Home > Miscellaneous > Blood Will Tell > Chapter 4
He strode down the hall and out the door to the garage. He wasn't really thinking about what he was doing. In fact, he was trying to avoid thinking. Trying to hold on to the anger. Because when the anger faded, the pain would be all that was left, and that thought he just couldn't bear. So he focused on the anger as he opened cabinets and drawers, and found what he was after. He enjoyed working with his hands. He'd built parts of the house— finished the basement, built the picnic area by the pool, added on the study— and restored a couple of antique motorcycles and one car as well. He had the tools he needed: heavy, ratcheting pliers, a length of stout chain, bolt cutters. Rope and a handful of various clamps went into a canvas bag, along with a length of electrical wire and a roll of duct tape. As he gathered each item, he made a point to picture her with her lover, and by the time he returned to the office, the simmering anger had risen to a distinct boil.
When he walked into the room she was sitting at the desk, crying. He didn't say anything, just walked over to the desk and picked up the letter and looked at it.
He read through it. There was nothing for him to object to; just an admission of guilt, an apology, and a promise to make up for it. He folded it and put it back on the desk. "All right. I'll give you a last warning. Don't think that because I treated you so gently all these years I will be easy on you. I don't think I can be; it's far too late for that. If you leave now, perhaps, eventually, the anger will cool. Take this last chance and go, Alexia. Don't do this to yourself."
She looked at him. "Is there any chance, any chance at all, that you could get past this if I left? That you could come to love me again?"
He looked at her, wishing he could still see the woman he'd loved so much, the woman who'd been his wife for so long... but she wasn't there. She'd never been anything but a lie. "No. I could get over you, one day, perhaps. But I could never love you again."
"Then I stay. Because no matter what you might think, I have always loved you, and I always will." She hesitated. "And there is nothing you can do to me that I don't deserve."
He leaned against the wall, watching her coolly. "Now strip. You are a slut. Sluts shouldn't dress like decent women."
Her hands went to her blouse, and she began unbuttoning it with shaking fingers, not looking away from him. "I want you to know," she said, her voice catching, "That I will never stop loving you. No matter what you do to me."
For a moment, the pain was sharp and piercing, cutting through the anger with a sickening jolt. "Quiet. When I want you to speak, I'll tell you. Do not do so without permission."
He watched her strip, revealing the body he knew so well, and he could see none of its beauty. All he could see was his lips and hands moving over the soft white flesh, cupping the lovely round breasts, kissing the smooth thighs. That brought the anger safely back up, and he watched her finish through a red haze, then sat on the edge of the couch, spreading his knees. "Come here. Kneel."
He took the long length of chain from the bag and used the bolt cutters to slice through one heavy link, then the pliers to twist it open. It was hard... someone weaker couldn't have done it. Then he draped the chain around her neck and hooked the open ring through, taking the pliers and closing it up again to make a snug collar, with a twenty foot length of chain trailing from it. There was no way she could twist it open. Even with the same tools — and he had no intention of leaving them within her reach — her small hands couldn't budge the heavy steel link. It was good chain.
He stood, gathering the length of it in his hands, and draped the bag over his shoulder. "Gather the clothes and toss them in the fireplace, then turn on the gas."
She stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes, then turned. She made no attempt to rise as she gathered the clothes, but once she had them, she stared up at him, as if trying to work something out.
She stared up at him trembling, and nodded, but didn't move. He could see the confusion on her face, and finally she said, rapidly, "I know you said not to speak but I have to ask you so that I can do what you want the right way."
He frowned darkly. "In the future, you may ask permission to speak, as long as you don't abuse the privilege. Do so too frequently, and I'll just keep you gagged. Now, what do you want to know?"
"I am not refusing to obey you, and if you want me to burn them, I will. But it would help me to know why. Is it to humiliate me?" She looked at him steadily. "There are other ways to do that, which don't require you to lose expensive clothing you might wish me to wear again someday if you needed me to attend a business meeting with you. Is it to take away things that I love? These are not my favorite clothes, and they have no sentimental value. If you want me to, I will gather up all the things that I love for you to destroy. If it... if it's... I know you liked this outfit on me. If it hurts to see me in it, then I ask that you allow me to gather up the... the special things I've worn in the past, so that they do not hurt you either."
