THE FIRST SIN (28 page)

Kristin had always believed violence didn’t solve problems. But now, more than anything, she wanted this man to die. She wanted Nick to come and blow the professor away like he’d probably had to do to men when he was a SEAL. Her whole body trembled so hard the mattress shook.

She’d never even believed in the death penalty.

Until now.

“Please, no,” she said again as tears rolled down the sides of her temples and nameless, blank faces started appearing in her mind. Faces of men ready to sexually abuse her. “Please, please, Professor. I’ll do anything. Anything for you. Anything you want me to.”

“Don’t worry, my darling Kristin.” The professor smiled and lowered his hand. “You’ll enjoy it” He reached into the pocket of his tan slacks. Steel blade after steel blade of terror jabbed Kristin’s belly as he drew out a syringe of green liquid. “You’ll want it, slut. And you’ll beg for it.”

April 21

Sunday evening, I think, but I’m not sure I care.

Cabot’s smile was cold enough to ice my veins. “I would have to say you are in no position to promise anything to anyone, Alexi Adams. If that is your real name.” I narrowed my eyes and scowled at him.

The small wave of fear that sent a shiver through me made me want to hit something. I did feel some satisfaction that he had fading bruises on his face, too. Alyona flinched as Cabot opened the door wider. “Why don’t you join me, Alexi?”

My dark thoughts turned like crows circling in my mind as I shut my eyes and search for options. Any option. “You don’t have a choice.” Cabot echoed what the crows cawed in my head. I opened my eyes and stared at him again.

How could anyone think Cabot was handsome? All it took was one searching look into his eyes and the truth was there. “Would you prefer to have Danny drag you by your hair again?”

My scalp twinged at the thought and I held back a wince. No. thank you.

That left me with getting out of the room in a hurry before he called the big dick, Danny. Cabot stared at my breasts as I held the threadbare blanket tight against me with the hand that wasn’t in a cast. Sleazebag.

Last thing I wanted to do right now was leave this room commando-style. The only things covering any part of my body were the bandages around my ribs and the cast on my arm. I gathered the blanket around me. The old, rough carpeting scraped my bare feet.

Cabot shook his head. “You can’t have clothing or the blanket to cover yourself.”

Heat rushed to my face. He wanted me to feel as vulnerable as possible. I bet he wanted me to beg, too. I’d faced far worse things than walking around naked in front of an enemy, and I could deal with this. I let go of the blanket and stood.

When I got to the door, I saw the back of Cabot’s hand flying toward my face just before he backhanded me. Ah, Christ.

Pain sent stars shooting through my head when it hit the wall. The crows that had fled my mind returned and spun like I was whirling in a cloud of the wicked birds. My skull throbbed.

Cabot’s hands eased up from my elbows to my upper arms, his palms and fingers cold, smooth, with no calluses. His muscles strained along his jaw as he dug his fingers into my skin. My neck whiplashed as he jerked me hard and shook me. Once, twice. Three times.

“You’re going to enjoy this.” His too-white teeth flashed as he smiled. “And I’ll have every answer I need.” My hazy thoughts focused on what he’d said and my feet didn’t want to move when he pulled me beside him and forced me out of the room and into a dim hallway. Enjoy . . . ? Oh, shit.

Oh, shit.

Every answer he needed . . . Cabot was going to interrogate me, and no doubt torture me if I didn’t give him any answers. There wasn’t a question in my mind.

Did he have drugs, too? Truth-inducing drugs as good as the ones RED used?

I had been trained to withstand torture and I had a high tolerance against these kinds of drugs—but what if he had something I couldn’t fight?

The plaster cast felt rough against my belly as I held my broken arm close. A wave of dizziness made me stumble again.

Cabot’s voice was cold, hard. “I kept you unconscious most of the time and only allowed you to wake long enough to take care of necessities.”

Aren’t you the prince.

“I let you heal just enough,” he added close to my ear. “You’d already blacked out, and I couldn’t have you not enjoying the pain.” Chills rolled over my skin and the memory of the pain made my existing pain worse. “When I get what I need from you, I’ll let you heal completely and put you up for a private auction.”

I tried to jerk away but he held my left upper arm tight.

