusers yet. He kept his eye on Marc for any signs of danger. While the rope was rigged to give way if Marc fell off the boxes, he still could get a nasty head injury if he hit the boxes instead of the mattresses surrounding them. “Son, you make sure I’m in the front row for those hearings whenever the DA lets you know they’ve been scheduled. I’m going to make sure those shitheads remember everything we promised them if they try to skirt justice.”

Damián nodded. “I’ll be right there with you.” He paused before adding, “I’m taking Savannah on base Saturday to visit some of the recon unit members. Another deployment coming up.”

“Tell them hi from me. Semper Fi.” Adam watched Marc’s head nod. “How’s Savannah doing?” The rescue had only been five weeks ago.

“Surprisingly well. The slut mindfuck worked better than expected.”

“Judging by the headboard you broke, I’d say so.”

Damián grinned. “Thanks for helping me plan parts of that scene. Hardest one I’ve ever had to do.”

“Redirecting those messages from fucking abusers sometimes takes extreme measures.” Adam wasn’t sure he’d ever rid himself of the tapes in his own head, although reuniting with his mother last year had helped him heal some of the hurts and correct some of the bad information he’d stored away. “Keep an eye on her. Survivors of childhood shit have had a lifetime to learn to mask things so as not to worry those around them.” He ought to know.

Was that what was going on with Marc? Some kind of abuse from his past? “Never know when a trigger will hit.”

“Don’t have to tell me. She’s still having a lot of nightmares from the abduction, mostly worrying about Marisol’s safety even though she protected her from harm. Hopefully those will decrease the farther we get away from the incident.”

Marc’s head rolled forward, and his body relaxed, straining his biceps. “You’re on, son.”

Damián nodded and picked up the leather tawse. Marc didn’t flinch or correct himself as Damián approached. Must be in a micro-sleep if not REM even. Damián aimed for his ass.

Slap!

“Fuck, Adam!”

Adam grinned and waited to see if Damián would announce his presence in the scene.

Marc’s body tensed and began shaking as he nearly toppled off the boxes.

“Wrong, my friend. Not Adam. Your worst nightmare. You know what I can do to that soft body of yours.”

Marc’s body tensed. He had to be squirming at hearing Damián’s voice. Adam grinned. Marc wouldn’t let his guard down for a while now. He found his balance on the boxes again before Damián returned to the observation area in the weight room.

Adam shook his head. “I must be slipping, because I didn’t get so much as a
Merda
out of the man last time I hit him with the tawse.”

Damián grinned back at him and shrugged. “You’re not the sadist around here.”

“Looks like you have things under control. I’m going to go catch a few hours of shut-eye. Grant’s due at 0700 hours. We need to mess with his head and straighten out some shit for memories that have him stuck.”

Hearing a woman’s voice might just do the trick.

* * *

Marco ran from the house and across the backyard. He had to get away. From what, he couldn’t remember.

He only knew he needed to run. The briars grew thicker and scraped his legs, but he didn’t slow down. Gino would have kept him on the path, but Gino wasn’t here this time.

A few yards ahead, he saw his destination. Safety. He dropped onto his knees and crawled the last few feet, under the canopy of brush and sticks until he’d entered the safety of his lair.

He labored to catch a deep breath. The rustle of leaves drew his attention to the entrance of the lair. No!

Hiss. Whack!

The whistling sound of air being dispersed around an unknown impact implement wasn’t enough to fully jar him from the memory, but the sting of what felt like a cane across his thighs jolted Marc back to the present.

“Tell me where you are, boy.”

Grant? What the fuck was she doing in here? Maybe he was hallucinating again. She scared him as much as Damián did.

Adam had cut Marc down what seemed like a couple of hours ago and had tied him to a chair. He’d also removed the hood. The caged light bulb glared from above, casting the room in shadows with Marc in the spotlight. He’d only closed his eyes for a moment to get some relief. He hadn’t been sleeping, but his head must have lolled to tip her off. Adam allowed him to rest his eyes every now and then, or maybe he just wasn’t keeping watch over him twenty-four/seven.

Not Grant. She appeared to be in charge now.

Where had Adam gone this time? Probably off sleeping in a nice warm bed with Karla curled up beside him. At least he’d come back down here to check on Marc after he’d gotten back from the hospital.

Marc opened his eyes. Grant leaned over him, her face mere inches from his. He smelled her patchouli scent. “Answer me, boy.”

She was dressed in black fatigues, her hands encased in leather gloves. He closed his eyes. “Sono nel bosco.”

“Speak English.”

“Yes, S—” How was he supposed to address her? He’d almost slipped and called her Sir.

“You answer to me as Mistress, boy.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Hiss. Whack!

Fuck!

“You do
not
fall asleep on my watch and make me look negligent in the eyes of my master sergeant. Do. You. Hear. Me?” To punctuate each of her last words, she slapped him with the cane on the same part of his thigh where she’d already slapped him twice before to wake him up, stinging before his skin began to burn.

“I’m going to enjoy playing with you and making sure we get to the bottom of every fucking thing you need to figure out to get your sorry life back on track.”

Sounded like both Tops would be using SERE resistance tactics.

“Now, tell me where you were just now in that screwed-up head of yours.”

“In the woods.”

“How old are you?”

“Three.”

“Who’s with you?”

