Page 118 of Pure Vengeance

Abandoned

Mark

The scene was perfect, but then, he’d known it would be. He’d planned it, curating every moment of Hannah’s experience.

He’d chosen how much sedative to give her. Not enough to cause any long-term harm, but a dose sufficient to knock her out for several hours. That had given him time to bundle her body into his trunk and drive her the distance to the coastal home he’d rented.

Well, perhaps ‘rented’ was the wrong word. The truth was he’d found the property abandoned on the far end of the desolate coastline, and after days of reconnaissance, he’d taken it for himself. Squatter’s rights said possession was nine-tenths of the law—and Mark intended to employ that philosophy to both the worn house he’d occupied and the unconscious woman he’d brought there.

He’d carried her sleeping form over the threshold under cover of night, making sure no nosey locals were loitering as helocked and bolted the door. The rest had already been prepared before Hannah had come to be back in his possession—the large lounge overlooking the gray ocean set up with the second-hand dentist’s chair he’d acquired online. The internet had been nothing but a friend since his release. Its anonymity provided him with all the bondage and equipment he desired, as well as the net that had helped him recapture Hannah. All he’d needed to do was ‘borrow’ a few credit cards from new acquaintances and use false identities. Getting the place ready for his little girl had taken less than a fortnight.

Hannah had been strapped into the chair long before she woke, and he’d relished every moment of her confinement, taking care to undress and position her just so. Removing her skirt had been a must for what he had in mind. While the garment had been scandalously short, it was too restrictive for the adaptations he’d worked into the dental chair. His new and improved version separated the ‘patient’s’ legs and, rather like the stirrups female patients sometimes endured for gynecological procedures, forced them apart.

He’d maneuvered her into place, grazing his fingertips over her soft skin. It was as hot as hell to have her there and know she was utterly helpless. The last time they’d met, he’d had to share her with his partner and their loyal assistants, but now all of his peers were gone. It was only him and the delectable Miss Bowman, and his straps and modifications would give his captive nowhere to hide.

Hannah was his until such time he said otherwise, and that was never going to happen. She would only leave over his dead body.

Mark had spent another hour or two waiting for her to wake, slipping in and out of consciousness as he dozed in the solitary nearby chair. Naturally, he’d considered getting to know her again while she slept. She would never know if he fondledher breasts or enjoyed her warmth—but he’d resisted the primal need.

Better to wait,he consoled.Better when she’s awake, and I can savor all of those little gestures.

It was impossible to say how long he sat there except to say the room was flooded with pale light as he roused to find her eyes fluttering with awareness. Exhilaration spiked as he contemplated what that meant. Hannah was waking up!

“There she is.” He rose from his chair to take in her expression, watching as it morphed from relaxed to concerned. “My Sleeping Beauty.”

“Who are you?” Her eyelids flickered but didn’t open, the wordless gesture both raising and dashing his growing excitement.

“Who amI?” If she didn’t know his identity, then she soon would. “That’s rather insulting, Miss Bowman.” He watched her body stiffen. “Given everything we’ve been through together, I would have expected you to know me.”

Her eyes opened slowly, but he could tell from her darting gaze to her rapid breathing that the veil of anesthetic remained heavy over her. She wasn’t entirely conscious yet.

“It’s okay.” He found he wanted to offer reassurance, an odd reaction to observing his captive awake to her new life of subjugation, but the idea didn’t rile him. They had history, he and Hannah. It was natural that he cared. “You’re okay. It’s only the sedative wearing off. Be a good girl, and look at me.”

Be a good girl.

She was his little girl—she always had been and always would be—but there was something sublime about being able to say so out loud again. The chemistry between him and Hannah had been undeniable, but this time it would be uninterrupted.

Right on cue her head fell in his direction, though still he didn’t think she truly saw him. Her gaze searched his torso for clues about who he was, but there was no recognition in her eyes.

“My face, little girl.” He laughed, reaching for her chin and compelling her attention to his chosen destination. Her body tensed, her hands trying to rise from their binds, but the leather straps he’d added to the arms of the chair held her easily in place.

“Here.” Taking a step closer, he ensured she finally got the view of her captor. “That’s better.”

“Lawes.” Her jaw fell open as she processed what his presence meant.

She was his all over again.

He took his time, reveling in her minute reactions, until he decided to respond. In the end, he chose to rebuke her; Hannah knew better than to refer to him by his surname alone.

“How quickly you’ve forgotten the rules.” He sighed theatrically. “That’s not how you address me, Hannah, and you know it.”

“I…” Bewilderment gleamed in her gaze as if she couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

He suppressed his amusement. The last time she’d seen him, he was being convicted of her abduction, yet there he was, alive and as unscathed as any man could hope after years behind bars.

Still, he wanted the rules to be clear right from the get-go, and that started with how she spoke to him.

“How do you refer to me?” He tapped his foot against the hard floor, hoping to amplify her apparent anxiety.

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