“You don't know me,” she said, the words pouring sideways out of her mouth.
“Everyone knows you, honey. Kimberly McDaniels. What a beautiful name, too.” He moved her hair to one side and knotted a second swimsuit tie behind her neck, tied a bow, apologized if he'd pulled at her hair.
Kim wanted to make a remark, but she forgot what she was going to say. She couldn't move. She couldn't scream. She could barely keep her eyes open. She looked into the pale gray eyes that caressed her.
He said, “Stunning. You look so beautiful for your close-up.”
She tried to say, “Screw you,” but the words blended together and came out as a long, tired sigh. “Scoooooooo.”
Chapter 7
Inside a private library on the other side of the world, a man named Horst sat back in his leather-upholstered armchair and watched the large HD screen beside the fireplace.
“I like the blue hands,” he said to his friend Jan, who was swirling his drink in a chunky glass. Horst turned up the volume with the remote.
“It's a nice touch,” Jan agreed. “With the swimsuit, and the skin, she is as American as apple pie. Are you quite sure you saved the video?”
“Of course I did. Look now,” said Horst. “Watch now how he quiets his animal.”
Kim was lying on her stomach. She was perfectly hog-tied, her hands behind her back and tethered to her legs, which were bent up at the knees. Along with the red swimsuit, she was wearing shiny black patent leather shoes with five-inch heels and slick red soles. They were top designer shoes, Christian Louboutin, the very best, and Horst thought they looked more like toys than shoes.
Kim was pleading with the man his audience knew as “Henri.” She was sobbing softly. “Please, please untie me. I'll play my role. It will be even better for you, and I'll never tell anyone.”