Afterlife by Joey W. Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

stared at Milo, stunned, as
    he fol owed through
    with the backhand. She’d never been
    hit in the face in her
    entire life, and it hurt more than she
    could say, that searing
    pain across the cheekbone and lip.
    She tasted blood. He
    kept the hand lifted. “You want to
    sass your Mistress or me
    again, little slave cunt?”
    Something burst in her then, a
    volcano erupting. The
    docile and helpless side vanished
    and she was fighting,
    snarling in terror. She’d known this
    was a mistake, but this
    was beyond a mistake. It was blatant,
    staggering proof that
    what she wanted was beyond her
    reach, that she’d
    devolved into the most unimaginable,
    idiotic fol y.
    So what the fuck’s your fantasy,
    Rachel? Letting me and
    my golf buddies gang rape you in an
    alley? Leaving you
    in some bum’s vomit and piss? Is
    that what gets you hot?
    “Stop, stop, stop.” She was
    screaming at the top of her
    lungs, and the hands unexpectedly
    released her. When she
    stumbled against heated bodies in
    various states of
    undress, by some miracle she found
    her way through them
    to the heavy metal door. She pushed
    out of it with both
    hands, the doorman staring at her as
    she staggered onto
    the broken and uneven pavement.
    She’d left her purse in
    her car, with her pepper spray and
    Taser, but she didn’t
    think she could have used them
    anyhow. She was shaking
    so badly, she stumbled and fel ,
    scraping her hands and
    ripping her slacks. It was her favorite
    pair, because they’d
    always made her feel sexy and
    feminine when she wore
    them. She was going to burn them as
    soon as she got
    home.
    When hands closed on her arm, she
    shrieked and rol ed
    to her back, striking out.
    “Easy there, it’s okay. Calm down.
    I’m a police officer.”
    The voice was a new one, and unlike
    Milo or the
    doorman, it projected firm, steady
    authority. Not a roaring
    bark that made her stomach jump as if
    it had been goaded
    by that cattle prod. When she
    managed to stop thrashing,
    she blinked up at this man. Built with
    the broad, solid lines
    of a footbal player, he was clean
    shaven, with shrewd,
    cynical gold-brown eyes. After
    taking in the jeans and dress
    shirt, she zeroed in on the shoulder
    holster for his gun
    beneath the open coat. Recognizing
    he probably was what
    he said he was brought knee-shaking
    relief, as wel as
    mortified horror, imagining herself
    on some evening news
    program.
    “Are you al right, ma’am?” He asked
    it in a tone that, to
    her way of thinking, sounded like
    “another twisted deviant
    hanging out where no decent person
    went”. She stared up
    at him and didn’t know what to say.
    No, I’m lost. So lost, I’m not sure
    I’ll find my way back
    this time.
    He studied her, then crouched to a
    squat. “This is my
    badge,” he said, pul ing it out of the
    inside pocket for her to
    see. “I just went off shift and changed
    into my street
    clothes.”
    She should have asked for that proof
    herself, but she
    wasn’t thinking clearly enough to
    manage it. When the
    doorman strode toward them, she
    shrank toward the cop,
    though she despised the weakness of
    it. The hand he put
    on her shoulder was surprisingly
    reassuring, as were his
    words. “It’s al right, miss. Cyrus,
    what the hel ’s happening
    here?”
    Cyrus stopped, gave her a look that
    was a mixture of
    disgust and exasperation. “Natasha’s
    having one of her
    private parties. Ten girls. I was told
    to give them the ful
    treatment when they pul ed in. I
    didn’t know she’d freak out.
    Natasha usual y goes for the real y
    hardcore ones.”
    “I…I didn’t know it was a p-private
    p-party… I just c-
    came… Website…” Rachel shut her
    mouth, closing her
    eyes. She wished she was back on
    her cushioned mat in
    her studio, Jon behind her. His
    simplest command had
    made her feel quiet and stil .
    Unsettled, in a good way. Not
    frightened and humiliated, not like
    this.
    “Oh fuck.” Cyrus swore. “Kel er,
    come on. I