I don't take his hand; I can't. I'm frozen to the spot and the lump of fear in my throat is so big I can't swallow it down, can't suck any air down past it. Chills race down my spine, settling in the core of my belly, freezing me from the inside out. I cling to Jack but he prises my fingers away from him and pushes me up, towards Damon. I open my mouth. Close it again. I can't even make any noise. I want to, but I can't. My voice won't work.
I know Jack senses my fear, but he doesn't save me. Instead, he stands up and faces Damon, fixing his stare on my scary, eldest brother.
"Don't be too hard on her," Jack says. "She's new to this, and she's little. Just go easy on her."
The look Damon shoots Jack would have made a lesser man wither on the spot, but Jack doesn't even react, he just places his hand on my back and presses gently, silently telling me that I need to go with Damon before I make this worse for myself.
I don't move. Not because I don't want to, but because I can't. I can't bring myself to make my feet move. Damon holds his hand out to me again but I still don't reach for it. I know I should, and I will myself to just reach out and grab it, but I can't do it. I don't know if Damon knows this, or if he's just losing patience with me, but he steps towards me and his fingers enclose around my wrist, gripping tightly, tugging me along behind him as he marches down the hallway.
I have no choice but to hurry along behind him. I try to resist, but my efforts are futile. I'm tiny, and Damon is huge. He's clearly used to bending men to his will. His little sister is no match for him. I freak out completely. Damon's eyes were so cold, his voice so icy. His fingers are around my wrist in a death grip and I can't escape. He's pulling me along as though I weigh nothing. I can't get the image of him shooting those men in cold blood, out of my head. I see it again now, replaying in slow motion, in my mind. I see him stagger and fall, clutching his chest. I see the callous, calculated way my oldest brother holsters his weapon, turning away, acting like he doesn't even care. Like taking a life is nothing.
And suddenly I'm petrified. If Damon can take three lives so easily, without even reacting, am I even safe? Is that what he's going to do to me? Shoot me?
Panic wells up in me once more and I start to hyperventilate. I've never been so terrified in all my life. The fear I felt in the car watching the murders unfold is nothing to the terror I'm feeling now. Before, I didn't really think my life was in danger, I was frightened for my brothers. But right now, I'm scared for my life. I'm truly frightened of this man dragging me along, and I truly believe he's going to hurt me. I dig my toes into the plush carpet and try in vain to grab at the door frames as we go past, but. Damon is too strong. I don't think he even notices my attempts at escape.
"No! Please don't kill me!" I scream, hauling back with all my might, desperately trying to escape my brother's clutches. "Please," I beg, tears streaming down my face. "Please just let me go. Please! I promise I'll be good, I promise, just please don't kill me!"
Damon stops walking and turns to face me.
"What did you just say?" he asked, incredulous. "Why would you think I'm going to kill you? I'm not going to kill you - I'm going to spank you."
But it's like I don't even hear him. I'm lost in terror, seeing only those men being shot at the hand of my brother. I'm blinded by my tears. My heart is racing, and I can't get enough air into my lungs. I gulp desperately, trying to inhale enough oxygen to scream.
"Please don't shoot me!" I beg, my knees buckling as I crumple to the floor. But Damon's still holding my wrist in his iron grip and he hauls me back up to my feet, wrapping his free arm around me to steady me. I thrash against him, even more frightened now.
"Let me go!" I scream. But he doesn't let go. He looks at me, his dark eyes flashing, and I know that my life is about to end.
"Shush." He presses his hand over my mouth, effectively silencing me, then picks me up around the waist with the hand that was holding my wrist, pinning me up in the air against his hip, leaving my arms and legs dangling, flailing helplessly.
His hands are huge and he's insanely strong. I'm fighting - kicking and squirming, screaming against him, hitting at his legs with my fists. But he carries me effortlessly up the stairs and into his bedroom. Someone's bedroom, anyway. All I know is, it's not mine. It's masculine, dark and foreboding. The furniture is heavy, solid, dark. The duvet on the king size bed is black. The room is immaculate, with nothing out of place. Is this where he's going to kill me? In here? It makes sense, I suppose. The black everything will hide the stains of my blood.
He lays me gently on the bed, sitting down beside me, holding me securely with his arms around my waist. He releases my mouth but grasps my chin instead, making me look at him. I don't want to look at him - I don't want to see those cold, dark eyes boring into me - but I don't have a choice. He's holding me firmly, tilting my face to his. I'm trembling in fear, genuinely frightened for my life.
"Listen to me," he commands softly, but sternly at the same time. His voice sounds even deeper than before. A shiver runs down my spine, making me tremble. "Carrie, listen."
At the sound of my name I tense up. Naming me before he kills me makes it too real. Did he call the men he shot by name before he pulled the trigger?
"I have no intention of killing you. Whatever gave you that idea?"
He stares into my eyes and I can't look away, thanks to the grip he still has on my chin. I don't reply, but he keeps looking at me, obviously expecting an answer.
"Carrie!" he says sharply. "Answer me!"
"B...be...because before you... you... sh... shot..." I'm crying so hard I can't even get the words out, but he seems to know what it is I'm trying to say, and he sits me up, wrapping an arm around me, gently wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumb.
