Breaking Hammer Read online

  hoping it would numb me to whatever was about to happen. "Can I ask where we are going?"

  "You can," he said, "but it's a surprise." He looked at me, his eyes glazed, and I forced a smile, swallowing the rest of the liquid, searing as it made its way down my throat.

  Behind me, he traced his finger down the middle of my back, across the open expanse of my skin. I shuddered at his touch, which only seemed to encourage him. He reached for my glass, took it from my hand and set it on a table.

  Then his breath was on the nape of my neck, causing the tendrils of hair to brush against the bottom of my neck and sending a shiver up my spine. "I allowed you to talk to your son," he said.

  "Yes." I feared what he might be about to say.

  "Do you see how I reward you when you behave?" he asked. I was confused for a moment, not sure whether he was saying that my reward was talking to my son, or what he was about to do now. Because being with him was certainly not a reward.

  But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I said, "Yes. I am grateful for your kindness."

  He lifted the hem of my skirt, reached between my legs without waiting for me to spread them. "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness."

  "I never do, Aston." I would never mistake his behavior for kindness. I felt him pull his hand away from me, and for a moment thought that perhaps I was getting off easy tonight, being let go untouched. But from behind me I heard him unzip his pants, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper. I felt his hand in the middle of my back, pushing me toward the bed, and bending me over.

  I looked at painting hanging in the center of the wall in front of me, some abstract piece of art all reds and purples. I lost myself in the colors of the painting.

  When he put his hands around my neck, I felt myself begin to feel dizzy, hazy. The old man who had bought me first, my son's father, was the one who had choked me over and over, who had brought me to the brink of death again and again. He had made my life dependent on his touch.

  What Aston did now was child's play.

  I felt lightheaded, but I didn't fight it. I had learned a long time ago not to fight it. When it was finally over, my head was still spinning, but I hadn't blacked out. Aston let go of me and walked into the bathroom.

  "Pull yourself together," he said. "We're going to be late."

  Smoothing my trench coat, I looked around the entry to the foyer. It was elegant, the massive entryway open and airy, with ceilings so high they seemed to belong in a cathedral, not a home. But this was no ordinary home. This was the home of Dennis Stanton. This was the home of one of the most prominent men in Las Vegas. One of the most well-connected men in Las Vegas, someone who knew people, who had his finger on the pulse of the political system, politicians under his thumb.

  This fact alone made him very powerful. And very dangerous.

  And, rumor had it that his predilections tended to be rather...extreme.

  My breath caught in my throat at the thought that Aston had brought me here.

  I couldn't know what he had in store for me, but it wasn't good.

  Before I could think about anything else, someone was immediately behind me, removing my jacket, and I felt my shoulders bared, the cool of the air on my skin.

  Aston appraised me, his lips turned up in a smile. "Fantastic," he said, his gaze lingering on me.

  He'd chosen lingerie for me specifically for this occasion- black lace, thigh-high stockings and heels, the outfit the price of a month's rent, I was sure.

  "Madam." The girl sauntered up to us, dressed only in heels and panties, her breasts perky and too large for her frame to be natural. She presented a tray with flutes of champagne and I took one, holding it but not sipping. I needed to keep my wits about me at a place like this.

  "Thank you." I turned to Aston, and felt his hand at the small of my back. I cringed at his touch, the touch of my captor, but I reminded myself not to pull away. He guided me forward, through the people mingling in the house. It looked like any other cocktail party held by the city's upper crust - except for the fact that no one was wearing much of anything. The air felt charged with electricity and lust, and I could sense eyes on me, the little bit of clothing I had providing no protection from their stares.

  Aston laced his fingers through mine, pulling me toward the curved staircase, my heels clicking on the marble as we walked. I followed him wordlessly toward the rooms upstairs, my heart rate increasing as we got closer.

  "You know this place well?" I asked. But it was less of a question than a statement. He was obviously familiar with this house, and with whatever the rules of this event were. Of course, rules didn't apply to Aston.

  "It's not your place to ask questions," he said.

  He led me down a hallway, pausing with me to stop at each room we passed, most of them with open doors. I didn't want to know what was happening behind closed doors.

  "What interests you, doll?" he asked, gesturing toward one of the rooms. He asked the question, his voice excessively polite, as if I had a choice in the matter at all. It wasn't even pretense- it was sarcasm. He liked reminding me that I never had a choice.

  Inside the room, a man led a woman on all fours on a leash across the room, a blindfold covering her eyes. I watched as she was led to another man, who stood in front of her, his dick erect near her face. Her blonde hair tumbled down her back as she arched up on her knees to reach his cock, using her tongue to lick the length of him. From behind her, the man bound her hands, rendering her powerless.

  "Perhaps you should join her," Aston said.

  My heart skipped a beat, but I wouldn't show Aston any fear. "Perhaps," I said, keeping my voice even, measured. Calling his bluff.

  He watched me through narrowed eyes. "A little more browsing."

  I wondered what special torture he was trying to find for me.

  In the next room, a woman clad in a black vinyl cat suit stood, a man on the ground at her feet, his mouth at the toe of her stiletto boots. A couple standing just inside the door watching them turned toward us, the woman's diamond earrings flashing in the darkness. She looked like someone famous, but I couldn't place her. Maybe a socialite.

  Aston pulled me away quickly. "Not my scene," he said. "Maybe something less private."

  He pulled me back into the hallway, toward the balcony that wrapped around the foyer. We would be front and center entertainment for anyone walking through the hallway, as well as for anyone looking up from the foyer below. It's what he wanted, to show me off to everyone here. To humiliate me.

  I bit the bottom of my lip, willing the shakiness inside me to abate. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that I was ashamed. Afraid. I would let him take me, do what I had to do to survive.

  I heard the sounds of the music from the foyer downstairs, classical, a piano piece I didn't recognize, but the equivalent of a white noise background. The murmurs of voices, hushed whispers and moans of pleasure, added another layer of white noise. Aston touched me, his finger trailing up the back of my neck. His touch chilled me to the bone.

  I sometimes wondered if sex could be anything other than how it was for me, all mixed up with rage and hate and shame. I envied the people who could enjoy tender lovemaking with someone they cared about, who could look into the eyes of a lover and feel like they were sharing a piece of their soul. Not like me, with the layers upon layers of protection I'd built into my very essence. For me, there would never be that kind of sharing with another person.

  I felt Aston's hand trail up my behind, his fingers slip underneath the fabric of my panties, wandering down between my legs. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You're not enjoying this? I would hate to think that you weren't." He laughed, the sound harsh.

  You know I hate you, I thought. But I said, "Yes, of course, I'm enjoying you."

  I felt Aston’s hands on my shoulders, as he turned me to face the stairway. I watched as a man made his way up the stairs, shirtless, clad in black silk pants. With his dark hair, greying at the temples,