“No one. I’m alone. It’s dark.” He shivered, partly because he was naked, but more so because of the memory of the scene he’d just witnessed. “I’m cold.” Perhaps she’d bring him a blanket. Mistress Angelina would have. Hell, he would have if his submissive was cold.

“Why are you outside alone at that age?” But not Mistress Grant.

As the memory of the dream or whatever it was washed over him again, Marc’s breathing became labored.

She grabbed his chin. “Eyes on me, boy.” He looked at her scowling at him. “Take a deep breath. Now.”

Not wanting her to become upset with him for misbehaving, he did so.

“Tell me why you were out in the woods alone at night?”

“It’s not nighttime. Just dark in the lair.”

“The lair?”

Marc nodded. “I was in the old wolf’s lair where Gino and I played.”

“Where’s Gino?”

“Don’t know. Probably at Mrs. Mil—I can’t remember her name, but the lair was the only safe place I could escape to.”

“How were you connected to the lady you can’t remember the name of?”

Marc tried to remember if she was any relation. “A neighbor, I think. Or maybe a friend of Mama’s. She used to watch us a lot after…”

Mistress Grant waited for him to continue before prompting, “After what?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to remember that time.

Hiss! Whack!

“I asked you a direct question, boy. I expect an answer.
Now
.”

Marc stared at her, defiantly refusing to answer.

Hiss! Whack!

Shit! He looked down and watched the new stripe appear on his thighs about an inch away from where the first ones landed and already half as red.

“After Mama got sick.”

Grant patted his cheek. “Good boy. Now why did you have to escape to your lair?”

Hiss! Whack!

He refused to look at his thighs but knew she’d hit him in the same place. He screamed, “Because she’s dead!”

“Who’s dead?”

Marc glared at Grant, not wanting to talk about this any further. When she raised the cane to strike again, he ground out between gritted teeth, “None of your
fucking
business.”

Something flashed in Grant’s eyes before her lips broke into a slow, deliberate smile. “You think not?” She released him from the restraints and pulled him out of the chair and onto his feet in a matter of seconds. His body wavered a few times before becoming steady. “I’ve just been waiting for an excuse to do this. Adam told me you’d be responsive to a good paddling.”

So Adam had briefed her on his earlier revelation. He’d betrayed him. Again.

She dragged him into the dark area outside the circle of light.

“Fuck Adam—and fuck you, too!” Marc struggled to get away, but his hands remained cuffed together behind his back, rendering him helpless.

“On your knees.” When he refused, he heard the whistle of the cane again. The stinging implement hit the backs of his knees and his legs gave way. He fell onto the cushioned kneelers of one of Luke’s spanking benches, similar to one in his playroom at home. Marc renewed his efforts to get away from her.

No way in hell was Grant going to spank him like some naughty boy.

Or some manwhore to be used by another bitch.

Marc put the full force of his weakened body into a charge for her abdomen, targeting her web belt, but she sidestepped and easily deflected him by bringing her clasped hands down in the center of his left shoulder.
Merda!
Marc went to his knees feeling as if he’d been hit with a sledgehammer.

Grant’s voice remained calm as she walked behind him. “You are so going to regret that move, boy. But I won’t.” She yanked him into place on the kneelers, then slammed his face against the leather bench. She delivered her whispered promise right next to his ear. “You just earned ten more blows on top of the twenty I’d already planned.”

“Bring it, bitch.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,
boy
.”

Grant wrapped the waist strap around him and cinched it tightly. She left his wrists cuffed together behind his back. When she tried to apply the first of the thigh straps to restrain his legs, he kicked out.

“We’re up to forty. You like to test the boundaries, don’t you, boy?”

“I’m fucking tired of you calling me
boy
, lady. I’m a Dominant, just like you.”

Grant laughed. “You sure about that?”

Marc wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Her words left him feeling further betrayed. Had Adam told her about his self-doubts?

His thoughts distracted him long enough for her to cinch his other thigh into the restraints without resistance. Helpless. He detested being helpless, especially with a woman in control.

No, this was no ordinary woman. She was an Amazon in top physical condition. After the Marines, she’d joined Black Ops. Later, she’d trained as a Domme under Gunnar Larson, the man who also taught Damián the ways of sadism and throwing a whip. She’d learned some vicious means of controlling men twice her size.

His junk was at her mercy for the foreseeable future.

Marc struggled to wriggle out of the bonds but stopped when he realized his efforts only succeeded in exhausting him. He needed to conserve his energy to attempt an escape when she finally released these straps. No woman would ever make him feel helpless again. He wouldn’t give Grant that satisfaction either.

“Maybe I can help you develop an appreciation for the paddle. It’s one of my favorite toys.”

Marc stared at her, trying not to let her intimidate him with her calculating smile. Still, he was in no position to continue to defy her. “Mine, too.
Mistress
.”

Grant laughed. “But I’ll bet you prefer being on my side of the paddle, don’t you?” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her walk over to the table where Adam had laid out a number of implements. But she ignored the paddle Adam had placed there instead opening her own toy bag. When she turned, he saw she’d retrieved a wooden paddle into which she’d driven rounded-top upholstery tacks, causing the surface to be uneven in order to inflict greater pain. He’d seen her reduce bigger men to tears with that thing. The surface was only about two inches wide, which would heighten the pain. Judging by the muscle tone in her abs and her arms, Marc knew she wouldn’t hit like a girl.