The breath is knocked out of me.
It is Gabriella.
And she has a collar wrapped around her throat.
Chapter Six
GABRIELLA
It is humiliating, the collar. I have to hold back my emotions with every tug of a leash when he starts walking. I didn’t know this was a part of the deal when we were going out, or I would have wanted to stay at the mansion. I’d rather have the damn bracelet around my ankle than this collar.
Everyone’s eyes are on me, burning me with judgment, and they have no idea how much I wanted them to save me from this wicked man.
“My sweet? Do you want anything from this stand?” He yanks on my collar again, and I take two steps forward, staring down at the wide variety of fruits.
“I would love some grapes, Kendrick.”
“Grapes. They are decadent. A fine treat,” he says, paying for the grapes.
A treat? Does he mean in the sense of they are sweet and tasty or a treat for being good?
Like a damn pet.
If my gut tells me anything, it’s that I am right. Kendrick views me as dog. If I do good on this outing with this damn collar on, I’ll get a fucking treat.
There are times when I was angry at him for hitting me, for screaming at me, for calling me worthless, for feeling me up and touching my breasts when I didn’t want him to, but it doesn’t compare to the rage I feel right now.
Fuck his treat. I hope he chokes on it.
As we walk down the street to enjoy the market, smelling popcorn, cotton candy, and donuts, I am taken back to the time I went to the fair when I was a teenager. I loved the smell of funnel cakes, and I loved hearing the enthusiastic screams of people on the rides. There was one I could never make myself ride, The Zipper. It looked too unstable. There were eight or so carts on it and while it swirled like a conveyer belt, the carts flipped upside down.
No. Thank you.
A tug of my collar brings me out of my dream. Silly little dreams, reminding me of what used to be and what would never be again.
My hairs stand on the back of my neck, but not in a way that makes my warning bells go off; it's something different. I look over my shoulder, glancing around to see who is watching me with such intent. There are the regular people staring back of the collar, but that isn’t what I felt. I felt something else.
Something more.
I can’t put my finger on it.
“What are you looking at? Pay attention, my sweet, or their will be consequences.”
“Yes, Kendrick,” I say obediently.
Kendrick isn’t into BDSM or anything sexual, but he very much enjoys the feeling of owning something. It’s sick and a form of abuse I’ll never get used to. He’ll always find a way to make me feel smaller, just like when he strapped the pink collar on me this morning, attached to a matching leash, and then there are the tags.
The silver heart is labeled, “My Sweet.”
My skin prickles from another wave of heat. Something familiar pulls in my stomach, telling me to look around. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.
“I’m going to try something,” Kendrick says. “I’m going to hand you the leash, but I want you to stay and wait for me. If you don’t, I’ll chase you, and the punishment will be severe; do you understand?”
“Yes, Kendrick.” I hold out my palm, and he lays the leash across it, kisses my forehead, and turns away to go to the next vendor.
I stay put, like the good little bitch I am.
While Kendrick speaks with the vendor, that burning sensation claws all over me again, and this time when I turn my head to the left, just in time to see the crowd part, I see him.