Page 55 of Pure Vengeance

The asshole wanted me to beg, but he would be disappointed. Again. All I had to do was hang on. The highest setting meant it would be over soon, and I could go back to my kennel.

The toy vibrated hard against my g-spot as the other end went to work on my clit.

“Think we can make her squirt again, gentlemen? Betting pool is open on how far it goes.”

I tuned out the laughter at Lachlan’s sick joke, desperate to reach the finish line as my inner walls clamped down on the toy. My belly tightened with the start of my climax, and I gritted my teeth.

Without warning, the vibe stopped. Lachlan pulled it out and shook his head sadly. “Too bad. She didn’t want it enough to beg.”

God help me, I almost did, but caught myself before a single syllable escaped my lips. It wasn’t the first time he’d edged me,but it was the only one of his games that got me even close to breaking.

Using my collar, he pulled me to my feet and traced the red marks on my belly from the steel sawhorse. Tsking softly, he nudged me into my kennel. As he shut the door, he said, “You just had to say please, puppy.”

My pussy aching, I laid on my back and stared up at the corrugated steel awning over my kennel, trying to pretend the tail in my ass wasn’t there. Thankfully, the weather had warmed enough that I didn’t freeze overnight. The thin blanket Jerome had given me helped, but it didn’t ease the pain in my hips and back from sleeping on concrete.

He and Lachlan had fought about that blanket. Jerome won, but only because he reminded Lachlan that I might die of hypothermia. Guess my sadistic bastard of a husband didn’t want to go that far.

Go figure.

This was my fifth week of confinement. At least, I thought it was. Maybe it was the sixth.

The lengthening days were beginning to run together, but the brand and piercings were healed, so it was probably closer to six weeks.

I wanted to say Lachlan wasn’t as bad as my father. Aside from a few whacks with a cane or strap, he never hit me, but what he did was worse than my father could have dreamed.

When the daily enemas and pissing in front of his men stopped bothering me, he made me play fetch on my hands and knees for hours but stopped when my knees started getting scraped up.

Next was the pony cart designed for a person to pull it. There was even a harness with straps to support my breasts when I jogged. That was almost pleasant because I got a chance to walk upright for a change, but the rubber bit made my jaws ache. God,I dragged his ass all over the property in that thing and even got to see the ocean on occasion. It was a great leg day too.

Lachlan had lied about the beach. It was a hundred-foot drop to the surf below. Might have been fun to jump and see if I could drag the cart behind me, but he never let me get that close.

He almost had me with the sensory deprivation tub. Being blindfolded and restrained in a water-filled chamber with a small tube providing oxygen… well, I didn’t like it much, but I didn’t panic uncontrollably anymore—not even when he randomly shut off the air. It was peaceful in the dark with nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat. Sometimes I held my breath just to see how long I could.

And sometimes I wondered what it would be like to open my lips and let the air tube fall into liquid blackness.

Eating ground chicken cooked with chopped vegetables and lentils from a dog bowl didn’t bother me either. I barely even noticed when Lachlan set up a table and ate in front of me a few times a week. Usually, it was steak, but he had a gorgeous sashimi platter once that almost made me drool. He offered me a piece but took it away when I wouldn’t say please.

I hadn’t weighed myself in ages, but I was willing to bet I’d dropped at least twenty pounds. Then again, maybe not. I’d put on some muscle, and it wasn’t as if I had clothes or a mirror to judge.

Even my new hairdo was growing on me.

Get it? Growing on me? Ba-dum tiss.

Jerome still shaved me a few times a week. I liked not having to mess with my formerly thick and unruly hair, and nobody could use it as a handle to haul me around like my father used to do. Best of all, no more headaches when I put it up, and the constant frizz was a thing of the past.

Heck, Lachlan and Jerome were more diligent about putting sunscreen on me than I’d ever been. For the first time in my life, I had an even, golden tan, and they never let me get sunburned.

The one thing I did not do was speak. Lachlan didn’t get a single goddamned word from me. After all, puppies didn’t talk.

But Jerome did. He said a lot—especially to a huge Mastiff he called Dante. Although Dante terrified me, I couldn’t help watching him launch himself at the training dummies Jerome set up for him.

Jerome would say a single, unintelligible word and all I could see was my father’s neck between Dante’s powerful jaws. Maybe Lachlan’s and Jerome’s too. For a moment, I wondered if this was another form of torture, or maybe a reminder of what would happen if I tried to run.

It was probably just more mindfuckery, but I practiced the new word anyway.

I doubted I’d ever find out what it really meant, but to Dante, it meant killing.

Maybe, just maybe, it meant a chance for me.

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