Page 48 of R for Rough

My chest heaved, and I spun him around so my chest pressed against his back. That way, I could dig out the handcuffs.

“Tell me where the fucking key is,” I ordered.

Shit, he’d gotten more than a few good punches in, and the pain was only increasing. I needed a solid dose of adrenaline to mask it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he yelled. “Let me go!”

No.

He’d had his fun. Pressing the side of his face against the bark with enough force to make him go from offense to defense, I retrieved the cuffs and got one of them open. He clawed at the back of my hand and tried to kick backward, but I wasn’t utterly new.

The first cuffsnickedinto place, and he choked on a breath.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”he chanted breathlessly. He poured all his energy into getting free—without success. I was ready for the interrogation to begin.

A beat later, I had him handcuffed behind his back.

“Coward!” he spat out. “You afraid of a fair fight? Huh? Fight me!”

No. There were other ways to defeat him. It was our first takedown together, and I didn’t wanna take things too far.

“I said faster!” I snapped.

“Then stop pushing me!” he yelled back.

“I’m only pushing you because you’re slow as shit.” I grabbed his arm and dragged him across another stream, and he tripped and fell down on one knee in the water. “Are you clumsy too? Just my fucking luck.”

“Go to hell!”

I snorted softly.

We were maybe halfway back to the interrogation site, and I was damn conflicted. Part of me wanted to push him to the breaking point, to see where he drew the line and started sobbing, while the other part of me was ready to dive back into Daddy mode.

He had cuts and scrapes on every visible inch of skin, and it was fucking with my head. I wasn’t gonna do anything—not yet—’cause it would ruin the experience for him. But fuck if I didn’t wanna get cracking on the aftercare part.

His breathing had barely calmed down, and I could tell he was holding back his emotions. He was furious with me, but he was also running on fumes.

“My arms hurt,” he said hoarsely.

“Thank you for the information.” I kept him in front of me as we headed into another area where the trees grew farther apart.

“Fucker,” he whispered.

“Even your insults are weak.”

He didn’t reply.

Probably for the best.

After a few more minutes of walking through the woods, I heard we weren’t alone. Someone was crying nearby.

Tracy heard it too. “Kit! Is that you?”

“Move it!” Well, that was Colt, so maybe the crier was, in fact, Kit.

Before long, they came into view, and Colt nodded at me.

“Everything good?” I asked.

---