His Indecent Revelations (Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire BDSM Erotic Romance) (3 page)

She can almost hear Alia’s bored, uninflected tone.
What is that old woman to me? Let her die.

Besides, that would make her no better than her kidnappers.

Channing’s eyes are hollowed and sunken. His skin clings to his muscles. He is severely dehydrated. She dribbles water constantly into his mouth – which she prizes forcefully open – and pinches his nose, hoping that he would swallow some of it.

He needs more than just water and prayers. He needs antibiotics and an intravenous drip. But she is forced to make do with eighteenth century methods. The little house is sparse and filled only with things for basic living – a kettle, plates, cutlery, and swaths and swaths of cloth. At least she can use some of the cloth for bandages.

Unless she does something more drastic, Channing will die.

*

Ferreting under the kitchen sink for more detergents to wash the sheets, Susan is struck by a bluish mold that covers the piping.

Mold.

There is something she needs to remember about mold. Something eighteenth century people didn’t know and therefore could not harness. But she’s a twenty-first century woman with a twenty-first century education.

Bluish-green mold.
Penicillium notatum.

Penicillin
.

But the mold here isn’t refined. It is raw and unprocessed, and possibly filled with minute impurities that can render Channing sicker than he already is. Or possibly even give him a severe allergic reaction which can kill him.

Nevertheless, it is the only chance she has to do something different – to stop him from sinking into the eternal pit of his own uncompromising hell. Her spirit lights with the flames of hope for the first time in days.

With vigor, she scrapes the mold off, mixes it with water and drips the concoction through his withered lips.

And kneels by his bed to pray.

5

Susan wakes up to a rustling sound.

She snaps open her eyes in alarm. The last time this has happened, she woke up in a strange and foreign place. But she is lying on the floor of the cottage on a makeshift mattress, her back stiff and her bones sore. The shadow of Channing’s sickbed still looms ominously beside her.

A hand moves down to caress her hair. And a pair of beautiful blue eyes gazes down at her lovingly.

“Got anything to eat?” Channing says with a weak smile.

*

Slowly, Susan rehabilitates him. He is still extremely weak and his limbs have lost all their muscle tone. So she makes him eat in increasing proportions. And she helps him to do toning exercises to build up his body strength again.

Every day, Channing asks to see Hugh. And every day, the burqa-clad woman makes the same negative gesture – she blesses herself, shakes her head and scuttles away.

“I guess they intend to keep us prisoner here for a long, long time,” Channing remarks.

“You don’t seem overly upset.”

“We’ll get out of here somehow.”

“Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

He flashes her a sad little smile. “I’m afraid that if I tell you, they’d torture it out of you. So it’s best I don’t tell you until it’s time.”

He reaches out to stroke her face. His gestures are tender.

“I’d die if anything happened to you,” he says softly.

Likewise, she thinks. But she doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t want to jinx it.

Strangely enough, she is glad for this time they have together. She has never really had the time to get to know Channing before. He had always been her distant boss for many years. And then he had been her dom in their brief and weird dominant-submissive relationship. But now for the first time, he is becoming her true lover.

She is getting to know him inside and out, exploring the deepest reaches of his mind.

There is so much she wants to know about him, but she touches only on aspects not pertaining to his Iraqi past. Her mind has imposed a barrier.
I don’t really want to know . . . because the more I know, the more miserable I will be.
She is happy with knowing what she knows right now, and she prefers to maintain the pristine knight-in-shining-armor image of Channing that she has right now.

Yes, maintain the fantasy. Be damned with the past. Because she is certain that his innate goodness will prevail. Surely a man can’t have changed all that much from what he was ten years ago? He must have been good then, as he is good now. Anyhow, he is who he is today – and she loves him for the man he is trying to be.

She will wipe the slate of his past clean if she has to. At least in her mind.

It seems ironic they are in this very predicament because of his past. The very past they are tiptoeing around and clearly avoiding any conversation about.

It doesn’t matter. They are talking to each other like real lovers now, as though they are having an extremely extended romantic date.

“You like cheese-flavored popcorn?” he says, laughing. It is good to see him laugh again. “Fancy that. I like cheese-flavored popcorn mixed together with caramel. Sweet and salty all in one bag.”

“I’m a popcorn junkie,” she replies. “I can’t watch a movie without popcorn. I’ll go through a whole tub by the end of the first act.”

“Remind me not to share a tub with you.”

“Yeah, we should totally have our own tubs.”

They smile at each other – smiles full of meaning and everything else unsaid. It is as if they are already planning for a future together that they may never have. Each moment becomes more precious, to be savored like fleeting happiness.

Except for one thing.

When she tries to get more intimate with him, he flinches.

He doesn’t do it consciously, she is certain. They would start kissing on the bed. Slow, searching kisses that sear her soul and makes her hunger for more. He would be all right with the kissing. His lips would mesh against hers. His tongue would probe her mouth, lick at its insides – drowning in the warm, wet goodness of her.

Her hands would grasp his waist, and he would put his rapidly strengthening arms around her body. They would sink back into the bed, devouring each other’s mouths passionately and voraciously.

But when she reaches for his groin, he freezes.

“What is it?” she asks timidly.

“I’m not ready . . . I need more time.”

The wound on his testicle has already healed, but she remembers the excoriations she has seen on his anus. She shudders.

