Page 16 of Master

“Apologies,” Tristan quips with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize we weren’t going to beat him to death.”

“He deserves to go out gasping for his last breath.” I push open the unlocked door. Navigating through the dark, we make our way through his lavish apartment. Tristan and I both pause at a cracked bedroom door when we find him wanking in bed with his laptop on the bed beside him. Stepping into the room, I snark, “You’re making this too fucking easy for me.”

“Wh—what the fuck?” he blubbers with his hand still wrapped around his cock.

“Don’t stop on our account,” I tease as Tristan draws his gun to ensure Isaac stays exactly where he is. “This will be even more believable when they find you with a load crusted over your stomach.”

“They?” Isaac squeaks.

I lift Isaac’s discarded trousers from the floor as we cross the room, slipping the Gucci belt from the loops with every step. Standing beside his bed, I make a noose with the belt. “I know we listen and we don’t judge.” I overtly dart my eyes toward the laptop screen, drawing Tristan’s attention to the snuff film. “But, what the actual fuck!”

“Does your mother know that’s the shit you watch to get off?” Tristan asks.

Isaac snaps his head toward Tristan. “What?” he blusters.

Using the distraction to my advantage, I slip the noose over his head and quickly cinch it around his neck. I loop the loose end through the wrought iron headboard and pull it until Isaac gags. Leaning close, I can’t help but torment him. As Isaac desperately tries to pull the restricting leather from his throat, I darkly whisper, “Tell me you’re an abusive piece of shit and I’ll tell my brother to shoot you in the head. Let you off easy.”

He chokes on his words when I ever so slightly loosen the noose, his body craving the tiny breath over the confession that would save his life.

“Sorry,” I taunt, pulling at the leather strap again. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You’re a sick fuck sometimes,” Tristan gaffs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “But by all means, do your thing.”

Wavering between a suffocating hold and allowing him the faintest of breaths, I keep Isaac hovering at the terrifying edge of death for almost an hour and verbally berate him for being an inhumane piece of shit. He tastes death countless times, only to be repeatedly denied the relief of actually meeting his untimely end. Tears trickle down his face as he silently pleads for his life, his body so exhausted he can’t even fight. “This time, I’m letting you feel exactly what you made Sasha go through.” I pull the belt taut and his eyes blow wide, realizing that this is it. This is his end.

I knot the belt around the headboard when his body falls limp, leaving him to look like he had a tragic wanking accident.Breath play is fucking dangerous.

When we’re riding the elevator back to the lobby, Tristan asks, “Feel better?”

“Yes.” I nod before returning to our prior conversation. “No more mass member additions, either. And discreet panic buttons in the hall because my shoulder is fucking killing me.”

“Poor baby,” Tristan teases, reaching out to rub it before I smack his hand away. “And agreed.”

Parting ways where Tristan parked his SUV, I walk down the block to mine. My phone buzzes, and I pull it from the front pocket of my jeans. Swiping it open, I find a text from Finn.

FINN

Fuck! Did I miss all the fun?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SASHA

After being provided with a clean bill of health and an appointment to make sure the hematomas on the back of my right thigh are healing properly, I’m discharged from the hospital shortly after food services served breakfast. I leave the hospital with nothing but the clothes on my back—pale-green medical scrubs that don’t belong to me—and Liam Evans’ business card.

I contemplated giving him a call this morning when I woke with his number tucked in my hand, but it didn’t feel right. The amount of gratitude I want to give—for both saving my life and his sheer kindness—deserves more than an impersonal call.

The slightly oversized sneakers from the hospital’s lost-and-found rub my sockless feet as I walk the ten blocks from the hospital, leaving my heels tender and irritated. At least the irritation is keeping my mind off how the cool spring breeze is nipping at my bare arms or blowing through the thin fabric.

When I reach my destination and pull open the door, I step into the warmth of the club. I vigorously rub my hands over my goose-pimpled arms to warm myself. The sleek, white lounge isas pristine this morning as it was last night. Only, unlike last night, there isn’t a person to be seen. Still stroking my hands along my chilled skin, I tentatively walk down the black hallway toward the other side of the club. At the end of the hall, I call out, “Hello?”

“We aren’t open yet,” a confident and sweet woman’s voice shouts from the bar.

“I…I’m sorry,” I stammer. “The door was open. I was looking for Liam Evans.”

“He ran out, but I can give him a call to see when he’ll be back,” a pretty—and vaguely familiar looking—petite brunette informs me, sliding from a stool at the bar.

“No.” I shake my head. “I can come back another time.”

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