"They're not suitable for you any longer, and they're far from the only things that need to go. When we're done, you'll have nothing left that will hide your nature," he said, once he recovered from his surprise. He didn't expect her to think. Cooperate, yes, for a while, but not so actively. "That's all. I won't allow you to lie to me, or to anyone else, in any way, ever again."
She looked up at him. "I won't lie," she said. "But if you burn all my clothing, you will have to purchase more if you need to have me accompany you to a business function." She hesitated. "Perhaps... I don't know. Could you have a collar or something made which would reveal my status to anyone who looked, while not being inappropriate?"
"Why would you think you'll be going out in public?" he asked, his voice gentle. "At least to anywhere respectable?"
"Because there are times you will need an escort to a business function. Emily would be out of place, and I don't think she would enjoy it even if she wasn't, and a hired escort would raise uncomfortable questions," she said.
"A husband who is grieving over his wife's leaving him doesn't need an escort," he said. "You are going to disappear, at least for a while. I'll, reluctantly, agree to forward your mail so that your parents don't worry about you and no one can find you and disturb your 'seclusion'. You may write them once a week to assure them you are alive and well, and taking time to think, or find yourself, or whatever euphemism you wish to use."
She hesitated, and her jaw firmed. "That's not necessary, unless you don't want them to know. It's my sin, and... and I don't deserve to avoid the consequences. I won't run from them."
It was close enough to what Raeka had said to send a surge of guilt through him, but he clamped down on it brutally. "I have no desire to be arrested and have Raeka put into foster care. You will not be in any shape to see them any time soon," he said. "Nor do I harbor any ill will toward your parents. I have no desire to hurt them with the knowledge that their daughter is a whore."
"It wouldn't matter," he said. "You don't have to press assault charges. Anyone can, or even the state. Whether you were willing or not, what I intend to do to you is illegal."
She licked her lips, shaken. "Then... we don't tell them exactly what you are going to do, just that I am... making amends."
He shook his head, his eyes locked on hers. "Anyone who sees you within the next month will have no doubt whatsoever about what I've done to you. Maybe longer. I have no intention of holding back just to keep you 'presentable'. I have no intention of allowing you any visitors who might try to interfere, in any case. So it's best you have a reasonable excuse for those who might come looking for you."
She shivered, paling, but didn't look away. "Then I will tell them that I cannot face anyone, that I am trying to find a way to make this up to you, and to Emily, and I will ask them not to visit. I will tell them that I will not see them if they come, that until I have found a way to atone for my sin I will see no one."
He raised an eyebrow. "Thus putting the burden on Raeka and I to turn them away at the door when they grow tired of that excuse? I don't think so."
She shook her head. "Let them in. Visit with them. I will simply stay in our bedroom with the door locked. Besides... if I tell them this is important to me, they'll agree. You know that."
She swallowed. "Do you really think I could face them right now? You can tell them whatever story you want."
"That's not what I meant," he said. "When you aren't seen, they'll worry. And when they've worried enough, they'll call the police. Who will come looking for you. And they'll find you, bruised and bloodied and chained to the foot of the bed."
"Why would they believe me?" He smiled grimly. "After all, in their minds, I will be the most likely suspect for murdering you. It will be your duty to assure them, through letters, that you are well, rather than being tied up in the basement and tortured. You should do well at that. You have plenty of experience with lying."
She licked her lips. "I... will do that. If you want me to. But...." She bit her lip. "I thought you wanted me not to lie?"
He gritted his teeth. "In this instance, you will make a liar of me, as well. Because I have no desire to go to jail. So however unpleasant I find it, you will utilize your skill this one last time."
"All right, then. Leave the clothes. You can box them up later. Raeka may want them, and if not, it'd be foolish to waste them when there are decent women in need," he said. "Now come." He tugged the chain as he turned toward the door.
She scrambled awkwardly along on her knees behind him, trying to keep up. He made no effort to slow down for her, just kept the chain tight on the long trip to their bedroom at the end of the hall. He opened the door and pulled her inside, then closed it behind them.
