Page 107 of A Secret and a Lie
He’s too slow, hesitant, and I yank his head back by the hair to find his eyes bloodshot and glassy.
Fuck.As if this didn’t hurt me enough.
“Tell me the first rule,” I order, keeping my voice cold and calculated.
“Not to kiss you.”
I nod, my expression bleeding with the promise of dangerous consequences. My tolerance for any games he may want to play today is at sub-zero. Abandoning him, I stalk to the armoire and consider my options: breath play with a choke collar, a dragon tail whip, a spanking with spiked gloves…
In the end, I reach for the leather crop, knowing he prefers a bit of a sting.
“Press your chest to the floor, ass in the air.” Running the crop down his spine, I guide him until I have him the way I want him, his hands still bound at the small of his back.
He does as he’s told, and I begin to assault his backside, foregoing my usual warm-up. As the stinging blows radiate through him, he whimpers and sniffles. A punishment session like this would usually leave me hot and bothered, drenching my panties, but not today. I feel only bitterness, guilt, and rage.
“Let’s try this again. What’s the first rule?”
He’s crying now, but he manages to get the words out. “Respect the clients and workers.”
“Good boy,” I praise him, even as my chest clenches. “What’s the next rule?”
He hiccups through his sobs. “Safe words are obeyed.”
I drag the crop lazily over his back, popping him a few more times on his flaming-red ass before moving to stand before him again.
I’m both God and the Devil in this room, the ultimate authority, the judge and executioner. His hiccupped sobs fill the room, and my blood runs both cold and hot as I demand, drenched in sovereignty, “Straighten up and look at me as you tell me the last rule.”
With his cheeks tear stained, his eyes the color of my favorite lipstick, face puffy, it’s an effort to swallow the lump that’s filling my throat. This hurts far more than I thought it would.
His lips quiver, but when he finally forms words, it’s simply, “Sugar…”
I close my eyes, clenching my fists as I fight to maintain my composure.
Seventeen years. I’ve known Henry Fisher longer than I’ve known Corinne, longer than I’ve known Marcus or Ford. He was the John I picked up my first night working for Leo. Henry was a client back when he was just a D.C. attorney and stayed on my books as he made a name for himself in politics. I was the one he came to see the night he won his first senate race. He was the first client call I made when I returned from Amsterdam. He was as close to a friend as a client could be. He was never supposed to be the disloyal one.
My eyelids part, and I roll my shoulders back, ignoring the riotous grief and anger bubbling through me.“Say it.”
Eyes I’ve stared into a thousand times disappear as he hangs his head. “Sharing the identities of the clients or workers, locations, and activities that take place are strictly prohibited.”
“Do you know what this means?”
His chin dips almost imperceptibly before he glances up at me again, more tears falling onto his bare chest. Supplying the words for him, I declare, “A violation of any of these rules results in a loss of life.”
“Liar. Liar,”he begs through wails, his voice breaking in a last-ditch effort to attempt to save himself.
I shake my head. “Oh, Henry, the time for safe words wasbeforeyou betrayed me. You know I don’t give second chances. Why did you do it?”
If possible, he begins to cry harder. “York approached me assoon as he was appointed, to tell me he knew I was in Kazakhstan’s pocket. He had proof, but said he wouldn’t release the records if I fed him information about your business. Who worked for you, how you managed clients, the services you offered. He had Milton Torres and Samuel Choi working for him, too.” His gaze becomes harried and frantic. “I only told him about your employees, though, never you, I swear it. Please believe me, I never told him anything about you.”
Well, that explains why York needed the FBI to send Ford in undercover. If he was only getting information about my employees, he needed an alternative way to get to me.
I squat down to his level. “You could’ve—should’ve—come to me with this, directly.”
He nods, more tears tracking down his face. “I was scared you wouldn’t believe me. I… I love you.”
My heart splinters, a fissure opening in the vessel. I’ve known Henry felt something for me that I couldn’t, didn’t reciprocate, but I’d established our boundaries long ago and took steps to reaffirm those over the years. Apparently, that wasn’t enough, and it’s on me for not recognizing that.
“You had to know this would come back to you when you connected me to Scott Moorland. Which means youwantedme to punish you.” A tender smile flits over my face. “Forever a masochist.”
