Claimed Darker by Em Brown

Chapter 45

BRIDGET

Present

As I lay tied to a wooden table in some cold basement only God knows where, I start to question everything. Should I have brought Ethan into this world only to deprive him of a father and a mother? Should I have contradicted Felipe’s advice and gone to the authorities with what he had told me? That question kept me up nights for several months, fading only when Ethan was born and took all my attention.

Felipe had argued that if I told law enforcement what I knew, he was as good as dead, and so was I. The Jing San had inside people who would work against any legitimate investigation. The chances they could catch and convict Amy’s killer or tie him to JD would be small. JD had access to an abundance of resources. Amy’s family would be left anguished that their daughter’s killer could not be brought to justice.

Why does it seem like the world is stacked against common people? Against honest, decent people?

Not exposing the truth, however, feels wrong and unjust. Amy’s death is on my conscience. Simone luckily recovered or I’d have the guilt of her death, too.

I had thought about leaving an anonymous tip with the Berkeley Police Department, but what if the triad caught wind of it? They would know the killer himself wouldn’t have tipped off the authorities. That would leave anyone the killer spoke with or who might have overhead him speaking with someone. That could point to Felipe. I had promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone, though that was before I knew what I was agreeing to. And, given the extraordinary circumstances, I think I’d be in the right breaking a promise.

Could I sentence Felipe to death? No.

Now it looks like I’m going to pay the price of silence with my own life.

But does Darren really intend to kill me? He hasn’t said he would, though that doesn’t mean he won’t. Apparently he already has blood on his hands. Felipe had mentioned Manny, but maybe there are others?

If Darren wants to kill me, why hasn’t he already? Because he wants the fun of torturing me first? I knew he had a sadistic streak, but I never imagined it to be this significant.

So what does it say about me that I’m aroused by him still? It’s like my body doesn’t believe what my mind believes. My body still thinks he’s the man I fell in love with. My mind knows better. The man I fell in love with doesn’t exist, maybe never existed.

“How convenient,” Darren remarks as he stands over a briefcase filled with BDSM paraphernalia. “These nipple clamps come with weight.”

He holds them up for me to see.

Oh God.

My breasts feel engorged right now, and I worry if my nipples might be extra sensitive. I recently stopped nursing Ethan, but my breasts haven’t quite gotten the message. I used the breast pump before my date with Josh to ease the pressure and make sure I didn’t have any leakage issues, but that was probably a long while ago. I don’t know how much time passed while I was unconscious, and there are no windows in this place, so I can’t tell what time it is.

Darren walks over to me and places the nipple clamps beside me on the table. Untying my ankles from the legs of the table, but leaving the binding about my wrists in place, he flips me over onto my back. His gaze traverses my body stretched across the surface before settling at my bosom.

“What’s this?” he asks, fingering the fabric over my nipple.

I lift my head up and see a darkened wet spot. Oh no. I’m leaking.

He grabs a breast, and the spot grows. Taking a switchblade from his back pocket, he nestles the blade into my cleavage and slices the front of my dress open. I let out a wild gasp.

He gropes an orb and squeezes. A steam of breast milk arches through the air.

“There something you want to tell me, Bridge?”

I’m at a loss for words. How am I going to explain this? I’m not going to let him know about Ethan.

“I—it’s—a genetic condition,” I blabber.

Smack.

I’m stunned at the sting in my left check. Darren’s never slapped me that hard before.

“Try again,” he says.

“I—I had a—a miscarriage,” I whimper.

Placing the blade on the table, he grabs my jaw. His pupils are constricted as he stares into my eyes. “You said you haven’t fucked anyone since you left me.”

“I haven’t,” I whisper.

“That doesn’t make sense, Bridge. When would this miscarriage have happened?”

“Um, a year and a half ago.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

I try to hold his gaze but I can’t.

“See, if it’s true,” he continues, “then that means you were carrying my baby, and you never bothered telling me. If it’s not true, and this ‘miscarriage’ happened more recently, then you gave away pussy that belongs to me. Either way, you lied. And either way, your punishment is going to be extra special.”

He releases me as if disgusted and picks up a nipple clamp.

His switchblade is still on the table next to me. If I can get ahold of it somehow, I might have a chance. I hope he doesn’t decide to replace it in his pants.

