Last night’s John had crossed the line. She looked at her bruised face, and her sense of the ridiculous deserted her.
She made a phone call.
Three days later a very wealthy man awoke from an unnaturally deep sleep to the awareness he wasn’t in his custom-built bed. Instead he was spreadeagled somehow on some sort of a frame. He went to move his hands, but he couldn’t.
“It looks as if Sleeping Beauty is with us now. He must have pissed somebody off royally.”
He heard the whistle a nanosecond before he felt the bite of the whip.
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