Breaking Free: A thriller, M/F, erotic romance by Danielle Aretino Page B
Authors: Danielle Aretino
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semi-hard, and had sprawled out across the bed. She shook her head, clucking her tongue noisily. "Mistress prefers you on your knees."
When he didn't move, she stalked toward him and slapped his thigh. Still no movement. Rolling her eyes, she leaned down and shook him, calling his name. Had he passed out already?
It was then, as she hovered over him, that she saw where all of her plans would shoot straight to hell.
The idiot had put the collar on— and a mask she'd never seen before.
"Dan!"
She scrambled across the bed and tried to yank the strap of leather off, her body stiffening in panic. The mask was new. In fact, she couldn't remember ever buying something like that. She never would: it was made of totally unbreathable material, and there were no airholes. He'd been so blitzed on whatever he'd taken, he must have found it somewhere and put it on, then added the collar.
Because she'd always used a collar on him. But her collar was thin and pliable, easy to detach if things ever got too rough.
"Dan! You fuck!" She pounded against his chest, and as she did, she realized he wasn't breathing. Horror struck, and she tried her best to pry the restraints off his face. Her efforts were useless, however. Even the plastic mask had no give to it, and by the time she scrounged up some scissors and snipped the thing open, he was gone.
Dead. Eyes bulging under the plastic. Face pale. Lips purple-blue.
"Oh m-my god…" She backed away from the bed, her knees buckling. She'd done it. She hadn't meant to do it, but she'd killed Dan, head biker of the Death Before Dishonour motorcycle gang. The cops would put her away—they'd been itching to pin something on her. She couldn't call an ambulance. Red had probably skipped town already.
They were going to dismember her when they put the pieces together. No matter how hard she tried to cover her tracks, the gang would eventually catch up with her. All the members knew what would happen to traitors—she'd seen the gruesome outcome before. Sobbing, she curled over, brain to muddled to think of a coherent plan.
Hours passed like minutes, until finally Sandy pushed herself to her feet and wobbled into the bathroom, knowing exactly what she had to do. Trembling, she popped open every pill bottle she could find, guzzling them down with swigs from Dan's vodka, until her stomach cramped so much that she couldn't stand.
There was no escape—no escape but one, and Sandy planned to ride it into the great beyond.
******
"I fucking hate coming out here."
"Especially after it rains."
Tony rolled his eyes as he set his helmet on the back of his bike. It wasn't like he actually liked going out to Dan's place either, especially after a storm. The unpaved driveway had a tendency to make his bike dirty as all hell, but they hadn't heard from the guy in two days—and Dan never missed their boozy brunches at the coffee shop on Main Street. In fact, the guy always made it out like that was the highlight of his week, so when he didn't show up yesterday, Tony knew something was amiss.
He'd gathered all the inner circle that morning, minus Red. Apparently his mom died or some shit, and he'd gone up north for the funeral. Not the worst excuse to get out of work Tony had ever heard, but he didn't particularly care what the fuck Red Parker did on his off-time either. The guy was a biker wallflower—if that was even a thing.
The front door was unlocked when Tony approached, and as soon as they got the thing open, the smell hit them like a ton of bricks. Shielding his face with his arm, he slowly entered the home that stunk of dead people. In the back, Dan's hounds were wailing for attention, and he told one of the guys to check if they'd been fed.
"Jesus fucking Christ …"
They found him in the bedroom, totally naked and wearing a bright green plastic mask. There was some kind of sex collar around his neck, and a whore
When he didn't move, she stalked toward him and slapped his thigh. Still no movement. Rolling her eyes, she leaned down and shook him, calling his name. Had he passed out already?
It was then, as she hovered over him, that she saw where all of her plans would shoot straight to hell.
The idiot had put the collar on— and a mask she'd never seen before.
"Dan!"
She scrambled across the bed and tried to yank the strap of leather off, her body stiffening in panic. The mask was new. In fact, she couldn't remember ever buying something like that. She never would: it was made of totally unbreathable material, and there were no airholes. He'd been so blitzed on whatever he'd taken, he must have found it somewhere and put it on, then added the collar.
Because she'd always used a collar on him. But her collar was thin and pliable, easy to detach if things ever got too rough.
"Dan! You fuck!" She pounded against his chest, and as she did, she realized he wasn't breathing. Horror struck, and she tried her best to pry the restraints off his face. Her efforts were useless, however. Even the plastic mask had no give to it, and by the time she scrounged up some scissors and snipped the thing open, he was gone.
Dead. Eyes bulging under the plastic. Face pale. Lips purple-blue.
"Oh m-my god…" She backed away from the bed, her knees buckling. She'd done it. She hadn't meant to do it, but she'd killed Dan, head biker of the Death Before Dishonour motorcycle gang. The cops would put her away—they'd been itching to pin something on her. She couldn't call an ambulance. Red had probably skipped town already.
They were going to dismember her when they put the pieces together. No matter how hard she tried to cover her tracks, the gang would eventually catch up with her. All the members knew what would happen to traitors—she'd seen the gruesome outcome before. Sobbing, she curled over, brain to muddled to think of a coherent plan.
Hours passed like minutes, until finally Sandy pushed herself to her feet and wobbled into the bathroom, knowing exactly what she had to do. Trembling, she popped open every pill bottle she could find, guzzling them down with swigs from Dan's vodka, until her stomach cramped so much that she couldn't stand.
There was no escape—no escape but one, and Sandy planned to ride it into the great beyond.
******
"I fucking hate coming out here."
"Especially after it rains."
Tony rolled his eyes as he set his helmet on the back of his bike. It wasn't like he actually liked going out to Dan's place either, especially after a storm. The unpaved driveway had a tendency to make his bike dirty as all hell, but they hadn't heard from the guy in two days—and Dan never missed their boozy brunches at the coffee shop on Main Street. In fact, the guy always made it out like that was the highlight of his week, so when he didn't show up yesterday, Tony knew something was amiss.
He'd gathered all the inner circle that morning, minus Red. Apparently his mom died or some shit, and he'd gone up north for the funeral. Not the worst excuse to get out of work Tony had ever heard, but he didn't particularly care what the fuck Red Parker did on his off-time either. The guy was a biker wallflower—if that was even a thing.
The front door was unlocked when Tony approached, and as soon as they got the thing open, the smell hit them like a ton of bricks. Shielding his face with his arm, he slowly entered the home that stunk of dead people. In the back, Dan's hounds were wailing for attention, and he told one of the guys to check if they'd been fed.
"Jesus fucking Christ …"
They found him in the bedroom, totally naked and wearing a bright green plastic mask. There was some kind of sex collar around his neck, and a whore
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