Masters at Arms (Rescue Me Saga, #0.5)(18)
“Fire! Help!” The screams came from the bedroom. “No more, please!” she begged hysterically.
Damián ran through the fancy suite with its antique furniture and around the wet bar to try the bedroom doorknob. Unlocked. Hoping for the element of surprise, he slowly turned the handle until he felt the tumbler release, then slammed the door open. As it hit the wall and bounced back, he dodged the recoil and rushed into the room.
What the f*ck?
The fire extinguisher dropped to the floor. On the bed in front of him, the Barbie doll from the restaurant was trussed up in a grotesque position. The soles of her feet were red. Her naturally blond * was splayed open for God and everyone to see. Red, angry welts covered her inner thighs. White nylon ropes suspended her knees in the air, attaching her to the headboard.
Her eyes were closed, but her face was red, with tracks of tears down both cheeks. The sight of her ravaged body tore at his gut.
When he’d first burst in, the two Japanese-looking men she’d had dinner with had stood naked on either side of her. They’d turned to look at Damián, then dropped some kind of glowing purple globe onto the bed. With frantic hand gestures and short orders to each other in a foreign language, they gathered up the various items on the bed—a quirt, a short bamboo cane, additional rope, that purple globe thing—and stuffed them into their briefcases.
Had they just been into a severe BDSM scene? An ex-girlfriend right out of juvie had been into that shit and had explained to him how it all worked. Damián couldn’t get off on hurting a chica, so they’d broken up soon after. Shit, maybe “fire” was her safe word? But if she’d said her safe word, why hadn’t they stopped?
The men quickly put on their boxers and suit pants, then grabbed their shirts and suit coats and ran out the door. The mud in his brain was clearing and it became obvious to him she wasn’t a willing participant. Fuck. He ran to the bed but didn’t know what to do first.
She whimpered incoherently, her face turned away from him. Her tits were bound so tight, they had turned bluish-purple. He reached out to untie those ropes first. Tears streamed down her face and she muttered gibberish. Her eyes were closed and her face turned away from him, flushed.
Fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!! Where’d those guys learn to tie knots?
“Hang on, querida. I’ll have you out of here in a minute.” I hope. Come on! Untie, God damn it!
His heart pounded against his chest as he fought to make headway with the ropes. Finally, they loosened. A few seconds later, she screamed again as blood began circulating to her breasts. Damián wished he could absorb her pain into his own chest, but was afraid to touch her and cause even more pain. He reached for the wrist cuff on her left side and released her.
“Oh, God! Stop!” Her screams left him feeling even more helpless. He’d vowed never to feel that way again once he’d been released from juvie.
“I’m sorry. I know that hurts like hell, bebé.” He lowered her hand slowly onto the bed and rubbed her shoulder, trying to relieve the stiff and sore muscles. He followed the rope that splayed her thighs open and reached behind the headboard again to find it looped around what felt like an eye hook. He released it, and then kept the rope taut until he could grab her battered thigh and gently lay her leg onto the mattress.
Her screams of anguish caused his gut to clench. He was hurting her, but knew she’d feel better once circulation returned and her muscles relaxed.
He rushed around to the other side of the bed to unfasten those restraints. How long had she been tied up? He’d seen her leave the booth with the three men about an hour ago. Where was the f*cking jerk-off in the white suit who’d brought her here in the first place?
Was she some kind of hooker or something? Didn’t matter. No one deserved to be tortured like this.
He released the wrist cuff and lowered her arm, then did the same with the ropes holding up her other thigh. Now freed, she cried out and curled her beautiful body into a ball, trying to minimize the pain and comfort herself. He froze, unsure what to do next. Her sobs ripped his f*cking heart out.
When she began to shake, his mind engaged again and he retrieved the sheet and blanket that had been tossed on the floor at the foot of the bed. He tucked them around her trembling body, cocooning her in warmth. Still, she shook from the release of the stress on her body. Endorphins, his ex-girlfriend had explained—like it was a good thing. Maybe it was for his ex, who’d enjoyed that shit. But not for this girl.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
Damián looked up to see the jerk-off from the restaurant standing in the doorway with his fancy phone in his hand.
“Who let you in here, wetback?”
Wetback? His family probably had been in California longer than this man’s.
The man turned to look at the woman. “Savannah, what the hell happened to my clients?”
Savannah. Beautiful, just like her.
“They were hurting her,” Damián said. He clenched his fists to keep from bashing in the man’s face. The jerk-off knew exactly what had been happening to her.
The man glared at him. “Well, no shit, Sherlock. The bitch gets off on pain—and I get off on making money.” So maybe she was being paid to do this. The jerk-off looked down at Savannah again. Damián was glad she couldn’t see the expression of anger and disgust on his face.