Trust Me (Last Stand #1)(74)
Author: Brenda Novak

“No.” Her chest lifted as if she’d taken a deep breath. “I know you won’t hurt me,” she said. Then she stopped frowning and stalling and turned over so he could tie her up.

“That’s too tight,” she complained once he’d finished.

He didn’t loosen her bonds. This was just starting to get exciting. “It won’t be any fun if you can get free.”

“But the sheets are cutting off my circulation.”

“I won’t leave you this way for long. Hold still, I want you to wear a blindfold, too.”

He got the bandanna he used to clean his reading glasses from his sock drawer and attempted to tie it over her eyes. But she didn’t want him to use it. She kept shaking her head, which made it difficult to get the darn thing on.

“Why do we have to add a blindfold?” she asked.

So you won’t see the knife I bought today. He didn’t have any plans to use it on her, of course. He just wanted to feel it in his hands while he enjoyed himself. “This is only a little game of sex slave, Janey,” he said, using her nickname to calm her. “Relax, okay? Couples play it all the time.”

“I don’t want to be blindfolded,” she said again, but she was already tied up so he made her wear it anyway, and that act alone, with her twisting and fighting and begging him to set her free, told him he wasn’t going to have any trouble finishing this.

“Oliver, stop,” she wailed. “I don’t like what you’re doing.”

Which was precisely why he liked it so much. He longed to put the knife to her neck, to feel the warmth of her blood. That would shut her up. Remembering the stifled whimpers of past encounters sent a shot of pure testosterone to his groin.

“Come on, Jane,” he pleaded. “I’ve been in prison for three years. Can’t you give it to me how I want it at least once?”

She stopped trying to pull free. “It’s just that I feel so helpless. I don’t like it.”

He couldn’t force her, or she might complain to his family, which would call into question everything he’d told them about his past. “I know. But you’ll do it for me, won’t you? Please? I’ll let you tie me up after.”

She said nothing.

“I’d never hurt you.”

“I know,” she said again, but once he had her tied and blindfolded and held that knife in his hand, he was afraid he might. He was no longer the little guy who was always getting pushed around. He could command respect. Her very life was in his hands, a life he could take with one flick of his wrist.

“What’s that?” she asked a few minutes later, a hint of terror in her voice. “What’s that in your hand?”

He held the blade farther away. “Nothing,” he lied. Then he fondled her neck with his free hand, wishing he didn’t have to be quite so careful.

Jane waited until Oliver fell asleep, then slipped out of the bedroom. He’d been rough with her, rougher than he’d ever been in the past. And although he’d tried to make up for it by kissing her and hugging her afterward, and thanking her repeatedly for being such a good sport, she felt rattled. Scared. She wasn’t sure if prison had caused this change in him, or merely brought something previously hidden closer to the surface, but she had to tell Noah. She was beginning to believe that Skye was right: Oliver was dangerous.

Creeping into the bathroom, she closed the door, then turned on the light and gazed in the mirror. With her new haircut and bleach job, she scarcely recognized herself. But her eyes quickly moved down from her face. Her br**sts were red and sore from the way he’d squeezed and pinched them, she had teeth marks on one shoulder and her bottom was sunburn-red from being slapped. He hadn’t broken the skin or drawn any blood, but what he’d done certainly wasn’t making love. There’d been a cruelty involved that was as shocking as it was terrifying. And he’d had some object in his right hand, something he hadn’t wanted to reveal to her. He’d kept it from coming into contact with her, but the bottom of something hard and flat had brushed her arm when he finally collapsed at her side.

Jane studied her hands, swollen from being bound. That was another thing. He hadn’t cared that he’d tied those sheets too tight, hadn’t even followed through on his promise to make the experience a quick one. Just when he seemed ready to finish, he’d hold off and wait a few minutes, trying to drag the session out as long as possible, and he did that over and over again.

Feeling tears prickle the backs of her eyes, she held her breath as she listened for any movement in the bedroom. Nothing. Oliver was probably out for the night. What he’d done to her—she couldn’t think of it as what they’d done together—seemed to satisfy him more completely than anything they’d ever done before.

Heartened by Oliver’s lack of movement, she grabbed her bathrobe from the hook by the shower, carefully opened the door and crept out to the kitchen. She could smell the onions from the meatloaf she’d made earlier, as well as the mildew that always seemed to permeate the place. She’d thought she’d hit bottom when Oliver was convicted of a crime she didn’t believe he’d committed and she’d turned to an affair with his brother for the love and support she needed. But being married to an ex-convict whom she now believed was guilty of attempted rape, at the very least, and possibly murder, was definitely worse. She had to get away from him, get Kate away.

But she had no resources. Thanks to the bike he’d bought, her checking account was already overdrawn and would be until she got paid. Oliver had also insisted she buy champagne to celebrate his return, and filet mignon. She’d done it, hoping such a lavish dinner would help them adjust and recover, but it had been an unnecessary extravagance. When she’d told Oliver she was overdrawn, he’d shrugged and said the store could wait to get its money. When she’d added that the bank would charge them twenty-seven dollars for each bounced check, he’d given her a dirty look and said, “You don’t think I’m worth twenty-seven dollars?”

Taking the phone from the cluttered counter, where dinner dishes awaited her—which she’d have to do before heading to work in the morning—Jane stepped out onto the porch and dialed Noah’s number.

Wendy answered with a sleepy, “Hello?”

“Wendy, it’s Jane.”

There was a long pause. When Wendy spoke again, she was much more awake. “What’s wrong, Jane? Is your toilet stopped up again?”