Geomancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 5)

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Juan said to Eric.

Eric’s voice was meek. “Yes.”

Juan let go of her throat so suddenly her body projected forward without the pressure of his hand. She drew in shaky, burning breaths, grasping his arms now that she didn’t need to support her weight any longer. She pried at his wrists and pulled at his sleeves, but she was no match for his strength. He grabbed the hem of her dress and whipped it up, exposing her underwear.

Eric wiped his face again and fixed his gaze on the table somewhere behind her.

Juan’s calm voice lashed like a whip through the room. “Look at her cunt.”

Eric’s Adam apple bobbed. Nervously, he dropped his gaze to the center of her legs. Asia pinched her eyes shut, wishing for the earth to swallow her.

“Would you like to fuck it?”

“No,” Eric said with a trembling voice.

Juan dropped the hem of her dress. “Five hundred each and not a cent more. Think you can manage that?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Good. That’s all.”

Like the other men, Eric knew when he was dismissed. He stumbled when he took a backward step. Not looking at them, he rushed from the room.

She stared at Juan in terror, trying hard not to show her fear. Her body felt battered, and her throat was on fire.

“He lied,” he said quietly. “He wanted to fuck you so badly he was ready to come in his pants.” He twisted her hair around his hand and pulled until her eyes watered. “You see what happens when you humiliate me in front of my business partners?” He kissed her lips softly. “I have to retaliate in kind.”

He let her go and took a step back. “Finish your breakfast. I don’t care what you do for the rest of the morning, but be ready for the excursion at eleven. The boat leaves at eleven-thirty.”

She touched the hated collar and asked in a croaky voice, “What about this?”

“I control it by remote. As long as you’re a good girl and stay where I tell you to, you’ll be fine.”

He turned on his heel and left the room. His footsteps echoed down the stairs, and then the bang of the door closed her in the silence of Juan’s lounge. Sliding to the floor with a sob, she hugged herself. The tears she wouldn’t shed in front of him ran down her cheeks. No. That bastard wasn’t worth her tears.

She took a few deep breaths and calmed herself with effort. Squaring her shoulders, she grabbed the edge of the table and straightened onto wobbly legs. Wiping the hair from her forehead, she walked with a straight back to her own unit. Once inside, she turned the water in the shower on a comfortable setting and scrubbed her body until her skin turned red.

As much as she tried not to think about it, the scene kept on repeating in her mind. Hurting her had turned Juan on. It was obvious from the way his erection had tented his pants. He’d meant to humiliate and degrade her, and he’d succeeded.

She turned the water to cold and stood under the spray until her body turned numb. After toweling herself dry, she dressed in her bikini and brushed her hair. Surprisingly, she didn’t sport bruises on her face or neck. Juan had controlled his force carefully. He had to have had lots of practice to know how hard to squeeze without leaving marks.

In the mirror, the silver collar reflected back at her. She fingered the crystal that dangled below the collar as she contemplated her situation. It hadn’t gone further this morning, but it easily could’ve. If Juan decided to fuck her, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. Her jaw tightened with resolve. She’d rather die than willingly give herself to a monster like Juan.

A knock on her front door made her jump. Taking a settling breath, she padded over and opened the door.

Leona stood on the step. “The boat is ready. Come on. Your lover is waiting.”

Chapter 8

Something was definitely up with Asia. Sean watched her from the bar where she sat on a rock with her feet in the water. Juan had left with a handful of his cronies ten minutes earlier for open water fishing. Leona’s idea of a shipwreck adventure experience was to drop the guests off on an uninhabited island and feed them oysters, prawns, and champagne while they waited for the boat to return at sunset. Everyone was drunk or high, including Leona.

The demand for drinks didn’t cease, but with Juan gone, Sean dared to ask his helper, a local from Cartagena, to man the bar for a few minutes. He carried a champagne-cider to Asia.

“Personal service,” he said, handing her the glass.

“Thanks.” She took the glass, squinting up at him. “I was looking for an opportunity to talk to you.”