Savior (An Impossible Novel) (25 page)

The next blow came down almost immediately on the heels of the first, landing on my other cheek.  My core began to pound in answer to every throbbing pain that the flogger inflicted as Clayton thoroughly punished all of my exposed flesh until my ass was burning.

I was torn between my focus on the pain and my concentration on drawing in enough breath through my nose so I didn’t suffocate.  I couldn’t draw air through my lips; the gag restricted my ability to gasp in the oxygen I needed.  Panic began to grip me, and all of my muscles tensed as I tugged against my restraints.  But Clayton didn’t stop.

“Accept it, Rose,” he commanded, giving me no quarter.

Struggling to obey, I tried to recall how I had managed to take the pain Smith had inflicted upon me with the cruel nipple clamps.

Embrace it.  Absorb it.

I allowed the pain to wash over me, and it caught me up in its raging torrent, claiming my body in its ruthless rapids.  I was drowning in it, but I gratefully gulped it down, allowing it to fill my lungs and send my head spinning into black oblivion.

But just when I thought
I had learned to handle it, Clayton altered his tactic.  I screamed into the gag as just the stinging tips of the flogger raked across my skin, sending lines of fire searing across the surface of my flesh.

Just as he had promised, Clayton pushed me relentlessly, driving home my utter vulnerability at his hands with every harsh stroke.  The realization made my clit throb with an answering pain.

It wasn’t the waters that took me this time, but the stifling sense of power that radiated out from Clayton in palpable waves.  In that moment, I gave my mind to him just as completely as I had ceded my body to him long ago.  The steady, rhythmic
whooshing
of the flogger cutting through the air as he deftly wielded it in swift figure-of-eight movements was suddenly soothing rather than terrifying.  My entire body relaxed, and my cries of pain ceased.  My mind went completely blank, taken to a blissfully calm place where I didn’t have any worries or cares.  I was safe in Clayton’s hands, and nothing could hurt me.  My breathing came in slow, deep draws of air as I entered that glorious state.

The hits stopped, but I was barely aware of it; the sensation of pain had faded so completely that it had become almost imperceptible.

A strangled shout was torn from my chest when my Master raked his fingernails across my abused flesh.  Sparks of pleasure flew out from his touch and tingled their way up my spine, going to straight to my head.  I fell further into that blank space, rocketing down through an endless white tunnel.  Then I reached free fall, and I wasn’t falling anymore; I was floating.

His cock impaling me and his rough hands upon me became my entire reality.  I was unaware of the endless, soft mewling that was issuing from my throat.  I came immediately, the intense ecstasy of my Master finally taking my enflamed body enfolding me where I existed in my exquisitely empty world.  The bliss went on and on as he pumped into me, the raw brutality of his movements seeming tender and loving.

I was dimly aware of him roaring out my name as he came, but I was so far gone I barely heard it; the pleasure I felt at having given him that ecstasy was what communicated his completion to my foggy mind.

My body was limp, completely sated as he removed my bonds.  I couldn’t have moved even if I wanted to.  My brain didn’t remember how to make my limbs cooperate.

I stayed in that state for a long time, completely content as I rested my head against my Master’s chest, loving the feel of his fingers trailing across my hyper-sensitive skin as he stroked my back.

When I did finally open my eyes, I found him smiling down at me, his eyes filled with wonder.

“Do you have any idea how breathtaking you are, Rose?”  He asked softly.

I grinned.  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He laughed.  “If you keep complimenting me like that, you’ll make me blush,” he joked at the disparity between his intense words and my flippant ones.

I reached up and lightly touched my fingers to his cheek, my expression turning serious.  “I love you so much, Master,” I said fervently.  “And I love Clay
ton, too.  I never imagined anything could be this good.  I never thought I would have this.  Thank you.”

He brushed a kiss against my forehead.  “And I love my sub and my Rose,” he answered.  “I never conceived of having something this wonderful, either.  A
nd I’m not ever going to let it go, Rose.  I’m not going to let
you
go.”

