Page 90 of Wraith

“That’s not your decision to make!”

I wrench my arm, trying to break free, and his other hand comes around to grab my other wrist. We’re struggling now, my bare feet scrabbling against the asphalt, his body pressing me against the door.

“Stop fighting me,” he says, and his voice has gone quiet. Deadly quiet. “Just stop and think about what you’re doing.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing!”

He spins me around and pushes me through the door into the motel room. I stumble, catch myself against the dresser, and turn to face him. He’s closing the door behind us, his gray eyes flat and cold in the amber lamplight.

“Dylan, don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

But he’s already moving toward me with purpose. I try to run for the bathroom, to lock myself in, but he catches me around the waist and lifts me off my feet. I kick, I scream, I claw at his arms, but he’s too strong and too determined.

He throws me onto the bed.

I try to scramble away, but he’s on me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand while the other reaches for something. The bondage equipment. The cuffs and restraints from our play the other night, when I was Mistress and he submitted, and everything felt safe and consensual and good.

“No. No, Dylan, don’t you fucking dare.”

The cuff clicks around my left wrist. Cold metal against my skin. He’s threading it through the headboard, the same headboard I cuffed him to last night when he begged and called me Mistress, and this was all just a game we were playing together.

This isn’t a game.

“Stop! Stop it! Let me go!”

The right wrist now. Another click. Both arms stretched above my head, secured to the headboard. I’m pulling against the restraints, but they’re designed not to give. Designed to hold someone in place, no matter how much they struggle.

He moves to my ankles.

“Dylan, please. Please don’t do this. I love you. I thought you loved me. I thought—”

“I do love you.” His voice is calm. Steady. Like he’s explaining something obvious to a child. “That’s why I’m doing this. That’s why I have to keep you safe even when you won’t let me.”

The ankle cuffs. Spread wide. Secured to the bed frame.

I’m trapped.

Completely helpless. Spread-eagle on the bed in nothing but his t-shirt, which has ridden up to expose my thighs. My whole body is shaking. Tears are streaming down my face, into my hair, into my ears.

“You can’t do this,” I say, and my voice breaks. “You can’t just tie me up and leave me here while you go make your deal. What are you going to do, keep me prisoner? For how long? Forever?”

“Just until I handle things with Moose. Just until the deal is done and you’re safe.” He’s standing beside the bed now, looking down at me with something that might be tenderness if I didn’t know better. “Then I’ll explain everything properly. Once you’re calm. Once you can think clearly instead of reacting emotionally.”

“I am thinking clearly, you fucking asshole! You’re the one who’s delusional. You’re the one who thinks you can go back to the Sons and everything will just work out fine. You’re the one who’s not listening!”

He reaches for something else. The ball gag.

My stomach drops.

“Don’t. Dylan, don’t you dare put that in my mouth. I swear to god if you do…”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he actually sounds like he means it. “But I need you to be quiet while I’m gone. I can’t have you screaming and drawing attention. Someone might call the police. Someone might try to help you. And that would complicate everything.”

“Dylan, please. Please listen to me. You’re making a mistake. A huge mistake. Moose is going to betray you. Why would he trust you?”

“Open your mouth.”

“No.”