Pulling aside the cut fabric, he applies the clamp and lets the weight dangle off the side of the table.

Holy crap.

I think all the nursing, which wasn’t easy and hurt like hell at the beginning, has made my nipples extra sensitive.

“You can make things easier on yourself by telling me the truth,” Darren tells me while I do my best to breathe through the pinching and the pain of having my nipple pulled to the side.

He sees the pain in my face and reaches for my clit. I hone in on his touch like a bee to pollen. I’m going to need every ounce of arousal to see me through this. As his fingers caress me, I hold on to this small gesture for hope. It could be that he’s only setting me up for the torture of orgasm denial, but he could also be granting me pleasure to ease the pain. I pray it’s the latter.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, fondling me as only he knows how.

“Yes,” I murmur. “Thank you, sir.”

He frowns and stops. “You know how hard it was to find you, Bridge?”

Oh no.

“You think it was nice of you to just disappear on me? To not pick up my calls? Not bother to tell me anything?”

Part of me wants to crumble and tell him the truth. But if he knows that I know that he’s part of a triad and that I know that Amy’s death wasn’t accidental, then I’m definitely a goner. I might be doomed anyway.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t myself after what happened to Amy.”

I could also say I had survivor’s guilt, which I do. Or I could say I had a nervous breakdown, which I also felt that I had at times. But he’s staring at me with such intensity that I worry saying too much will give me away.

“That’s it?” he prods. “You have nothing else to say to me?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“A lie of omission is still a lie.”

My pulse quickens. Does he know something? Does he not believe the lie about the miscarriage and actually knows about Ethan? Or did Felipe give me up and confess to having told me the truth about Amy and the triad?

“Well, Bridge?”

I play dumb. “I’ll say whatever you want me to say, sir.”

My response seems to anger him more. He applies the second clamp to my other nipple. I release a cry. I’d use my safe word if it was of any use.

This is for Ethan. I have no idea what Darren would do if he knew about Ethan.

Darren goes back to the briefcase and holds up a zapper. “Remember this? We had fun with this, didn’t we, Bridge?”

I groan inwardly. I hate the zapper.

Walking back, he stands at the head of the table. “What else was going to be part of the punishment?”

It’s hard to think when I feel like my nipples are being torn off.

He slaps my face. “Answer me, Bridge.”

“All the blow jobs you wanted?”

“That’s right.”

He pulls my body over to him so that my head dangles over the edge before dropping his pants. He’s already come, and it usually makes him last longer the second time around. I pray the blow job won’t last forever.

He guides his erection into my mouth. The unfamiliar angle causes me to choke. He doesn’t seem to care and pushes himself farther. But the choking doesn’t really serve him either, so he pulls out and touches the zapper to the top of my breast. I cry out. My body jerks at the electrocution, causing the weights on the nipple clamps to swing and tug on my nipples more.

“Shit!” I cry out.

Pausing, he reaches between my legs and fondles my clit. My body grasps at arousal. Out of desperation, maybe. Or maybe because it thinks a magnificent orgasm awaits on the other side. A part of me welcomes the torture, either because I used to like it—the gain was worth the pain every time with Darren—or because I feel guilty. For what specifically, I’m not sure. Maybe for everything.

He slides his cock back into my mouth and zaps me on the other breast and on my arm. His cock partially muffles my screams. Reaching for the hem of my dress, he hikes it up past my pelvis and belly. As he starts to buck his hips, he zaps the places he’s exposed. Every movement of mine causes the weights to swing or bounce, but my body can’t not react to the zapper. The only silver lining is that I manage to cover the switchblade with my body. Hopefully he forgets about it.

“The sooner I come, the sooner we’ll be done with the zapping,” he tells me.

I do my best to suck him off while my body flails upon the table beneath a rain of electric shocks.

For Ethan, I remind myself over and over.

Darren starts thrusting harder. I hear him grunt and groan. He’s getting closer. My cheeks are sore. My throat is sore. My nipples are beyond sore.

When he comes, I feel like I’ve been through a marathon without the benefit of prior training. It’s hard to swallow upside down, so his cum runs out the sides of my mouth.

A final shudder runs through him before he finally withdraws. I get a reprieve, which can be good or bad because, if he’s done with me, what comes next?