My eyes widened at his implication.  “I’m not going to let you go either,” I breathed.

Our kiss was sweet and full of promises I fully intended to keep.  I was never going to leave him.

The following afternoon, I found myself smiling as I walked around the FIT c
ampus.  It was a good thing Clayton had given me the acceptance letter when he had, or I would have missed my interview date.  He told me he would have just applied for me again the next semester if the moment hadn’t been right in time, but I was ecstatic that I wasn’t going to have to endure Cheryl for an extra four months.  If I got this scholarship, I was quitting the next day.  I couldn’t wait to see her shocked expression;
she
hadn’t gotten a scholarship.  I felt a surge of vindictive pleasure.

Clayton hadn’t wanted to leave my side, but I had put my foot down and made him go wait in the café across the street from campus.  He wasn’t too pleased with my demanding tone,
but he had capitulated, finally agreeing that it would look ridiculous if he came to my interview with me.

I had been nervous at the beginning of the interview, but as soon as Professor Coker had started going over my sketches with me, I relaxed as my passion for my work wiped away my anxiety.  If I was accepted into the scholarship program, I would be able to attend workshops with renowned designers such as Nina Garcia and Calvin Klein.  The prospect was so wonderful that I could hardly conceive of it.

After talking for nearly an hour, Professor Coker was smiling at me, and she offered to give me a tour of the campus.  I took it as a good sign. 

FIT was beautiful, with greenery breaking up the harsh lines of the severe buildings.  I was amazed and flattered when Professor Coker even took the time to show me the fashion museum that was on campus, asking for my commentary on several of the designs.

“Well, I think that about covers it,” she said when we finally arrived at the edge of the campus.

“Thanks so much for showing me around, Professor Coker,” I said gratefully.

“You can call me Erika,” she offered.  “And I’m really looking forward to working with you in the Fall.”  She gave me a conspiratorial wink.  She was on the head of the board that awarded the scholarships, and she had as much as just told me I was going to get it.  My heart swelled in my chest as an ecstatic smile spread across my face.

“I can’t wait,” I said ardently.  “Thank you so much.”

She smiled at me again before turning to go back to her office.  If the dull, throbbing pain of my bruised ass hadn’t been very real, I would have thought I was dreaming.

I was still grinning as I waited for t
he “Walk” sign to appear so I could cross 7
th
Avenue and join Clayton.  I could see him through the window at the front of the café, sipping a ridiculously large coffee.  The man was an addict, but I supposed caffeine wasn’t such a terrible vice.  He didn’t see me where I was practically bouncing on the balls of my feet as I eagerly anticipated giving him the good news, but I watched him hungrily, drinking in the sight of his perfect profile.

Then he was abruptly hidden from view.  The world turned to chaos around me as everything happened too quickly for me to comprehend.  There was the screeching of tires and the sound of the door on the side of the black van sliding open.  I screamed as strong arms closed around me, jerking me off my feet.  I had a moment to register the shocked expressions of the people around me as terror consumed me.  Then the door was sliding closed again, trapping me inside the van, and I was fighting my captors madly as adrenaline took over.  I clawed at the face
of the man who held me, my fingernails raking crimson lines across his cheek.  His fist was a blur, and I only had a moment to register the sickening crack as it collided with the side of my head.  I was out before my body hit the floor.

“Rosie?!
  Oh, God, Rosie!”  Greg’s high-pitched cry made my head throb, and I groaned.  The concrete floor was hard and cold beneath my body.  I tried to push myself up, to go to my frightened baby brother, but the thick, unyielding plastic of a cable tie bit into my wrists.

No.  Oh, no.

I forced my eyes open, squinting against the searing pain of the harsh light as I searched for my brother.  He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his back pressed up against a concrete block wall.  His hands seemed to be secured behind him as well, and his eyes were wide and terrified.