His shadowed eyes flit away. Whatever they have done to him, he has decided to keep it close to his chest.

Give him time,
she tells herself. But her heart can’t help clenching with hurt. He doesn’t mean it, she knows, but still . . .

These things can’t help hurting in a soul deep sort of way.

*

Three weeks after they had first been incarcerated in here, they get a visit from Hugh. Finally! After all of Channing’s pleas. He is accompanied by two guards with machine guns.

“Nice to see you again, big brother.” Hugh waltzes in as if he owns the place. Well, she supposes he technically does.

The twins stare at each other – two peas in a pod. Susan is aware that this is the first time, as far as she knows, that they have been together in the same physical air space, unless Hugh had been part of Channing’s torture in that time space continuum that she wasn’t privy to.

“Where have you been?” Channing says casually. “I’ve been asking for you.”

“Here and about, investing and hiding all traces of the two hundred and fifty million dollars you so generously donated to our cause.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a cause.”

Susan’s eyes dart back and forth between the twins. It’s amazing how identical they are, especially now that Channing has lost a bit of his bulk. Both twins have let their buzz cuts grow out. Channing for the lack of clipping utensils in their prison. Hugh for whatever reasons she doesn’t wish to speculate.

Hugh smiles in that easy but predatory way of his.

“I’ve had her, you know, in ways you can’t imagine.”

A tic jumps in Channing’s right cheek. “If you touch her again, I’ll make you wish you’d spontaneously aborted in our mother’s womb.”

Hugh laughs out loud. “Touche. You’re not exactly in a position to threaten me, brother.”

“Channing, it’s all right,” Susan says nervously. The last thing she wants is for them to haul him back to the dungeons again and torture him into a worse psychological wreck than he already is.

Channing is bunched and corded up, as if he is just one big magma mess waiting to explode. A physical pain twinges in Susan’s gut. The entire room feels like a tinderbox. One spark, and they’d all be jumping at each other’s throats. Sweat trickles uncomfortably down her back, staining her clothes.

Channing swallows. His voice is extremely strained. “I need to talk to you, Hugh . . . alone.”

Hugh waves a hand. “You are talking to me. I haven’t come to gloat or remind you of your past transgressions. I came to show you this.”

He hands Channing several printouts. Susan creeps to look over his shoulder. She’s still wary of getting too close to Hugh – not least because of her guilty attraction to him. The printouts are of webpages. News articles. Headlines from the past two weeks.

‘BILLIONAIRE PRESUMED DEAD. POSSIBLE PLANE CRASH OVER THE CARIBBEAN. DEBRIS NOT FOUND.’

‘TOP EXECUTIVE MISSING ALONGSIDE BILLIONAIRE. PRESUMED TO BE IN THE SAME PLANE.’

‘MYSTERY SURROUNDS DISAPPEARANCE OF BILLIONAIRE.’

“Your company stock went into free fall upon your presumed demise,” Hugh remarks. “The jackals are prowling. Rival companies are waiting in the wings, planning hostile takeovers.”

Channing peruses the news items. When he has finished, he hands the printouts back to Hugh.

“You are pleased, no doubt,” he says.

“I am ambivalent. You still owe me a quarter of a billion dollars.”

“You can both of us go and maybe we can still salvage whatever’s left of the money.”

“Nice try, but nothing going.”

“The deal was for you to let Susan go. If you want to kill me, just kill me and get it over with. But Susan is innocent. She has done nothing to either Alia or you.”

“You still don’t get it.
She’s
going to be crucial in our best laid plans.” Hugh jabs a thumb in Susan’s direction. “We’re going to need her around for as long as you’re around, big brother.”

There are undercurrents here that she can detect. Dangerous ones. Fear courses through her. Something bad is going to come out of this. Neither Channing nor she would be allowed to leave this place alive.

And here she thought she could maintain her fantasy of playing house with Channing forever.

“Hugh.” Channing’s demeanor softens. “We have to talk, the two of us. Whatever you’re doing . . . it’s not you. You used to be ambitious, ruthless, stubborn, determined to have your way – ”

Hugh gives a short, mirthless laugh. “Same thing could be said about you.”

“ – but you’ve never gone over the edge. Not like this.” Channing closes his eyes and opens them again. “I’ve never known you to be a killer.”

“Sorry, but you were the one who went over the edge a long time ago. I am merely your stunning creation.” Hugh spreads his arms. “You should be so proud.”

“I can help you. Come home to America with me. I can get you the best doctors, the best – ”

“You think I need a shrink?” The madness flashes in Hugh’s eyes once again. The same blue eyes as Channing’s. “Gawd, you have some nerve. This is my home now, in case you haven’t noticed. You made sure of that a long time ago.”

“We need to talk. Alone.”

“So you can choke me in your stranglehold and snuff me out for real? I know better than to be alone with you, Channing.” Hugh gets up. “Wait for tomorrow. Whatever she has got planned for you is going to be a real stunner,” he adds morbidly.

He turns to the doorway and leaves, his guards closing in behind him. Channing can only look helplessly after their retreating backs.

Oh no. Does this mean that his own best laid plans are failing?

Susan snatches the edge of the bed in despair.

Tomorrow.

Today may be last day Channing and she will be together.

6

That night, they lie in each other’s arms, unable to sleep.

“You think they’re going to kill me?” Susan says. Her head is on Channing’s chest.

“I don’t think so.”