"Carrie, listen to me." He shakes me gently, just enough to ensure he has my attention, and he stares into my eyes, his gaze steady. I look at him, my heart still pounding in fear. "Carrie, that was self-defense. I had to shoot to save Jack's life, and possibly yours, too. Once they heard your scream and became aware of your presence, they shot at you. Do you remember the bullet hitting the side of the car? If I didn't shoot those men, we wouldn't still have Jack with us today. We may not have you. I didn't shoot them for no reason, Carrie, or because I wanted to. I shot them because I had to. I had to kill them, to keep our brother, and you, safe. Do you understand?"
I nodded, but I didn't understand, not really. Well I understood the self-defense bit. I understood the whole "kill or be killed" thing. I knew that was how nature worked. But I had no clue what my brothers were doing in a public carpark with dodgy people and guns in the first place. What was going on? Was I in danger? Was I right to be afraid?
Damon picked me up and shifted me so I sat on his lap. He put his hand under my chin, shifting my face so I had to look at him.
"You are not in any danger Carrie, but what happened today is a prime example of why it is important that you do exactly what you are told, straight away, without question. This was one of those life and death moments Jack talked about. I know Nick told you to stay put when he shut you in the car, and I know Paul told you several times to be quiet, to get down, to stay down. Paul was charged with keeping you safe Carrie, and by disobeying him like you did, you made his job so much harder. He had to end up leaving the carpark and taking you to safety, leaving us all with just the one car, making it much harder for us to do our job."
I could feel all the blood draining from my face. It was my fault Jack nearly got shot! Ice went through my veins.
"I nearly got Jack killed," I whispered in disbelief and horror.
"No Carrie." Damon's answer was blunt, sharp. "No, you did not nearly get Jack killed. There was a gun trained on Jack long before you drew attention to yourself. But what you did do was endanger yourself, and make both our job and Paul's job harder. You could have gotten yourself injured, Carrie. That's why it's so important that you listen, and do exactly what you are told without hesitation. It's so much harder for us to keep you safe if you don't."
I nodded my understanding. I got it, I truly did. I didn't like it, and the whole guns and shooty-shooty-dead situation didn't make any sense to me, but I understand now what Jack was talking about, and why they went on and on about obedience so much.
"Okay, I get it," I said. "Can I go now?" I stood up, getting off Damon's lap, and tried to tug myself free from his grasp, but he wouldn't let go.
"No Carrie, you may not go," Damon told me firmly. "I'm glad you understand what you did wrong, and why it's so important that you obey us. But I need to take care of your disobedience. It's very, very important that you learn this lesson."
I feel my eyes widen as I look at my eldest brother in horror. "I've learnt my lesson, truly I have!" I cry, panic tinging my voice.
"Breaking the rules has consequences, Carrie." Damon's voice is deep and low, authoritative and stern, but it's not cold or angry. It's not even scary, anymore. If anything, it's soothing. Reassuring. Even if his words frighten me, his tone doesn't.
Damon guided me to stand in front of him, between his knees. Because he was sitting down, we were at the same eye level and he held my gaze. His hands reached for mine, holding them gently, his thumbs holding my knuckles.
"I need you to calm down. Take a few deep breaths and calm yourself down. I want to discipline you, not traumatize you."
"You want to hurt me," I corrected him. But I did as he said and inhaled deeply, feeling some of the anxiety leave my body as air filled my lungs.
"I do not want to hurt you," Damon countered. "But you do need to be held accountable for your misbehavior."
"So you're going to hurt me."
Damon frowned. "I'm going to spank you, yes."
"And it's going to hurt." Why wouldn't he just admit that he was no better than them? That he was going to hurt me, simply because he could? Because he was bigger and stronger, and I was smaller and weaker, and therefore he was going to hurt me.
"Yes Carrie, it's going to hurt. But I don't want to hurt you just to hurt you. Punishments are unpleasant; they're designed that way. But I think you're smart enough to know the difference between a deserved punishment, that you've earned, and the abuse that you used to suffer at the hands of horrible people who only wanted to inflict pain on you."
I looked down at the ground. I didn't want to admit it, but I did understand. But that didn't mean I was just going to stand there and accept what he was about to do to me.
"Is it the same as the difference between shooting someone in self-defense and shooting them dead in cold blood?" I asked, a little bit too much sass in my tone. I had no idea why I was being sassy right now. Of all the times to let that side of me show, why was I doing it now, when I'd just freaked out about Damon's ability to kill, and when I knew he was about to punish me? Why was I deliberately making this worse for myself?
Damon smirked. "Similar, I guess, yes."
He pulled me closer to him and took a hold of my wrist.
"You don't seem frightened any more, so let's get this out of the way."
I tried to tug away from him, but he didn't even act like he noticed my feeble attempts. Instead, he guided me to lie across his lap, lifting me into position, despite my struggles. My fighting and squirming had no bearing on him whatsoever, he just effortlessly lifted me, placed me over his thighs, and held me down with a hand on my back.
