Tricked

“How’s it feel, cocksucker?” she snapped, enjoying this way too much.

He didn’t reply.

“Get up,” she continued, nearly levitating with adrenaline and her new sense of power. “We’re going down to the basement. You first. You make any sudden move, and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

He rose slowly to his feet. “Can I put something on?” he asked.

Seriously?

A bitter laugh burst from her throat. “No. You’ll stay naked.”

He glared at her, rage radiating from him like an aura. Though she had the weapon, he was still a lot bigger and a lot stronger than she was.

She waved the gun at him. “Put your hands on your head, fingers laced together,” she commanded.

With obvious reluctance, he obeyed.

“Let’s go. You walk in front of me, keeping your hands on your head the whole time. You try anything—anything at all, and I’ll shoot.”

“This is crazy,” he tried, the insincere smile again twisting his lips. “Things got out of hand, I admit. But I can make it up to you. I have a lot of money. Come on, babe. Be reasonable.”

“Don’t call me babe, you son of a bitch!” Callie shouted. Her index finger actually trembled on the trigger, aching to squeeze. It would be so easy…

Calm down, she ordered herself. Don’t let him get to you. You have the power now.

Feeling more in control, she said, “Here’s the deal. I don’t want to hear another fucking word out of your mouth. Now, march.”

He started to say something else, but apparently thought better of it. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he turned and walked toward the bedroom door.

Callie followed him down the hallway to the basement. “Open the door. Then put your hands back on your head and keep them there. Go down the stairs. I’ll be right behind you.”

Damon pulled the door open. He twisted back his head to glance at her.

“Move it,” she ordered.

Facing forward again, he put his hands back on his head and began his descent. Callie followed, two steps behind, the gun trained on the middle of his back.

At the bottom of the stairs, she said, “Let’s see how you like spending some time in the punishment closet.”

“Callie, please. This is nuts. I—”

“Shut the fuck up,” she shouted. “And do what you’re told.”

Her hand was shaking now, not with fear, but with excess adrenaline. Her trigger finger still ached to squeeze.

Just get him in the closet. Lock the door. Call the police. Get yourself free.

He stared from the gun’s muzzle to her face and back to the gun. Then, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, he turned and walked through the basement toward the tiny closet where Callie had spent so many miserable hours.

Skirting around Damon, Callie opened the door, the gun still trained on him. “Get in and face the back wall, hands still on your head.”

Damon’s expression was mutinous, but he did as he was told.

Once he was inside and facing the back wall, she slammed the door shut. With her free hand, she reached into the shirt pocket, fumbling for the right key. Her hand shook as she tried to insert it in the lock.

All at once, the door flew open, knocking her backward. The closet key fell to the concrete. Callie stumbled but managed to right herself before she fell. The gun was still gripped in her hand, the safety off.

Damon burst out of the closet, his handsome face mottled with fury, his hands outstretched. “You fucking bitch,” he shouted, spittle spraying from his lips as he hurtled toward her. “You’re gonna pay, you stupid fucking cunt!”

Instinctively, she leaped aside. He caught her with the side of his hand, hitting her hard against the side of her head. She fell to one knee, nearly stunned from the blow.

“Get away,” she cried in a quavering voice as she hauled herself to her feet. She still had the gun. She waved it toward him. “I’ll kill you. I swear to god, I will!”

“You don’t have the balls,” Damon snarled, again lunging for her.

He leaped on her and they both fell to the floor. In the process, he got a hand around her throat. He was heavy on top of her, and her left arm was twisted painfully beneath her.

Her gun hand was caught between them, the muzzle pressed into Damon’s thigh. As his grip tightened around her throat, pure instinct took over.

Callie squeezed the trigger.

The gun’s report cracked like a sonic boom between them, followed by Damon’s high-pitched scream. He slumped against her, his hand slackening on her throat.

Her ears rang from the blast. Horror pervading her entire being, Callie wriggled from beneath the inert man and rolled away. Her fingers were clenched so tightly around the gun that she couldn’t have dropped it if she’d tried.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” she babbled, backing away. “I killed him. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!”