Burn For You Page 4

  He circulated, monitoring a heavy impact scene for a while before he moved on to an equally intense, but much quieter rigging scene. The rigger wrapped rope around his nude submissive so lovingly, so carefully, outlining her breasts and making wicked little cinches for her nipples. Once she was tied, he started working over her chest with a crop. The woman moaned and pulled away on occasion, but she always presented her breasts for more. Mephisto studied her face, searching for something, anything, any clue that she wanted to be anywhere else than where she was...

  “Master Mephisto?”

  Mephisto turned at the sharp voice of his dungeon assistant, Glenn. “What is it?”

  “A woman by the door. I think she’s altered.”

  “If she’s altered, she can’t come in. You know the rules.”

  “I think it’s Molly.”

  Mephisto spun toward the door. Glenn was right. It was Molly, but she barely looked like herself. Dirty, disheveled, her face and eyes swollen, probably from substance abuse. She yanked at her collar, screaming something he couldn’t hear from across the room. Her eyes found his and she came storming his way, shrugging off the doorman trying to restrain her. She barreled right through a whip scene, evading injury by dumb luck.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mephisto grabbed her arm and steered her to the side of the play space. “That singletail could have taken your eye out.”

  “Get it off me,” she screamed, yanking at her neck, at the slim collar still gleaming there. “Take it off me, goddamn it. I know you know how.”

  The dungeon monitors were drifting closer in case Mephisto needed help, and patrons were starting to watch. Molly pulled at her collar like a full-blown maniac. She was on something, rabid, out of her mind. He dragged her back past the bar into his private rooms. He flipped on the light in the kitchen and looked down at the girl in his grasp. Her eyes were dilated, her skin pallid. She’d lost fifteen pounds at least since he saw her last. Six weeks ago?

  “What are you on?” It came out a growl. Mephisto didn’t allow drugs in his club and he didn’t allow them in his life. “What the fuck have you been doing to yourself?”

  She ignored him, pulling so hard on the collar he worried she’d injure her neck. She let out an ear rending scream. “Take it off! Get it off me!”

  “Okay, I’ll take it off. When you calm down, I’ll take it off. Let go of it.”

  He took her hands, restraining her with some effort. There were garish bruises around her neck. Who knew how long she’d been trying to get it off? But pulling it right through her neck wasn’t the way to do it. Her small hands struggled in his.

  “Let go of me,” she moaned. “Let go!”

  “I’ll let go when you stop fighting me. Don’t touch it. I need a special tool to get it off but I won’t go get it until you calm down.”

  She sucked in air. Some shred of awareness flickered in her eyes. Her gaze darted around his kitchen and she licked dry lips. He’d lay odds she was on some hallucinogen, not unknown for the old Molly. “Sit down,” he said slowly and clearly. “Sit down and I’ll take your collar off.”

  He led her to a chair at the table and she sank down. She shook all over, so hard he could almost hear it. She was in her usual pre-Clayton gear. Short skirt, nearly non-existent top. It was thirty degrees outside. He got a blanket from the bedroom and draped it around her. She reached again for the metal band around her neck, arrested by his disapproving sound. Glenn peeked in the door.

  “Everything okay?”

  “She’ll be fine. Watch her a minute.”

  Mephisto hurried to the club’s storage room, rooted through hardware and drawers of tools until he found the micro-screwdriver he needed. Molly wouldn’t be the first slave he’d sprung from a “permanent” collar, nor would she be the last. He returned to the kitchen to find Molly glaring at Glenn with a murderous look.

  “She’s not quite herself, is she?” Glenn asked. “You want me to call anyone?”

  “The loony bin?” Mephisto suggested. “Not for her. For me. No. She’ll be fine, but I might not be back out there tonight.”

  “We’ll hold down the fort.”

  Glenn left and Mephisto approached the sickly, shivering girl at his table. She seemed to be coming down already, her energy flagging. God knew how she’d gotten here in her condition. He could picture her wandering the streets of downtown Seattle, clawing at her collar and screaming like a psycho. What might have happened if she hadn’t found her way to his place?

  “Let me see.” He reached for the shining eternity collar, pushing her knotted, lank hair to the side. Her hair used to be her crowning glory, thick and glossy and beautiful, but now it was dull, unwashed. She was trying to sit still but random shudders seized her small frame. “What are you on?” Mephisto asked again, now that she seemed slightly more lucid. “Are you going to go into heart failure on me? What did you take?”

  “I don’t know. I got it from someone.”

  “Who?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay.” He sighed, grasping for patience. “Where were you?”

  “Somewhere. I don’t remember.”

  “At home? At a restaurant? At a club?”

  “A club. Somewhere.”

  Mephisto scrubbed a hand over his face. He had to get her collar off before she started yanking at it again. He traced around the smooth edges until he found the tiny depression he was looking for. “Be very still,” he said. And then, “Are you sure?”

  “Take it off.” Her voice was firm. “I’m not his slave anymore.”

  Fair enough. He lined up the tiny screwdriver with the delicate, almost invisible release. She wasn’t the only one shaking. His hands suddenly felt too big, too clumsy for this moment. He poked the sharp tool into the clasp until he managed to wiggle it loose. The collar opened and he eased it from her chafed neck.

