As her eyes bounced around the interior and her hands stroked the sides of the bucket seat, he figured this could be her first car ride. And how cool was that?
“You ever been in one of these before?” he asked.
“Verily, I have not.”
“Well, I’ll take it slow.”
She caught his hand as he straightened. “Does this go fast?”
He laughed a little. “It’s a Porsche. Fast is what it does.”
“Then you shall take us upon the wind! It shall be as my days astride were!”
Manny took a mental snapshot of the wild happiness on her face: She was glowing—and not in the ethereal sense, but in the simple joy-of-life way.
He leaned in and kissed her. “You are so beautiful.”
She captured his face. “And I thank you for it.”
Oh, but it so wasn’t him. What was lighting her up was freedom and health and optimism—and she deserved nothing less out of life.
“I have someone I want you to meet,” he blurted.
Payne smiled at him. “Then drive on, Manuel. Take us into the night.”
After a moment more of staring at her . . . he did just that.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Standing naked in his penthouse, Vishous waited for something . . . anything.
Instead, Butch backed off and disappeared into the kitchen. As he was left to his lonesome, V closed his eyes and cursed. This was a bad idea. You didn’t ask a good Catholic boy to play with the kind of toys V—
The hit came from behind, fast and sure.
It was a modified body slam, and executed beautifully: Two huge arms wrapped him at the chest and the hips and he was slung around and spun out into the far wall by the worktable. Which was when the “slam” part came in: Every square inch of him made impact. No bounce-back, though. No ricocheting.
He was pinned in place by the nape and the ass.
“Arms over your head.”
That growl was like a gun to the back of his skull and V struggled to comply, fighting against the pressure that trapped both his arms in front of his chest. The right side came free first—and the instant his wrist was out from under, it was grabbed and forced into a cuff. Left side happened just as fast.
Then again, cops were good with the steel.
There was a brief release where he was able to catch some air. And then the sound of metal chain links being churned through a gear announced where things were headed: up.
Gradually, his weight shifted off his feet and onto the sockets and lengths of his arms. The ascent stopped right before his toes left the floor completely . . . and then he just hung there, facing toward the windows, breath squeezing in and out of his lungs as he heard Butch moving behind him.
“Open your mouth.”
At the command, V cranked his jaw wide, the joint at his cheekbone cracking, his eyes pulling down at the corners, his facial cuts coming alive with a chorus of howls.
The gag was pulled down over his head and it fit right where it should, the ball squeezing between his fangs and forcing shit open even farther. With a quick jerk, the leather strapping tightened across the back of his skull and the buckle was fastened until it dug into his scalp.
It was a perfect setup: The suspension and the choking confinement did their job, spurring on his adrenaline, making his body strain in so many different ways.
A barbed corset was next, the contraption not going over his shoulders, but around his torso, the metal points on the inside of the leather bindings sinking into his skin. Butch started with the strap right across the sternum, and then it was a case of sequential squeeze, down, down, down . . . until from V’s rib cage to his stomach to the tops of his hips, concentric circles of bright white pain tingled into his spine, shooting north to the receptors in his brain and south into his rock-hard cock.