The Art of Domination (27 page)

I scroll down further and I find a police report filed against him for domestic abuse by my mother. I was only four when it happened. I try to recall what incident it must’ve been that she finally decided to file against him. There were so many, I can hardly remember a time when he wasn’t abusing her in some form or another, be it verbal or physical. I remember hiding under our large dining room table most nights, playing with my dolls and trying to disappear into the woodwork.

It’s so strange, but I had become completely accustomed to the yelling and most times, I didn’t even pay any attention to it. Unless my mother was crying, then I felt the pain. I remember her holding me and telling me how much she loved me and that she was sorry. Why was she sorry? It wasn’t her fault. I knew that even then. 

Why did she leave me if she loved me so much?
Why
? I would never leave my child in a situation like that.
Never.
  I would die before I let that happen.  I back out the file and find more subfiles under my father’s file. I go through each one, reading them like some kind of mystery novel. The last file with an ambiguous title sends me spiraling.

There’s an article on my mother’s death and a picture of her. She looks about my age,
maybe a few years older, but I’m unsure. I can see the resemblance between us right away, though my mother was much more attractive than me. We share the same hair color, mouth and eyes. She was short, too. I hardly remember her looking so beautiful. The memories that I do have of her are with messy hair, smeared mascara and disheveled clothing.

Then I find the police report from her accident.
I wonder why that’s in here.
I read through it and I’m shocked at the conclusion. “Cause of death: Undetermined.” I thought she was in an accident. I read further down and Dylan has notes typed in saying that her death was suspicious. Suspicious for what?
Like I don’t know.
Is that what Dylan meant by proving what my father had done?
Oh my God
. Did my father kill my mother?

He’s a cruel man, but surely not
that
cruel. I know she wanted to leave him and had talked about it. Maybe he found out and wouldn’t allow it. I start crying and chastise myself. Why am I crying? Because all these years I thought my mother never loved me enough to take me with her. I blamed her and was angry at her for leaving me.

I said I would die before I left my child in a situation lik
e that. Maybe she really did die trying to get me out of a situation like that.

No. This isn’t really happening.  Dylan’s investigation wi
ll prove that my father didn’t have anything to do with it. He just has to. I can’t live with that thought.

I start sobbing loudly knowing damn well what the outcome will be. He so e
asily threatened me; of course he has it in him to be a killer.

I back out of the file completely, trying to push the images and words to the back of my mind, when I find yet another file. This time, it’s about me.

I’m mortified to see what Dylan has found out about me, but again, my stupid ass body betrays me and I open the file. It’s even worse than I thought.

Everything about
me is laid out in black and white. My birth certificate, hospital records, school records, blood type, tax records, work history, my sexual orientation… even when my last Pap smear was done and the results.

What the hell is going on?
What alternate universe have I entered that someone can access this kind of information? Isn’t it illegal to do this? I scroll down and find the worse yet. My hospital admission when things had become completely hopeless for me.

He literally knows everything about me. I have no secrets to share with him. I’
m livid that Dylan would have the nerve to look at such personal information about me and yet he continues to keep secrets from me. How hypocritical of him. I want nothing more than to cuff him and flog his nosy ass. Better yet, the cat o’nine would be more satisfying to use on him.

I shut down the computer without making a copy of the contract. I make my way back into my studio and shut the door. I need t
o take my mind off this crap. I’ll finish my last painting, though it may not be exactly my usual sexy genre. I just need to get this image on canvas.

The entire way to Erika’s, I can’t stop thinking about Isa. She’s taken to liking pain
in a way I never expected. Maybe she’s liked it all along and I just haven’t given her enough credit by experimenting more with her.
Damn she tastes good
. I start getting aroused again at the thought of her blood on my mouth and her ass pushing against me. I shift uncomfortably in the front seat of the Rover and grip myself to try and adjust while still trying to concentrate on driving.

Sawyer looks over at me and rolls his eyes.

“Thinking about your wife?” he asks.

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“You really love her, don’t you?”

His question stun
s me. He never asks personal questions.
Never.

“I wouldn
’t have married her if I didn’t,” I respond.

“Then why are you going to see Erika?”

What the fuck does he mean by that?
I shoot a harsh look at him and before I can chew his ass out for asking something so stupid, he intervenes.

“What I mean is -
I could’ve done this on my own or with Murphy or Alex. There’s no need for you to be seeing her. You’re just giving Erika what she wants.  If the shoe were on the other foot, would you allow Isabel to see her ex-lover? For any reason?”

Fuck
. I hate it when my bad decisions are blatantly pointed out to me. Of course I wouldn’t allow Isa to see an ex-lover. I’d blow a gasket if she even spoke to one of them. I sit sulking and not responding.

“
Look, Young, I’m trying to be a dick. I’m only saying that you just got married and you should be spending your time with your new wife, not visiting your psychotic, blackmailing ex-lover, no matter what the reason is.”

Irritated with his tone, I lose it.

“Fuck off, Sawyer. I don’t need to hear this. I’m not going to
visit
Erika. I’m going to take care of business. She knows who’s causing all this bullshit and there’s no way in hell she’ll tell you, Murphy or Alex. Yeah, maybe I am giving her what she wants by seeing her again, but I want to know who’s threatened my wife’s life and if I have to suck it up and visit that bitch to find out, then so be it. And the last time I fucking checked, I’m still the one signing the God damned paychecks and I don’t need your or anyone else’s permission or approval for the decisions that I make,” I tell him harshly.

