Page 21 of The Escape Artist

He'd known from the first moment she'd walked inside his cell that everything was backward and wrong. He'd felt how badly she needed someone to take control of her, her shattered life, everything. Someone who wouldn't truly hurt her. But she could never ask for such a thing. And she could never feel safe if it were offered. Because she didn't know who to trust. She probably didn't believe there was anyone in the world to trust.

It wasn't that he thought she was kinky. There was no way he could get that lucky. But there was something... a need... a desperate plea that had risen off her body with every step even when she'd been the one holding the whip. Take me. Help me. Please. Please. It had screamed.

Now that he was the one with the whip, the mask of power and control had slipped gracefully from her face. Would this help her? He wasn't sure. Society would judge him a monster. Hell, his friends would do the same. But something primal inside her reached out to him, and the beast answered back.

Nothing about any of this was normal or right or okay. He wouldn't justify it even as he wouldn't apologize for it. But it was what they were doing. She'd had her turn with the whip and him at her mercy, and the universal laws demanded this reversal to balance the scale. She'd started this game. He was finishing it.

This was her sentence. And Ari remained convinced it was better than the prison cell she would have been given by what passed for justice in this world.

The law wouldn't have cared about the pain and abuse she'd suffered to create the person who would do the things she'd done. They wouldn't have cared what had driven her to her actions. She still would have been in prison. At least she could come to love the cage with Ari. When she understood the pleasure and care he offered her, her obedience would come from gratitude, not fear.

He took her hands in his and led her over to a St. Andrew's Cross. He needed her standing for this, and it was similar to the position she'd put him in except that his arms hadn't been raised out over his head like hers would be.

The panic finally came. She struggled and pulled away. The action surprised him, and his grip loosened enough for her to wrench herself free of his grasp. But she didn't run up the stairs. She was smart enough to know how futile it would be. He was sure she didn't want him to chase her.

Instead she dropped to her knees. “Master, please, please...” she sobbed.

Ari took a deep breath. He had to remind himself what she'd done. If he hadn't escaped, she would have killed him. The only way he would have left that cell was in trash bags if he hadn't tricked her and gotten free.

And now that he had her, the only move left to him was to keep her. He couldn't let her go, and he sure as hell wasn't going to kill her. For better or worse they had to work their issues out between them.

He crossed to the wall of gleaming hooks with varying styles and sizes of whips, floggers, canes, and crops. He took a whip almost identical to the one she'd beaten him with. When he returned, he dropped the whip in front of her. She jumped when it hit the ground.

“Are you happier when you're holding the whip?” he asked. “Maybe you'd like to whip me again.”

She looked up at him, horrified. “N-no, Master.”

At least she was still addressing him properly. Ari moved back several yards and sat in a plush red leather chair at the other end of the room, giving her some space. “We aren't leaving here until that whip gets used. I can whip you, or you can whip me. Choose.”

She stared down in horror at the whip as if it might rise up and strike her of its own accord. It was unorthodox, but Ari was one hundred percent certain that she couldn't bring herself to whip him again. This was the first step in her surrender.

“Claire, if I whip you, I won't break your skin. I know what I'm doing with a whip, and I do not wish to damage you. But if you whip me, you will break the skin... or else. We can't have you changing up your methods. It has to be fair. So... who gets the whip? Who deserves the whip?”

The tears came harder. “Master, please. I can't... I can't.”

“You can't what? Whip me or be whipped by me?”

Her head dropped into her hands. “Please... I can't.”

“If I whip you, it will be ten lashes, no more. You will count them. Then I'll take you up to the kitchen for breakfast. And I will never punish you again unless you disobey me.”

“And w-what if I whip you?” she asked.

“Then you're still playing the villain. And you can't atone. You can't have absolution or peace.”

“Please...” she whimpered.

Ari refused to be moved. “You will either put the whip in your mouth, crawl to me and place it on my lap, and take your punishment like a good girl, or you will pick up the whip, stand, and order me to put my hands on the wall. One of those two things is going to happen. Choose.”

9

Claire stared at the whip on the ground in front of her. What the hell was she going to do? She wondered if the option to whip him was a trap that would only make him hurt her more. It had to be. But it didn't matter because she absolutely could never hit him again. The very thought of it made her feel sick.

She glanced furtively around the room. She couldn't outrun him. And where would she go? She spied a small connected room. It looked like a bathroom. She could just make out a mirror and sink from her vantage point. She wanted to run and lock herself in that room, but she was sure he could easily break down the door, and then everything would be worse.

She tried to block out the memory of whipping him in that cell, making him bleed, watching as he bit back the screams. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of his screams—as if any of it had given her satisfaction.

She couldn't whip Ari even as she knew his kindness must be a lie. The lack of violence was ending now. But she couldn't hurt him again. She couldn't do it.

---