  She turned to him, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. “Give it to me.”

  “No.” Not a chance. She’d calmed somewhat, but she was still out of her mind.

  “Give it to me!”

  “The screaming won’t work. You’re not getting it until you’re down. Here are your choices. Go to the hospital. Go to jail. Spend the night here.”

  She stood and moved toward the door. “I’m leaving. I’m going home.”

  He stepped in front of her with a grim look. “I’ll repeat your choices one more time. Hospital. Jail. Here.”

  “You can’t keep me here! You don’t control me.”

  “It appears no one controls you. Even you.”

  “You can’t make me stay here against my will. That’s kidnapping.”

  “Okay. Jail then. Hospital will cost too much.” Mephisto got out his phone.

  “Give me that collar!” She launched herself at him but he held the collar over his head, subduing her with one tight arm around her waist. She flailed, spitting at him. “You’re an asshole!”

  “Yes, and an abuser. I remember.”

  “And a criminal!”

  “Says the girl who’s high on some illegal substance.” He pulled her over to the sink and made her drink an entire glass of water, even though most of it ended up on his clothes, and then took her to the bathroom. “Sit down and piss,” he said. “And if you dare go anywhere but in the bowl I’ll fucking destroy your ass.”

  She scowled and used the toilet, then stood and defiantly kicked off her thong panties and wisp of a skirt. “Are you going to rape me now?”

  “There is nothing on earth I’d find less appealing at the moment. Put your skirt back on.”

  “Fuck you.”

  With a sigh, Mephisto picked up her skirt and panties and carried them, along with the resisting woman, into his room. He flung her discarded clothes into a cage in the corner. Then he looked at Molly. “In you go.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “One more time, because I know you’re high and stupid right now. Hospital. Jail. Here. Pick yo
ur fucking choice.”

  She kicked him hard in the shin, which fucking hurt, then drew her knee back to aim for his balls. Before she could complete such an ill-advised attack, he forced her into the rectangular cage, shutting the door and locking it while she pounded on the bars. “You’re going to be in so much fucking trouble when I call the police,” she screeched. “This is kidnapping!”

  “This is tough love. I’ll let you out when whatever is in your system has worn off.”

  “I hate you. I hate you!” Bang, bang, bang on the bars. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched to be sure she wouldn’t hurt herself. She banged for a minute, two minutes, but then she went still and lay back, and the sobbing started. Wails and sobs and threats of what would happen to him. “I have money, you asshole!” she shrieked. “I’m fucking rich. I’ll ruin you!”

  Mephisto wondered how much of Clayton’s fortune Molly had managed to lose or burn through in the last month and a half. Not too much, he hoped. He shouldn’t have left her alone, even though she sent him away. He realized that now.

  “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” Screams turned to whines and whines turned to whimpers and then she was all raged out and there was only her vicious glare. He studied the slim metal circlet between his fingers, remembering better times. She followed him with her eyes as he stood and crossed the room to lay her collar on top of his chest of drawers. Such a beautiful, delicate work of art. He remembered when Clayton had first showed it to him. He’d had it specially made for her.

  “It would have killed him to see you this way,” Mephisto said. Not to her, because she was in no state to listen. He just said it because it was the dismal truth.

  *** *** ***

  Molly woke to dark blurry lines in front of her face. Bars. She was in jail. She’d figured it would happen eventually. She turned over with a moan to focus on a dark gaze beyond the black lines.

  No, not jail. She was in Mephisto’s cage.

  She’d been here before, in another lifetime. In her old life, which revolted her now. Her hands moved to her neck. Bare. She vaguely remembered Mephisto taking off her collar last night.

  A wry voice. “Good morning, starshine.” The noise hurt her head.

  “Let me out of here. I need a drink.”

  “Of water, right?”

  She banged the bars, which hurt her head worse. “Just let me out. I’m sober now.”

  He came over and knelt by the cage, working the padlock with quick fingers. “Hello, Molly. Nice to see you again.”

  She lifted her chin and crawled out, struggling to her feet. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, I haven’t seen you in a while. The crazy, insane Molly I used to know. Wait, maybe it’s not so nice to see you again. Maybe you barged in here last night high as a kite and screamed at me while you almost took your own head off trying to rip off your collar. Oh yeah, that’s what happened.”

  “Why don’t you shut up?” Molly was weaving on her feet. Mephisto grabbed her and led her to his bed, an iron monstrosity with a “bad girl” cage underneath.

  “Sit. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He stalked out, and Molly would have fled if she could have. Giving orders already. That’s what men like him always did, how they got off. Just like her Master. She would have torn out of that room, through the dungeon and out to freedom. Freedom from men who liked to boss her and control her. Unfortunately, she could barely stay upright in a sitting position, much less stand. Mephisto returned, holding out two pills and a glass of water.

  “What is this?”

  “You should have asked that question to someone last night,” he said. “It’s arsenic. Take it.”

