Page 9 of Power and Possession

Satisfied that I’d bested him, and figuring it would only be a matter of time before he came crawling to me, I decided to check in on my hostage. Other than having Quincy bring a small bucket for her to relieve herself in, she’d been completely ignored for the past twenty-four hours. I prayed that she would be gone within the next twenty-four. I was somewhat uncomfortable with the thought of her chained in my basement. I wasn’t a good man, nor did I pretend to be, but after the initial thrill of seeing a woman restrained in bed, I’d felt…evil. Not just a criminal, not just a corrupt businessman, but someone who got off on the pain of others.

I shook my head to clear away the absurd thoughts, finished my drink—slamming it a little too hard on the end table—and then I walked to the staircase leading to the basement. Before I could descend the stairs, Quincy hobbled up the steps, his hand to his head. He was a man in his mid-sixties, alone after his wife died. His children lived in Australia, and I knew he sent most of the money he saved to them.

“What happened? Did she hit you?”

Quincy winced as his hand came away bloody, a gash cut deep into his forehead.

“No, but she managed to trip me when I went to empty the bucket. I fell into the edge of the bed frame.”

His clothes were filthy from the mess, and the mark on his forehead was dripping blood down his face. Anger rose up within me. Quincy had been with me for years, and he was the closest thing to family I had, besides an estranged half-brother who was running wild across Europe. This woman needed to be taught a lesson, and fast.

“Quincy, have the doctor look at you and then take the rest of the evening off. I’ll tend to her myself.”

“She hasn’t eaten anything since she’s been here…I normally wouldn’t care, but I am assuming you need her alive—”

I grunted, before turning back towards the kitchen. “I’ll take care of it.” I could hear Quincy muttering as he went upthe large oak staircase. My townhome in London wasn’t nearly as big or as grand as my estate in France, but I didn’t want to be tracked to my permanent residence there.

I moved towards the modern kitchen and flicked on the lights. Since I’d only anticipated spending a few days in the city, I hadn’t bothered to bring my cook up with me, and I didn’t trust anyone else in my space. Moving over to the window above the stainless-steel sink, my eyes roamed over the London skyline—its mixture of old and new, with ancient towers illuminated by modern architecture. Try as I might, I couldn’t help but remember the life I’d had there as a young boy, in and out of orphanages, and then living on the streets of London in between, picking pockets and stealing to survive. All because my asshole father abandoned my mother.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep the past where it belonged. Besides, I’d rectified my situation, and I was living the life I was meant to. Money, booze, women, and power. All a man could ever want.

I opened the fridge and pulled out some cheese and an apple. Good enough. The bitch didn’t deserve a gourmet meal. I placed the food on a plate and then went back to my study and grabbed a gun from my desk drawer. Topher’s daughter was unpredictable. The only way to keep her under control might be to threaten her. I pulled out my phone again and checked the security camera in the basement, wanting to make sure I wasn’t walking into some kind of ill-planned trap—I wasn’t scared of her, but I didn’t have the time to be bandaged up.

The video feed loaded, and an image of her lying on the bed popped up on my screen. Her hair was mussed-up, as if she had been thrashing about on the bed. Her thin shirt was still pushed up, a mere inch away from showing the bottom of her breasts. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt myself harden as she squirmed against her bonds. I traced my gaze over her legs, before noticing dark spots on the white sheet she was on top of.

Blood. Guilt trickled through me, before I quickly pushedit away. Why should I care if she'd rubbed her wrists and ankles raw? Not my problem that Topher’s daughter was an idiot. But, even as the thought crossed my mind, I was impressed by her efforts. Clearly, she didn’t give up. By now, most women would have accepted their fate or tried to somehow bribe their way free, but she’d kept fighting, even managing to best Quincy.

She had balls.

I pushed open the thick metal door and made my way down the stairs. I heard rustling, but as soon as the light from the stairwell flooded the room, the movement stopped.

She was in worse shape than I’d thought. Both her ankles and wrists were so raw that they were oozing, clearly in the beginning stages of becoming infected. Her eyes were sunken and red, her lips dry and cracked.

The second she saw me, she tried to curl up into herself, further injuring her extremities. She met my gaze with open hostility; I suddenly felt like our roles were reversed and I was her prisoner.

“Has my father arranged for my release?” She blew a long piece of hair out of her face as she glared at me.

I walked into the room, careful to leave a large perimeter around the bed.

“We’re working through the details,” I replied, pulling up a stool next to her, resting my elbows on my knees. I held up the apple, and her eyes focused on it, widening. It was a look I knew well, one I’d worn for most of my young life. I’d meant to tease her with the food, coerce her into submission before allowing her to eat, but the famished look on her face hit me hard and made me feel something akin to…pity. I handed her the apple. In a flash, she tore it from my grasp and started munching, juice running down her hands. When the sweet liquid hit her wrists, she winced but kept eating. A moan escaped her lips, and the sound went straight to my groin. Hell, what was it about this woman? Did I have some undiscovered fetish for prisoners? I enjoyed fucking women, and enjoyed every possible way to have sex, but bondage was one avenue I’d never explored. Maybe it was the situation that was turning me on, not this woman.

She hastily ate the apple all the way down to the core, and then looked at me expectantly. I handed over the cheese and she hardly chewed it, refusing to take her eyes off of me as she swallowed her meager meal. Her eyes bore into me, glistening despite their redness. Her hair was tousled, and she licked her lips, trying to relieve the dryness.

She was vivacious.

I needed to get out of there, and quickly.

I stood up, moving the stool out of her reach, figuring if she got close enough she’d try to do something stupid, like bash my head in. When I turned to head back upstairs, I heard her whisper.

“Water?” Her voice was small and hoarse, and I wanted to smack myself for not bringing her such a basic necessity. People treated dogs better than I was treating this woman.

I turned around to face her, and something gnawed at me as I took in her disheveled appearance. Sighing, I moved over to her and pulled the gun from my waistband and held it towards her. She flinched, but didn’t cower.

“One wrong step, and I’ll kill you,” I threatened, before replacing the gun and pulling out the key to the cuffs. I unchained her legs, but kept her hands bound.

“Can you walk?” I asked gruffly, already hating myself for this asinine decision.

She continued her unwavering hostility, and stood up as if she had something to prove. I yanked slightly at the chains still on her wrists. “Come.”