The bedroom had a cozy, semi-rustic look about it, with polished, exposed oak beams, and well-tended wood trim to match. The bed was a huge fourposter, set up on it's own little curtained platform in one corner, and in the other, a small, two-person table sat next to a stone fireplace, for intimate dinners alone. The room was large, with a lot of open space. The floor was the same lovingly polished wood inlay, with a few pretty, earth-tone rugs thrown about, and one large, thick one under the bed. A fur rug and a few throw pillows lay to the other side of the fireplace... it had been a favorite spot for frolicking in the past. A small bar with a well-stocked wine rack was along the wall near the table, and a door led to an equally luxuriant private bathroom.
He led her over to the bed, then fastened the other end of the chain around the frame with a padlock, wrapping it around and around until she only had about six feet of slack, then reached into the bag for a length of rope. He threw it over the upper rails, around the two posts at the foot, and said, "Stand up."
"Don't," he said, brusquely, as he grabbed her wrist and reached for one dangling end of rope. "I don't know why you chose this, but you're going to regret it soon enough." He wrapped the rope around her wrist, knotting it securely.
He pulled on the rope, stretching her arm up above her head and out to the side, his other hand on her shoulder, turning her to face the bed, and grabbed her other wrist. "Ask. But you'll likely just make me angrier."
"Try to make sure that I understand the reason behind your orders, so that I can obey the spirit as well as the letter."
He finished off the knot. "Just obey," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Most of the time, you won't have room for interpretation." He walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer, pulling out a large, square handkerchief. Returning, he grabbed her hair, yanking her head back roughly. "Open your mouth."
He wadded the cloth up and shoved it in her mouth, then reached into the bag for the roll of duct tape. "What I want from you, slut, isn't complicated," he said, as he tore off a strip and slapped it across her mouth. "I want you to suffer." He released her, then stepped behind her and kicked her legs apart. "Spread them. As wide as you can."
Alexia grasped the ropes tying her hands and spread her legs, widely enough that her feet were a full foot off the ground to either side.
"Of course. You've always been good at spreading your legs, haven't you?" He yanked angrily at another length of rope. "I'm sure he was quite familiar with your talents in that area." Holding one ankle with bruising pressure, he wrapped the rope around it and then tied it as tightly to the post as possible, then did the same to the other. "You're going to regret being so good at it before too long," he said, as he straightened up.
He stared at her silently for a long moment before stepping up close, almost close enough to be touching her back. "Do you like this, little whore? Is this how you like to be treated?" he said, as he shoved a hand roughly between her legs.
He bent his head, and she could feel his breath against her ear as his fingers slowed, becoming gentle, caressing, teasing. "No?" he whispered. "You prefer this, amante? Is this what you want?"
He nuzzled against her neck, petting her with the skill of years of familiarity. Stroking, teasing, nibbling at her skin and purring Spanish love words against her ear, until he coaxed the moisture from her body. "Is this what you want, my little Lexi-cat?"
"Well that's too fucking bad!" He yanked his hand away and smacked her hard across the ass. She screamed, the sound muffled by the gag, and stiffened against the ropes. "That's what I wanted, too, bitch!" He hit her again, the barely muffled scream just making him angrier. "You. I just wanted you for my own." He stepped back, and his hands dropped to his belt, unbuckling it and ripping it from the loops of his pants.
She was still screaming as he folded the belt in half, still stiff against the ropes. He gripped the belt tightly, the buckle biting into his hand. "I loved you," he whispered, his throat too tight to actually speak. "I would have done anything for you. You bitch. Dios, you utter bitch." He sliced the belt hard across her shoulders. It struck with a loud *CRACK!* and left an angry red welt from shoulder to waist. The shock of it tore the breath from her for an instant, then she screamed against the gag, loud enough to make her previous screams seem like whispers.
He hit her again, a vicious slash across the ass, hard enough to raise blisters and leave bruises purpling in it's wake. Then again, and again, her screams only broken by the sound of the belt. Finally, when her back was a mass of angry red, darkening bruises, and oozing, broken blisters, he lowered his arm. She hung in the ropes, sobbing into the gag. "Bitch," he whispered brokenly. "You know the worst part? The very worst part?" His voice rose... angry, tinged with something almost like hysteria. "If you'd said to me, 'I love you, but I must have him, too...' If you'd said that to me, in the beginning, or anytime early on, anytime before you'd spent so many years lying to me... I would probably, fool that I am, have agreed to it. Even if I hated it. Hated him. I wanted you that much. You... your happiness... was that important to me." He dropped the belt, his shoulders sagging. "Such a fool. For you, I've been such a fool."