His gaze shifted to focus on something above me, and I looked up to find a huge, heavily-muscled man looming over me.  Red lines marred his cheek where I had clawed at him, and I now recognized him as the man who I had shot at when he had come to my apartment for Greg.  I drew my knees up to my chest protectively as I took in his leer.

“Please,” Greg begged.  “Let my sister go.  She’s not involved in this.”  He was rocking back and forth, and the sweat that was beaded on his brow let me know he hadn’t gotten a fix since I had last seen him.  He had to be in agony.

The man didn’t take his cruel eyes off of me.  “O
h, but she is.  You told me the FBI agent who’s handling your case is fucking her.  You told me the reason you wanted to come clean to us was because you hated the fucker.”  He sneered.  “But you just wanted a fix, you pathetic junkie.  Since you can’t give us the names of the other snitches, we’re going to have to get Clayton Vaughn to surrender the information.  In exchange for her life.”

Terror shot through me, stealing my breath away and leaving my body trembling.

“No,” Greg moaned.  “Let her go.  I’ll find a way to get the names for you.  Please…”

Another brawny man entered my line of vision, and he kicked Greg viciously in the side.  “You don’t get to cut a deal with us, you fucking narc,” he spat.  Greg sucked in a breath as the pain consumed him, and he fell onto his side, curling in on himself.

“Stop!”  I shouted.  “Don’t hurt him!”

The man standing over me was still smiling down at me cruelly.  “That’s enough, Jorje,” he commanded.  “He need
s to be in one piece so he can deliver our message to Vaughn.”

He reached down and grabbed my arm, jerking me to my feet.  I cried out as the action caused the cable tie to tear the delicate skin at my wrists.

“Rosie!”  Greg gasped out, still catching his breath after having the air kicked out of him.

My tormentor held me from behind, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist so that my back was pressed against his chest.  The other man – Jorje – left Greg’s side to stand in front of me.  He pulled out a camera phone and directed the lens at me.

“You’re going to scream for me, bitch,” my captor growled in my ear as the light on the front of the camera turned on.

Chapter 17

Instinct urged me to scream out my fear, to give voice to the terror that was clawing at my insides.  Ruthlessly, I shoved down the impulse.  If these men wanted me to scream, then I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.  Especially if this recording might end up in Clayton’s hands.  I knew how much it would hurt him to see me in pain.  I couldn’t bear that.

My captor’s Spanish accent was thick, but his demanding words rang out loud and clear.  “We have your whore, Vaughn,” he addressed the camera.  “And unless you want her blood on your hands, you’re going to turn over the names of the little worms who have been spying on us.  In a short while, Baker will bring you this recording.  Give him the information we need, and then send him back to us.”

“NO!”  I cried.  I looked beseechingly into the camera.  “Don’t you dare send him back to them, Clayton.  You swore you would keep him safe.  Don’t you -”

My words were cut off as the back of Jorje’s hand cracked across my face.  I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth as the inside of my cheek tore against my teeth.  It made my stomach turn.

“Quiet, whore,” my tormentor ordered as my head spun.  “Baker’s going to meet us at Coney Island with the information, and then we’ll leave her there in his place,” he continued on, addressing the camera again.  “If we even get a whiff of an agent or a cop, the deal’s off, and her pretty little brains will be splattered all over the pavement.”

I shuddered at the horrific mental image that his words conjured up with cruel, sharp clarity.

“And you had better work quickly,” he threatened.  “Every minute we have to wait, she will suffer.”

No!  No
no no no no…

“Leave her alone!”  Greg
shouted, his voice high with panic.  “Don’t hurt my sister!  I’ll do what you want.  I’ll get you the information.  Just, please, God, don’t hurt her.”

Jorje looked at him coldly.  “We already told you: narcs don’t get to cut deals.”

“And just to let you know I mean what I’m saying, Vaughn…”  The man behind me began menacingly, and I knew pain was coming.  I braced myself for it.  I wasn’t going to scream.  If I did, Clayton would break and give in to their demands.  He would send Greg back to them, and they would kill him.  I couldn’t allow him to trade my brother’s life for mine.