Page 65 of Tamed Enemy
The audience surges forward. A man calls out, “Enough!” which is bad form in a club, because no one should ever interrupt the balance between a Dom and his sub. Under the circumstances, no one seems to care.
The marks on Kate’s ass are hypnotizing, like I’m staring through prison bars.
“Thank you, Master,” she says, too loud, too fast. “May I have another?”
I deliver the final blow as fast as I can. My aim is true; the stripe is one inch lower than the first. It’s deeper though; tiny beads of blood glisten in the light. The marks from the cane match the ones on the inside of her thighs, the laddered scars from all the times she cut.
Dropping the cane, I crash to my knees beside her. I rip open the buckle on her right wrist, then tear away the one on her left. I cup her sweaty face in my palm, catching my breath as she leans into me, as she trusts me enough to let me support her.
“Sweet Kate,” I say, kissing her cheek. “Good Kate.”
She turns to press her lips against my palm, shaking like a thoroughbred that’s just won the Kentucky Derby. I help her to her feet, steeling my heart against her gasp as she shifts her weight. I need to get her out of here before she drops.
Kynk’s members didn’t ask for this. Half a dozen people are stumbling for the door. Antonov stomps to the edge of the stage, muttering something in Russian.
When Rider steps forward, his face is pale. He hands over the entire stack of money, shoving it into my hands with both fists.
“Okay, everyone,” he says to the crowd. “Show’s over. It’s time to go home.”
“Not so fast,” comes a voice from the crowd.
I recognize it immediately. My heart freezes into a solid iron ball. Kate scrabbles for my hand and misses, her fingers falling uselessly to her side.
“One more game,” says the voice from the floor.
And Nikolai Tarasov steps into the light.
25
KATE
“One hundred thousand dollars,” Tarasov says.
Gage rallies before Cole does. Waving back his security guards once again, he says, “Games are over for the night.”
“This is not a game,” Tarasov says. “This is an investment.”
“What the fuck are you investing in?” Cole spits.
“My marriage, of course. I will give you one hundred thousand dollars to prove the bitch I am to marry has been tamed.”
“Fuck you,” I growl, which lacks originality but covers everything I have to say to Nikolai Tarasov.
Instead of answering, the pakhan snaps his fingers. Antonov leaps forward like a trained dog, pausing only long enough to sweep up the jagged chair leg he used to threaten Gage. Before anyone can react, his thick fingers close around my hair, yanking hard enough to force involuntary tears to my eyes. Once my headis pinned against his shoulder, he presses the splintered wood into my throat.
Tarasov’s voice is deceptively mild as he says, “Katya, I must say this is not a promising beginning.”
I’m afraid to swallow. I can barely breathe. Cole is frozen halfway into a martial-arts crouch, his wide eyes ordering me not to move.
Of course the night has come to this. Collins clearly told Tarasov where to find us. I don’t know if all the business with Antonov was a delaying tactic, buying time for Tarasov to arrive from Baltimore. Maybe it was just a warm-up, intended to break my spirit.
The thought of Tarasov watching me get myself off with the vibrator makes me want to boke. But I’m proud that he saw Cole cane me.Itook the beating.Imanaged the pain. Somehow, that makes it easier to stand here, naked from the waist down and arse burning like it’s been scored with acid as a broken-off piece of wood presses hard into my throat.
“Let her go,” Cole says.
Tarasov ignores the demand. “Of course, you do not have to prove my Katya is tame,” he says. “But if you do not, I will have Antonov put her down like the feral beast she is.”
The people around us have no idea how to react. Some whisper. Others edge toward the doors. A few draw closer to the stage.