Ever the
controlled professional, Sawyer sits stoically without as much as a show of anger or irritation with my tantrum.

“Do you feel better now?”
he asks blandly after several minutes of silence.

I roll my eyes
and sigh loudly, but it’s meant for my own actions and not his comment.
Fucking Sawyer
. This man knows me too well.

“Yes, Sawyer, I feel better
.”

“Good. Then let’s discuss how we
’re going to do this,” he says, getting right back to business.

We pull up to Erika’s address after about half an hour of driving and discussing the plan. I know she’s home because w
e did a GPS search on her phone. She lives in a small quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Littleton and her house is quaint with a white picket fence. I laugh out loud when we pull up and see how illogical it is considering what she’s into.

“What’s so funny?” Sawyer asks curiously.

“Her house - it looks like something you’d read about in a Nick Sparks novel.”

Sawyer raises his eyebrows at me. “How do you know what Nick Sparks writes about?”

“I don’t actually, but I’ve heard about it,” I say, trying to cover my ass.

“Uh-huh. Suuure,” h
e says sarcastically.

What the fuck ever.
 

Erika’s vehicle is parked in her d
riveway and there’s another car parked in front of the house. We park just down the street and make our way to the door. When we approach, I hear the all too familiar sounds of Erika being fucked. She’s screaming out loudly and muttering pet names to whoever her lover is.

Sawyer pi
cks the lock discreetly and we make our way towards the direction of the sounds.  When we get to the bedroom door, it’s open and we’re greeted with a view Erika’s ankles strapped to the spreader bar with her ass up, face down, and wrists cuffed in between her legs to the bar. There’s a man about my size fucking her violently and pulling her hair. His hair is the same color as mine and cut much the way I used to keep it before Isa requested I grow it out.

Sawyer and I
stand watching for only a moment when he leans over to me and whispers, “Does he look familiar? You think maybe she’s trying to replace you?”

I give my ‘really?’
stare and respond to him. “My ass is much firmer than his.”

He laughs quietly. “I’ll deal with the man; you deal with Erika,” he says.

We move up quietly behind the fucking duo and make our presence known.

“So I guess you don’t
need my help finding a new Dom after all,” I say loudly.

The man jumps off the bed
, panting wildly, and tries to take a swing at me, but Sawyer grabs his arms behind his back and pulls him towards the other end of the room. Erika is in a precarious position as she tries to wiggle her way onto her back.  She looks ridiculous and a great deal like an upturned tortoise trying to get back on its feet, but I resist laughing out loud.

I look over at Sawyer and the man who still ha
s a hard-on. I look down at his dick and can’t resist commenting on it.

“And my
dick is quite significantly larger than his,” I say to Sawyer who widens his eyes at me and shakes his head.

I turn back
to Erika, kneel on the bed, flip her onto her back and uncuff her wrists. When they’re free, she tries to slap me, but I grab her wrist in mid air.

“Tsk tsk. I’ll have no
ne of that, thank you very much,” I say holding it firmly. “Now, behave yourself or I’ll cuff you again. Say you understand.”

She sits staring at me indignantly, but then agrees.

“Yes, Sir.” Her words set her new Dom off.

“Who the fuck are you? I’m her Dom, God damn it!
She doesn’t call anyone Sir but me!”

I remain looking at Erika but address the pouting would-be Dom. “
That’s fine, you can be her Dom for all I care. It’s unfortunate that we caught you two in flagrante, but I have business with Erika that doesn’t involve you.”

“Fuck you! Get away from her!” h
e yells at me.

“Is that what you want Erika? Do you want me to get away from you?” I ask raising an eyebrow at her.

She looks nervously from her new Dom to me and then back.

“Speak, Erika,
” I command.

“No, Sir,” s
he says and her new Dom comes completely undone.

“
Fuck you, Erika! What is this shit? Who the hell is this guy?”

“Tell him, Erika. Tell him I’m the man you can’t resist staying away from. The man you tried to blackmail for hundreds of thousands of dollars. The man you continue to harass
. The man you begged to be her Dom again. The man you demanded find you another Dom when I wouldn’t agree. Tell him, Erika. Tell him how you’ve conspired with someone who’s threatened my wife’s life. Speak, you lying bitch!” I yell at her.

My anger is starting to boil over and feel myself clench my fists.
She looks contrite and her new Dom remains silent.

“Is all that
true?” the man asks.

I turn to face him and glare at him. “Do I look li
ke the kind of man who would lie?” I say loudly.

“Wait. I know who you are. You’
re that rich business guy that’s in the papers all the time.”

“Yeah, so?”
I ask him impatiently.

“Sorry
, dude. I had no idea Erika was like that. I just met her a few weeks ago.”

Dude?
What kind of fucking Dom uses language like that? How old is he? 14? I roll my eyes at him and turn to face Erika again.

She
’s trying to remove her ankles from the cuffs, but I pull the spreader bar away from her hands and yank upwards, pulling her legs straight and making her fall on her back.

“Did I give you permission to touch that?”

“No, Sir,” s
he whispers.

“Tell me who the fuck you’re working with or so help me God, Erika, the BDSM community will hear about your threats to expose me. You know how they feel about that, don’t you? I promise that if you don’t answer my questions right now, you’ll be shunned out of every fetish and BDSM community on this continent. Now speak!”