Page 11 of Wanted
Useless.
She couldn’t stay here. She didn’t want to be anywhere in this house when Marcus found out what she’d done.
She tried the window only because Marcus would see her if she went out the door. Never in a million years did she think it would actually open to her. None of Master’s windows had opened, and at Puppy’s house, the bedroom window had been nailed shut before Pony came home. But the moment Pony tried the latch, the old turn-out hinges rolled open.
Cold air rushed in, stinging her bare skin, but that wasn’t about to stop her. In only an oversized t-shirt now, she popped out the screen and crawled outside.
The grass was stiff with frost. Within steps, the icy cold had turned to knives under her bare feet, but terrified by what she was doing and the great unknown that accompanied the inevitability of getting caught, she ran all the way from the house to the old red barn standing sentry in the pasture beside Marcus’s house.
From the tidiness inside, she could only guess that Marcus owned this structure too. There were no horses or livestock of any kind. It smelled of clean dirt, leather, old straw, and wood. The interior was set up like a workshop, with stacks of wood planks on pallets against one wall and worktables laden with tools on the other. She could smell the assortment of stains in the cans neatly arranged on a heavy-duty steel shelf. A half-finished china cabinet stood in the center of it all, patiently awaiting the finishing touches yet to be applied around the trim. Two rustic lawn chairs were assembled but not yet stained on another pallet. A freshly stained paddle with the words ‘Daddy’s Tool’ dangled on a hook from one of three short loops of rope from the ceiling rafter.
Right up until she saw them, her only plan was to be somewhere other than the house for that awful span of time when Marcus decided he was ready to confront her about her living-room disobedience only to discover what she’d done in the bedroom. But standing here, in the midst of all this orderly creation, all she could feel was the burden she had become. Unwanted, unloved.
Destructive, combative. Disobedient.
She didn’t want to be here anymore, but there was no way out and no way for any of this to get better. Ever.
One minute she was standing in the cold doorway, the dying light of day illuminating those two empty loops of rope, and in the next she had the stool from near the worktable thunked down on the ground under one of them and she was climbing up to grab the rope. She pulled the rope down far enough to untie the loop. She had no idea how to make a noose, so she wrapped it twice around her neck and tied a knot.
Zero thought went into this beyond one: At least she’d get to see Master again.
Zero hesitation went into it, either. She had to arch up on tiptoes in order to reach the hook. She tied the other end of the rope to that. She didn’t bother wondering whether or not it was going to hurt before she kicked the stool out from under herself.
Her drop was maybe four inches and her neck didn’t break. She dangled, the rope cutting into her skin as she first gasped and choked, and then began to struggle as she realized she could still breathe, just not enough. And yes, this did hurt. In true Pony fashion, she’d botched this and it wasn’t going to end quickly.
She clawed at the rope, trying to pull herself up so her own weight wasn’t killing her. It was impossible. Her arms didn’t have the strength.
What the hell was she doing?
The pounding of her heartbeat in her ears was deafening. Pinpricks of light were bursting behind her eyes. She couldn’t get her fingernails under where the rope was cutting into her neck and all she could think about was how furious Master would be because she was damaging his property.
She was his to hurt, his to kill. Apparently.
…Really?
After everything she’d done for him?
After four years of serving him, faithfully, selflessly. She’d humiliated herself for him, and humiliation had never been her kink. She worked jobs she’d hated for him and after he went to prison, she’d been so ashamed over her inability to function enough to hold onto that awful job that she’d ended up waiting tables—or at least, she’d tried—just so he could have money in his commissary account.
She’d gone without food, without clothes, without comfort, for over a year, because of him.
And how did he thank her? He’d tried to put a bullet in her head. The back of her head. He’d been too much of a coward even to look her in the eyes while he betrayed her loyalty and trust to that last enth of a degree.
That motherfucking son of a bitch.
The rope snapped, dropping Pony into a heap in the dirt. No longer strangling on her own body weight, she clawed the rope loose enough to draw her first deep gasp of air. Her aching throat rebelled, and she doubled over coughing until she was raw from it.
She was only just beginning to catch her breath again when the door to the barn suddenly yanked open and the light inside snapped on. Marcus took one look at her and fury exploded across his face.
She struggled to get up before he reached her, but her limbs weren’t working right. He grabbed the length of rope off the floor, and the hair at the back of her head, hauling her up off the ground. He looked at her neck, her legs, and swung her around. Limping heavily, he marched her back to the house.
The grass was even colder and sharper against the bottoms of her bare feet on the trip back. When she stumbled, he grabbed her arm and suddenly the whole world flipped upside down as he ducked to sling her over his shoulder. By the time they got back to the house, she was shivering, and he was limping badly.
Still, he carried her through the kitchen, past the living room and straight to the bathroom. He set her down in the bottom of the tub.
“Strip,” he ordered. Turning the faucet on, he adjusted the temperature of the water, waiting only just long enough for her to crawl out of her shirt before he switched the shower on. He took her shirt from her, grabbed her by the hair and marched her under the full force of the spray. “Where’s your damn pants?” he demanded.
Not waiting for an answering, he left the bathroom.