And jeez did it hurt when I tried that little maneuver. He shook his head and laughed. “If you don’t talk or I don’t think you’ve told me the truth, I’ll shoot you up with the designer drug Lascivious, and you’ll be begging to screw every man within five feet of you. I’ll give you to a whorehouse. You’ll just become another slut with all those Johns who’d love to fuck a cop.”

“I—I’m not a cop.” Well, I wasn’t.

He squeezed my arm tighter and his tone became more vicious as we walked.

“You work for someone. And you, little bitch, are going to tell me everything.”

Flashes of Donovan came to me and my heart squeezed. That night they’d wounded him, but hadn’t killed him. Because they wanted information.

But I was sure I’d heard the word “Police!” before the slamming and locking of metal doors. He was okay. He had to be okay. He’d probably managed to notify RED with his leather wrist cuffs before having real .cuffs put on him.

Images came in waves. Time I’d spent with Donovan over the two weeks we worked together. His determination to find his sister. His fierce anger at whoever was auctioning the women and the men who had killed Randolph.

The way Donovan cooked; the way he cleaned everything until it was spotless, nothing ever out of place. And how I think he secretly liked that prima donna cat.

How he’d tried to fight off a roomful of men to get to me. The great sex—that had only been a piece of the package that was Nick Donovan.

The last image my mind settled on was when he held me in bed, cuddling me close after the second club. Telling me how he didn’t want me to go through more humiliation. And that he had a bad feeling about this op.

He’d been so right.

As Cabot and I reached a door, whistles, catcalls, shouts of laughter, and vulgar suggestions came from the four men in the room. My body flamed and I wanted the chance to take them on one at a time when I was well again. No matter how big the men were, I bet none of them could hurt me when I was at my best, unless they had two men holding me still. Like Cabot had the night he kidnapped me. “You may get your chance with her,” Cabot said to them.

“Depends on whether or not she cooperates.” It was in Cabot’s eyes. His expression. If I didn’t talk, he planned to let these men rape me as many times as they wanted.

Cabot jerked my arm and I barely held back a cry as we headed to a door.

“We have business to attend to. And I don’t plan to wait any longer.”

Why didn’t I snap his neck when I first went after him? So what if the guys had killed me? I would have taken Benjamin Cabot along for the ride.

But now, with my ribs broken and my arm in a cast, it was going to be a lot harder to defend myself or do anything to hurt him. The bruises, the wounds, the sore shoulder, the probability of a concussion—none of that mattered. I couldn’t let Cabot do it. And at the same time I couldn’t tell him anything about RED.

Had to hold on. Had to figure out how to get out of this. He pushed me through another door and down a long, black hallway that smelled of fresh paint. If he wanted to depress everyone he brought to this place, he was doing a good job of it.

All hopes faded of seeing anything I might recognize. No windows to show me familiar landscape—if there was anything familiar here. What if he’d sent me to a foreign country? The Ukraine. Korea even. But he’d held the other auction in Boston, so likely we were still in the US. Alyona had been taken in Boston, too—I’d seen the vid. Only fluorescent bulbs lit the hallway, and they were too high to reach. If I was lucky, he’d take me to an office in this building. I’d been fully trained in the use of common, everyday items as weapons. There were any number of things I could think of that would maim or kill.

Cabot pushed open a door at the end of the hallway and immediately the smells of leather, fresh paint, and antiseptic washed over me. He shoved me into a black room, also with a fluorescent light. I blinked and stared at everything in that room. It was a sadomasochist’s dream.

Traditional BDSM equipment like a St. Andrew’s cross, stretching bars, a cage, a hook dangling from the ceiling, and much more lined the walls of the enormous room—more BDSM equipment put together than everything I’d seen at the nightclubs. There was even a full-body metal cage like one I’d seen on the Internet. It was in the shape of a man and had a panel in the back where the man or woman could be taken in the ass while being kept entirely immobile. Please not a body cage. Dear God.

Was there nothing out in the open that I could use to defend myself or hurt Cabot?

A row of metal cabinets lined one wall, and each cabinet had been secured with large padlocks.

But all of that—that wasn’t really what held my attention. No, my attention was riveted on where the pain would really come from.

