Page 23 of Payback
“Yet you did it anyway, because your parents could erase the consequences.”
An evil smile spread across her lips. “You’re right. I understood what they would do. There were never repercussions for me. They shielded me and made it all vanish.”
“And you don’t even feel remorse,” I snarled.
“We were only children,” she reiterated, as if that would fix everything.
“I’m going to make you regret it, Alison.” I saw her eyes fill with more fear. “You’ll despise every thing I do to you, and you’ll be sobbing, telling me how sorry you are. I won’t care, but I’ll savor the moment you shatter.”
Chapter 12
-Alison-
If Jared believed my parents held any affection for me, he was mistaken. It wasn’t love that prompted them to open their wallets or stick their necks out for me. It was their precious reputation. It was ensuring that I received the flawless education and the impeccable life they envisioned. Nothing could deviate from their carefully constructed plans. While I did adhere to their scheme, I also claimed the right to make my own decisions. During my school days, I reveled in being the ruler I desired to be. I wielded power and relished it. Nonetheless, I had matured since then. I was no longer that same child, yet Jared hadn’t forgotten. He was intent on making me experience the same toxicity I had infused in him. I had undoubtedly birthed a monster, hadn’t I? I was almost astounded by my own creation. Jared had been meticulously plotting this for quite some time, and it appeared I wasn’t his only victim. My engagement with my old high school friends had dwindled over time, but from what he shared, he had paid them each a visit as well. However, I was so special that I received an entire contract and a month as Jared’s submissive plaything.
“I don’t cry,” I asserted.
“You will,” he countered.
Jared nudged me into the room, and my gaze swept over the array of tools that were clearly not intended for pleasure this time. These implements were undoubtedly designed for people with particular kinks, seeking to derive satisfaction from each other in various ways. Yet, that wasn’t Jared’s intention. He intended to inflict pain, and he seemed ready to ensure just that. Whips and floggers dangled from hooks, drawers brimmed with obscure items, large plugs and dildos were prominently displayed, chains, handcuffs, blindfolds, an assortment of ropes in varying lengths and materials, and items I couldn’t even identify. While I did appreciate a more dominant partner in bed, I still valued the freedom to move. It was abundantly clear that such freedom was not on the menu here. A bench sat at the center of the room, furnished with restraints that he could use to bind me. I was undeniably at his mercy within these walls.
When the sound of a lock clicking reached my ears, I turned gradually, spotting him there. He cast my belongings onto the floor and held my perfume bottle in his hand. Approaching me, he spritzed it all over me, causing me to nearly choke on the overpowering scent.
“Seriously?” I coughed.
He inhaled the air around me. “Hmm, just as disgusting as I recall.”
“You have serious issues.”
“At least I admit I have them. You’re the one still playing the role, pretending you’re not a cold-hearted bitch beneath that overly sweet façade,” he taunted.
He set the perfume bottle aside and began pacing around the room. I dreaded that he might initiate this ordeal from an advanced level. My past experiences had never encompassed such activities, and based on my knowledge of BDSM—particularly the safe and consensual variety—it usually began on a milder note. Some blindfolding, gentle spanking, perhaps some light bondage. However, this was an entirely different kind of BDSM. This was the twisted, likely non-sanctioned variant. Jared was about to start exactly where he pleased. Whether it involved forcing a large plug into my ass or flagellating me until my back was a raw, crimson canvas, he would proceed without restraint. Would I break down in tears today? I had a relatively high threshold for pain, but Jared was no longer that vulnerable boy. He now possessed a man’s physique, fully capable of inflicting severe pain should he so desire. And I knew he desired it. He wanted me to plead for mercy. That despicable bastard!
“Can you just select something?” I burst out.
“Apologies, did my slave speak out of turn?” he retorted, turning toward me with a challenging glint in his eyes.
“Please, just make a choice.”
“Isn’t the anticipation exhilarating?” he taunted.
“We both know it’s not. We both know you want me on edge. Fine, Master, I’m on edge. Can you please decide?” I implored, hearing his sinister chuckle. He relished the fact that I admitted my unease about waiting for his torment. It caused a tremor to run through me as I pondered the worst tortures that he could inflict upon me. I could already envision myself screaming in agony from the torments he would subject me to. Why didn’t he simply use his fists? I wondered, though I had no intention of giving him any ideas. Jared continued to pace, eventually positioning himself in the center of the room. He discarded his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. With deliberate and unhurried movements, he began to remove his shirt, unveiling more of his flawless skin to my gaze. I hadn’t anticipated being treated to such a display of robust muscles. While Jared was certainly in good shape, demonstrating his commitment to fitness, what captured my attention as he bared his torso were the scars. His chest bore several substantial ones. Some were familiar to me, the result of my own actions. I recognized those all too well. Yet, there were others I couldn’t recall inflicting. How had he obtained them? He flashed a smile as he noticed me studying him intently.
“Taking a stroll down memory lane?” he asked in a dark tone, his voice fill with anger.
“I didn’t cause all of those,” I stated.
“No, I’m well aware of what you did and didn’t do,” he affirmed.
He refrained from disclosing any names but drew closer, forcing me to take a step back.
“I’m also aware of your favorite one,” he disclosed. Standing directly in front of me, he took hold of my hand, elevating it and trailing my finger down from his collarbone to his chest. The scar was small, yet its origin was not lost on me. I had etched it there—a small ‘A’ on the left side. The memory of that moment hadn’t faded, and I could comprehend how seeing it now ignited his fury. It drove him to desire to hurt me to the same extent I had hurt him.
“Leaving your mark,” he murmured darkly, his grip on my hand tightening until it felt like it might shatter.
“Ah!”
“You achieved your wish, Alison. I’m all yours, and now you’re mine. But given that you marked me, it seems fitting I return the favor, doesn’t it?” he suggested.