  Molly’s brain shuddered and kicked into gear. Arsenic? No, it wasn’t really arsenic. He was being sarcastic, which didn’t do much to improve her mood or the pain in her head. She held out her hand for the medicine and took it with a whole glass of water. She was so thirsty. So tired. He reached out to her and she flinched.

  “I was just going to take the glass back. Give it to me.” She handed it over and flinched again as he reached for her. He shook his head. “Relax, would you? I need to check your neck.”

  He brushed her hair back and traced light fingers just above her collarbone and at her nape. He gave a low whistle. “Jesus. You’re black and blue.”

  She glared at him. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  He sat down on the bed beside her, but he didn’t touch her again, and he didn’t speak anymore, thank God. She gazed over at the cage, wondering what she was doing here. Wondering if she’d come here high on drugs because she subconsciously knew it was the only safe place for her to go. The only place she’d be kept safe from herself, by the only person who wouldn’t put up with her shit. Her headache lessened, replaced by this disturbing thought: She wanted to go back in his cage.

  She lurched to her feet. “Oh, God.”

  “What is it?”

  “I have to go. I have to go right now. I have to—”

  “You’re not going anywhere yet.”

  She reeled over to the low, solid cage and leaned against it. She was so afraid. So confused.

  “You want to get back in, don’t you?” he asked. “It’s okay if you do.”

  “No, it’s not!”

  “Why? Because it’s disgusting?”

  She turned on him. “Because I don’t want that. I don’t want what I had before. I don’t want cages and collars and crawling around and...and subjugating myself, especially not to you.”

  “Okay.” Mephisto held up his hands and smiled. “See? That’s how you start a conversation about it. You decide what you don’t want. You decide what you do want. You explain it to the person you’re in a relationship with.”

  “I’m not in a relationship with you.” Her hands made fists at her sides. No, you don’t want him. No. Stupid slave idiot. “I don’t want a relationship with you. I don’t.” She sounded so much like she was trying to convince herself. He looked at her like she’d lost leave of her senses.

  “Uh, excuse me, but I never said you did. I said ‘the person you’re in a relationship with.’”

  “I don’t want a relationship with anyone. Especially not you.”

  He was still giving her the psycho stare. “Okay,” he said. “Why don’t you come sit down again? Or come with me to the kitchen to get something to eat? Something besides drugs of dubious origin.” She hated the way he looked at her, like she was broken. Messed up. Shameful. “I want to ask what you’ve been up to the last couple months, but I’m afraid of what you’ll say.” The final dig. Nice.

  Molly grumbled and said she wasn’t hungry, but a short while later, after a shower and change of clothes from Mephisto’s spare room, she was sitting at the table in his gleaming kitchen, which was doubtless cleaned and spit-polished weekly by one of his many adoring slaves. She’d cleaned it too, several times. She’d knelt at his feet and let him feed her, not once, not twice, but for a whole week. She put that memory out of her head, but so many others crowded back to her in vivid detail. Two years had done nothing to dull the memory of her time with him—the good parts and the bad.

  He put food in front of her and she ate it mechanically, because in some part of her brain she knew she had to eat or not survive. Since her Mast—Mr. Copela—Clayton had died, she’d gone whole days without eating anything, wondering why she was so hungry while she lay in bed. Oh, I forgot to eat. Again.

  While she ate, Mephisto plied her with questions. She knew how his whole questioning thing worked. Always casual on the surface, while ruthlessly seeking information underneath. Talking to him sometimes felt like being interrogated, even though he never moved or raised his voice. It was his eyes that stripped her bare. She had no defenses, even now, even as a free, non-kinky person trying to reinvent herself. Under Mephisto’s gaze, his quiet questions, she revealed exactly what she meant to hide from him. From everyone. She wasn’t reinventing herself at all. She was
falling back into the bedlam of her past, which terrified her. Oh, God help me. What am I going to do?

  “Molly.”

  She didn’t even realize she’d buried her face in her hands. “What?” she asked from between her fingers.

  “I can call someone if you like. A counselor. Someone who helps people with grief.”

  “No.”

  “I know kink-friendly mental health professionals.”

  “No, nothing’s wrong with me.” She dropped her hands to the table and looked off over his shoulder, wishing she could make him understand. “I’m just sad. Confused. I need time.”

  “I understand that, but I don’t think you’re dealing with your sadness in an appropriate way.”

  “Thanks for the newsflash. I know I’m not.”

  He moved his chair closer to hers. “Where are you going to go when you leave here? What are you going to do?”

  Great questions. Molly didn’t have any answers. She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I mean, what does your day look like? You wake up, you have breakfast, and then you do...what?”

  She scowled. “I usually wake up around three or four in the afternoon, get dressed, go out for a drink, and then...stay out until four A.M. or so.”

  Mephisto was silent. She swallowed hard and stuck her chin out.

  “Partying. I party until 4 A.M. or so.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “And does that make you feel better?”

  “Yes. It dulls the pain.” She put her face in her hands again. She was so tired. So exhausted from fighting and trying to make her own way in the world, when all she was doing was falling back into bad habits. Hurting herself. She wanted her Master back, to fix things, to tell her what to do. To make her feel better again, to feel safety and contentment instead of this eviscerating grief.