"Be still," he commanded, shifting me so my butt was high in the air. I grabbed at his pants leg, twisting the fabric in my fingers.
"Why are you in this position, over my knee, about to be spanked?" Damon asked me in a rough voice.
My heart was in my throat and all the blood was rushing to my head. I couldn't answer. What was I supposed to say?
Damon rested his hand on my bottom. "I'm waiting, Carrie," he told me sternly.
I took a deep breath, trying to find the courage to speak.
"Because I disobeyed Nick and Paul," I said quietly, my voice barely audible.
"That's right," Damon confirmed. "And you put yourself in danger in the process."
The first smack to my left butt cheek took my breath away. The sting was awful and my whole body jolted with the intensity of the blow. Without a pause, Damon's hand came down again, on my right butt cheek this time, even harder than before.
I kicked and squirmed, but it was impossible to escape Damon's punishing hand. His flattened palm fell again and again, hard and fast, landing on alternate cheeks in a quick rhythm. The smacks were so fast I couldn't even count them, and the pain of each smack blurred into the next until I couldn't separate one from the other and the fire on my bottom got more and more intense.
Despite my determination not to cry, Damon soon brought me to tears, and that ever-familiar panic started to well up within me again. I couldn't take too much more of this.
"Stop!" I screamed. "Please stop!"
I fought against him with all my might, pushing back up against his restraining hand, kicking with my feet, pressing my hands against his leg, trying to pry myself up and free.
Damon didn't stop. If anything, he started spanking harder. Over and over again his wicked hand fell, scorching my bottom through my jeans, making me sure it was going to burst into flames at any second.
"Please!" I screamed, panicking completely now. "Please, you have to stop!"
This time, he must have noticed my abject terror because he did stop. He didn't let me up, but he stopped spanking me, and he rested his spanking hand on my stinging bottom, while rubbing circles on my back with his other hand.
"Breathe," he commanded softly. "You're okay, just breathe."
The absence of the smacks and the gentle rubbing up and down my spine slowly soothed me, and I managed to get my breathing under control. I was still sobbing, but much softer now, and my hiccups weren't as frequent as when the panic was overwhelming me.
I don't know how long I lay there for, but it was probably only a few minutes. Just long enough for me to calm down, but not stop crying completely.
"I want this lesson to stick," Damon said, reaching underneath me to undo my jeans, sliding them and my panties down my thighs to my knees, baring my ass. "So I'm going to give you a few more on your bare bottom, and then it will be over."
"No, please no," I whimpered, but Damon was determined.
"Yes," he said. "I want you to remember this."
"I got shot at!" I pointed out. "I watched my brother shoot people! I will remember this, I can't possibly forget!" My voice was shrill, high pitched with terror at the prospect of a bare bottom spanking. Damon's hand had hurt more than I had ever thought it could possibly hurt, and that had been with a layer of cotton and denim between my skin and his punishing palm. I shuddered to think how much it would hurt without that meager protection in place.
"I want you to remember this spanking," Damon said. "I want you to remember what happens when you disobey direct orders."
I choked on a sob, but before I could react further, Damon's hand came down hard in a stinging slap, right in the center of my bottom. Another smack followed, on the juncture where my bottom met my thighs.
I shrieked, an ear-piercing scream that echoed around the room and bounced off the walls.
"Quiet," Damon ordered, as he landed another hard smack, right to my sit spots. "Taking a bullet would hurt a lot worse than this, and that is what nearly happened to you today."
"I'm sorry!" I wailed, twisting the fabric of his pants tightly in my fists. "I'm sorry!" I cried again, desperate for this to be over. The visions of what happened today, haunting me. "I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I will listen from now on, I promise!"
"I'm sure you will," Damon said, as he brought his hand down hard again, right across the fullest part of my bottom. "But it would have been best if you'd listened the first time."
A flurry of rapid-fire spanks followed, much harder than the previous ones, landing at random all over my bottom. It was impossible to predict where the next one would fall. All I could do was kick and sob and squeeze my fists tight, and hope that it would soon be over.
And it was.
I didn't even know precisely when the spanking stopped, I was crying too hard to know. But my jeans were around my ankles, mostly on the floor from me kicking so much, and Damon's hand rested on my lower back while his other hand played gently with my hair.
When my sobs had subsided a little bit, he lifted me to stand in front of him and he fixed my pants for me, before guiding me to sit on his lap. He sat me gently, mindful of my burning bottom, and hugged me to his muscular chest. His strong arms wrapped around me securely, offering protecting and comfort now, instead of punishment. He held my head gently against his chest and let me cry, my tears wetting his shirt.
Damon didn't say anything - he didn't need to. All his words had already been said, and his arms were giving me the comfort that I craved. He didn't rush me, he just let me sit, and sob, and slowly calm down. He held me tight against him until my ragged breathing evened out and my sniffling hiccups stopped and my hands let go of the fistfuls of his shirt that I had been clutching so fiercely. My eyes closed, my tears dried on my cheeks, and I leaned against him, fast asleep, completely worn out.
I was only semi-aware of him laying me down on his bed, covering me in a light blanket, and sitting beside me until I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.