“I’m certain much of this is familiar to you.” Cabot was leaving bruises on my arm as he dug his fingers in, but I really didn’t care. He brought me to a stop in front of a heavy wooden chair that an elephant could sit on and not break.

Thick leather cuffs made to secure a gorilla were attached to the armrests, chair legs, and even the back of the seat. An equally heavy-looking table was up against the chair.

“You wanted to be in the BDSM clubs, so now’s your chance to get the most of it.” He smiled. “Yes, this is where I have the most fun.”

Black stained the chair all over. Dried blood. This was so not BDSM. BDSM

was sexual play, enjoyable to everyone involved. It was an equal exchange of power.

This—

What this sick fuck had in mind was sadistic torture. i God, just get me out of here before he can hurt me more and I promise to start going’ to church again with Mammy ] and Daddy. Really. Promise.

No divine intervention was going to swoop down and steal me away. Not unless it was for my soul once I died. To heaven or hell.

But I was in hell right now.

Cabot continued and gestured toward the cabinets. “Of course that is where we keep special instruments that will encourage you to share all of your wonderful secrets.” He looked down and smiled at me, and I swear I saw horns. The devil didn’t wear Prada. The devil wore customdesigned-and-tailored silk Armani suits.

“And here,” he continued as he took me to a long metal tank of water that was at least seven feet long, five feet wide, and four feet off the floor.

Restraints were at every corner of the tank, as well as a strap for the middle.

“You might enjoy a little shock therapy.” He smiled, and bile rose in my throat. I didn’t need a bath and electricity to make me vibrate like my whole body was electrified. I was already there. “That’s all the tour you need for now.” He shoved me sideways onto the big wooden chair and I hit my shoulder on an armrest, causing pain to shoot down my broken arm. “I think you need to have a seat.”

“Screw you.” I pushed myself up on the seat of the chair with my good arm, but my muscles had gone on vacation and the rest of my body was crumbling.

I gritted my teeth and focused on anger instead. Burning hot anger that roared through me like wildfire.

I kicked at Cabot, aiming for his groin, but he sidestepped and I missed. He backhanded me hard. Goddamn, but I was getting sick of that. The ringing in my ears, the black spots in front of my eyes, the blood in my mouth. This time my foot connected with his leg as I rammed the sole hard against his thigh.

It caught him off guard and he dropped to one knee. I jammed my foot at his nose, but he turned and I hit the side of his face.

Devil’s eyes. Loathing, hatred, fury. That’s what I saw in the moment he reacted by slapping me hard enough to snap my head to the side.

“You are going to feel pain like you have never felt before.” He took advantage of my momentary loss of focus and direction, and strapped down my left wrist. “The more you fight me, the worse it’s going to be for you.” This time I drove the ball of my foot close to his groin.

Missed my target and hit the top of his thigh. Cabot cursed like I’d never expected from the snobby sonofabitch. This time when he backhanded the side of my head, the now very familiar black dots gathered and I felt darkness coming on.

But it didn’t and he had strapped down my right arm over my cast before my sight cleared again. He jerked my arm so hard when he strapped it that I cried out as pain shot through my broken bones and my eyes watered.

Cabot had to kneel to grasp one of my ankles. He made the mistake of grabbing my left ankle first. A good soccer kick with my right foot, which connected beneath his chin. Then the satisfying clink of teeth and his shout of pain. His head snapped back. I started to jam my foot against his head but Cabot backhanded me again, more powerfully this time. More stars. Many, many more stars. More black spots. More blood in my mouth.

Couldn’t move my legs. He must have strapped them to the chair legs after the last and hardest slap. A leather strap dug into my waist, too. I must have lost it for a lot longer than I’d thought.

He had me where he wanted me.

I couldn’t see a way out.

My eyes burned from the sweat dripping into them. I spit blood, aiming for Cabot, but it landed on the concrete floor. Yeah, stupid considering it would just piss him off more.

But maybe if he’d hit me again I’d pass out. Every single breath I took seemed to make more sweat roll from my scalp. Perspiration coated my skin.

In all the fun I’d actually forgotten I was naked. Now I was sitting in a chair with my legs spread completely wide, every single part of my body exposed.