Page 85 of Marked

“Don’t fucking look at him.” Zack gives me a little shake.

“I hate him,” I say. “Why aren’t we taking him now?”

Zack halts, yanks me around so I’m facing him.

“People can hear you.” The fierce fire of his gaze burns me.

I lower my eyes to his chest.

“I hate him, Zack. He’s going to leave and we won’t find him again,” I whisper my worry.

“We’re not losing him, Harley. You’re going to have to trust me here. I will not let him get away.”

And he won’t. Inside my bones, I can feel his sincerity. Jimmy Blackwood will not slip through our fingers tonight. “What are you going to do?” I ask, my nerves suddenly on edge.

He yanks off his suit jacket and tosses it to the edge of the platform.

“I’m going to give Jimmy Blackwood a show.”

There’s a small table on the platform, next to the wooden beam. There are thick black metal rings, at various levels, on all four sides of it. Perfect for binding any sized person.

“Face the pole,” I direct her with a jerk of my head. She slides worried eyes over to the rings. “It’s all right, little bird,” I whisper into her ear. “I’m right here.”

She presses her hand to her stomach, drags in a long breath. I leave her to follow my order and drop my toy bag on the little table.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her as she takes gentle strides to the wooden beam and faces it, her back to the onlookers who’ve taken seats around our platform. As I dig out what I want from my bag, I find Barnes sitting front and center with a greedy smile on his fat little face.

But it’s not him I give a shit about right now. It’s Jimmy, and there he is. Still by the seats we abandoned, enjoying a second drink, and with his eyes firmly on us.

Perfect.

I bring the cuffs over to where Harley stands. She stareswith determination at the wood; at the rings I’m going to bind her to.

“Hands,” I order firmly and loudly so our little audience can hear me. She swallows and offers them up to me.

It’s quick work, wrapping the leather cuffs around each wrist then linking them together.

“Pretty girl.” Standing behind her, I kiss her cheek as I raise her linked hands up to the nearest ring. Using a D-ring, I clip the cuffs to the ring, stretching her beautiful body up enough that she has to rise to her toes to keep from dangling.

It’s uncomfortable, but won’t hurt her.

“All this hair.” I fist her long, red locks, separating the massive bunch into two sections, and flip them over her shoulders so her back is clear.

“Not the dress, Zack. Please,” she whispers when my hands go to the neckline.

I chuckle.

“I’ll buy you a dozen more.” A promise I will enjoy keeping. She deserves all the best things. If I have to sit outside some fancy dressing room while she tries on every dress in every shop on Michigan Avenue, I’ll gladly do it, if only to witness the little smiles she gives when she finds something she likes.

With one jerk, I rip the dress, tearing it in half down the middle.

There was a zipper, but our audience isn’t in to practicality. They want violence. The more aggressive it is, the louder it is, the harder their cocks get.

I leave her there, her bare back and bare ass exposed to the crowd, with the red dress dangling in tatters from her arms while I go back to my bag and pull out what I need.

Her eyes warm me as I walk back to her. I let the three braided flogger dangle from my hand. Tears already well in her eyes. It’s beautiful.

A shame I have to share this with all of these fucking lunatics.

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