Gracie was still talking and didnât notice Danielleâs shock or her inability to form words. âWe have a choice of going upstairs or downstairs. The fantasy rooms have windows and audio for those who like to watch. Do you like to watch? Iâm more of a doer myself. Downstairs you get more than the sights and sounds. You get the scent of lust and fear and pain and sex. Itâs intoxicating.â
The more Danielle learned about Benediction and Cole DeMarco, the more questions she had. All of them jumbled in her mind, but Gracie was obviously so excited to show her the basement, she didnât have the heart to stop and ask them. If anything, seeing the dungeon firsthand should answer several of them. âDownstairs then.â
Gracie threw her arms around Danielle and hugged her. âI promise you wonât regret this. Your life will never be the same.â
That was exactly what she was afraid of.
Chapter Six
H E GLANCED AT his watch and clutched the tree cutter in his hand.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
The end was so close he could almost taste it.
Despite the fact his dick throbbed, this act would give him no satisfaction. He loved the scent of fear. The sound of a defenseless woman crying for mercy. In the past, heâd been careful not to get caught, only killing the ones no one would miss. With the others, heâd inflicted just enough pain to bring him to climax. Those girls would never talk. Not if they wanted to stay breathing.
Tasha sat slumped in the chair, unconscious. Heâd strapped her arm to the table next to the empty bottle of vodka.
They needed to send a strong message, one Danielle couldnât ignore. Heâd tried to come up with something less permanent, but credibility was key.
In only a short few days, heâd make back their money. Then heâd spend hours torturing Danielle before he killed her. Heâd bet sheâd be hellfire to break, but it would make it all the sweeter to see the life ebb from her eyes.
And if he got caught . . . heâd use his contacts to get him out of it. As heâd learned from his family, everyone had a secret, and blackmail was a great way to keep someone in your pocket for a rainy day.
Too bad he couldnât keep Danielle. All that training, gone to waste. But heâd promised to kill her as soon as they transferred the money, and he was a man of his word.
He shook his head, clearing the arousing images of screaming women from his mind and focused on his task.
He lifted Tashaâs limp hand off the table.
And cut off her finger.
Chapter Seven
D ANIELLE AND G RACIE descended the wrought-iron staircase. The flickering lanterns on the dark walls gave it a true dungeon feel, as though she was walking from the present world into the past.
A low beat of a bass vibrated under her feet. Voices murmured underneath the various cries and moans and slaps and grunts. She hadnât understood what Gracie had meant by her description of the smells, but as she neared the bottom, it began to make sense. Leather, sweat, and musk greeted her as her gaze fell on the scenes in front of her.
An open floor plan lit by strategically placed replicas of old-fashioned candelabras and ceilings painted black further enhanced the dungeon environment. All the things sheâd read about. The pictures she saw in those books Cole had given her and in her Internet research. It all existed live and in Technicolor. Leather and lace. Latex and rubber. Various collars around necks. Men and women being led around on leashes, including a few who crawled. She saw plenty of lingerie and lots and lots of skin.
Men and women hung from the ceiling on some kind of harness made of rope. She pressed her thighs together, a rush of arousal so strong, she drenched her panties. Something about those bound people made her heart race.
She didnât understand. This wasnât her. Not that she believed there was anything wrong with exposing your body
The more Danielle learned about Benediction and Cole DeMarco, the more questions she had. All of them jumbled in her mind, but Gracie was obviously so excited to show her the basement, she didnât have the heart to stop and ask them. If anything, seeing the dungeon firsthand should answer several of them. âDownstairs then.â
Gracie threw her arms around Danielle and hugged her. âI promise you wonât regret this. Your life will never be the same.â
That was exactly what she was afraid of.
Chapter Six
H E GLANCED AT his watch and clutched the tree cutter in his hand.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
The end was so close he could almost taste it.
Despite the fact his dick throbbed, this act would give him no satisfaction. He loved the scent of fear. The sound of a defenseless woman crying for mercy. In the past, heâd been careful not to get caught, only killing the ones no one would miss. With the others, heâd inflicted just enough pain to bring him to climax. Those girls would never talk. Not if they wanted to stay breathing.
Tasha sat slumped in the chair, unconscious. Heâd strapped her arm to the table next to the empty bottle of vodka.
They needed to send a strong message, one Danielle couldnât ignore. Heâd tried to come up with something less permanent, but credibility was key.
In only a short few days, heâd make back their money. Then heâd spend hours torturing Danielle before he killed her. Heâd bet sheâd be hellfire to break, but it would make it all the sweeter to see the life ebb from her eyes.
And if he got caught . . . heâd use his contacts to get him out of it. As heâd learned from his family, everyone had a secret, and blackmail was a great way to keep someone in your pocket for a rainy day.
Too bad he couldnât keep Danielle. All that training, gone to waste. But heâd promised to kill her as soon as they transferred the money, and he was a man of his word.
He shook his head, clearing the arousing images of screaming women from his mind and focused on his task.
He lifted Tashaâs limp hand off the table.
And cut off her finger.
Chapter Seven
D ANIELLE AND G RACIE descended the wrought-iron staircase. The flickering lanterns on the dark walls gave it a true dungeon feel, as though she was walking from the present world into the past.
A low beat of a bass vibrated under her feet. Voices murmured underneath the various cries and moans and slaps and grunts. She hadnât understood what Gracie had meant by her description of the smells, but as she neared the bottom, it began to make sense. Leather, sweat, and musk greeted her as her gaze fell on the scenes in front of her.
An open floor plan lit by strategically placed replicas of old-fashioned candelabras and ceilings painted black further enhanced the dungeon environment. All the things sheâd read about. The pictures she saw in those books Cole had given her and in her Internet research. It all existed live and in Technicolor. Leather and lace. Latex and rubber. Various collars around necks. Men and women being led around on leashes, including a few who crawled. She saw plenty of lingerie and lots and lots of skin.
Men and women hung from the ceiling on some kind of harness made of rope. She pressed her thighs together, a rush of arousal so strong, she drenched her panties. Something about those bound people made her heart race.
She didnât understand. This wasnât her. Not that she believed there was anything wrong with exposing your body
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