Table of Contents One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Bound A Caged Novella D H SIDEBOTTOM Bound, A Caged Novella By D H Sidebottom Copyright © 2017 This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual places, incidents and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2017 D H Sidebottom. Please do not copy, alter or redistribute this book. Please secure author’s permission before sharing any extracts of this book. One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen One Anderson Spit hit my face, along with the sticky jet of blood, when the heel of my foot connected with the sharp bone protruding from his shin. The sound of his lungs emptying, and the thud as he dropped to the floor beneath me, was harmonious. Calming. Uplifting. Exhilarating. Adrenaline raced through me, electrifying my nerve endings and lighting up the place within me that hungered for violence and bloodshed. Every single hair on my body buzzed with energy. My lungs vibrated with the quick succession of each breath. My heart pounded with the rush of liquid power being forced around my body. Pure, undiluted euphoria took me to the next step, and I finished him with one formidable stamp on his windpipe. The room went wild, the screams and calls of my name filling my lungs with gratifying life. The feel of my arm being lifted high in the air took away the subdued thirst that was always fighting to be quenched. “Good fight, Cain,” Marty shouted in my ear as he struggled to be heard over the din bouncing around the small warehouse. Nodding, I pulled my arm free and made to exit the cage. The crowd knew not to swarm, my reputation for no shit now a well-rehearsed ritual with the bloodthirsty fuckers who paid to watch death and destruction. “Need servicing, Anderson?” Lisa, the fight whore, grinned widely at me from the doorway of the room the fight coordinators tried to pass off as a dressing room. Sighing when I lifted an eyebrow at her, she shrugged and nodded. “One day, you’ll give in.” I laughed coldly and stared at her. “I don’t do tramps.” Her eyes widened, but familiar with my cruel quips by now, she blew out a breath and walked away. The door swung closed behind her and I finally let out the breath that had been stuck in my lungs since I’d watched another soul leave its host because of me – and my sickness. But it was only this that brought me any small piece of calm. I wasn’t proud of what I did, nor did I want to step into the cage time after time. If I lost, then Sam would be without both of his parents. And that wasn’t something I allowed myself to think about. Yet, in a way, it gave me the resolve to win every fight, the force to do what needed to be done. Cold air hit my face when I stepped out of the metal doors, and wrapping my coat tighter to my body, I whistled into the silence. Red emerged from where she lay waiting for me behind one of the industrial bins. Although she had been out in the chilly February air, her coat was warm to touch, her soft fur warming to my cold hands. Digging my fingers into the soft place behind her ear, she snuggled into my hand and greeted me with a blink of her large grey eyes and a soft whine. “Okay, girl. Let’s go home.” She trotted on ahead, sniffing and exploring our usual route home. I often wondered how she found so many new smells since the last time we had walked that way was only a few days, but she did, and she enjoyed it every single time. The canal, which was usually quiet at this time of night, was scattered with a few teenagers, their discarded cans of cider, chip wrappers and cigarette butts littering the gravel walkway. However, they paid no attention to me or Red as we passed them, their focus on a tall boy’s phone as he streamed what sounded like porn for the others to watch and jeer at. Jessie’s car was parked on the driveway leading up to the house, and Red, as was customary, stopped to sniff each wheel as she walked by. “Come on, girl,” I shouted over my shoulder when I slid the key in the front door and waited for her to trot in front of me. She shook her coat as soon as we hit the heat of the house, and I slipped from mine. “Hey, Anderson,” Jessie greeted in her characteristic cheery tone when I walked into the kitchen. “Good night at work?” “Yeah, very productive, thank you.” She smiled, pushing her arms through her coat and taking the cash from me as I held it out for her. “Well you know where I am when you need me next. Not a peep from Sam, as usual. He’s such a good kid.” I grinned, nodding in agreement. “He is.” “Oh,” she called over her shoulder. “Robbie’s here. He’s in the basement.” “Right.” Waiting until I heard the door close behind her, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and made my way down the wooden steps. A shudder ripped through me with each slat my foot landed on. This place held so many memories; some good, some very bad. But all of them contained an image of Kloe. My heart ached once again and I bit my tongue to subdue each emotion that threatened to drown me. This room was full of her. Everything I touched made me feel her with me; the bed, the wall, even the floor was coated in a memory of her, some uplifting, some horrific. “Hey.” Robbie looked up at me when he heard me walk down. He was sat on the bed – the one I could never bear to part with – and slowly ran the leather tail of the whip through his fingers. His eyes were dark and cold on me as I walked towards him, and I swallowed at the heat that boiled in the pit of my gut. “Thought you might need to release some of that pent-up energy.” A mischievous smirk transformed his hard stare into an excited glint as his eyes roamed down my body. “Although looking at the bruises on you, I’m not so sure I should make any more.” I gritted my teeth at the way my cock throbbed with the promise of pain he could give me. “I’m always up for more, you know that.” Taking the hem of my t-shirt, I lifted it over my head and threw it to the floor. Then, submitting completely, I lowered myself to my knees before him. His hand on the top of my head made me jerk away, and he sighed, as if my reaction to his touch hurt him. “It always amazes me how tenderness shocks you. Yet the bite of pain doesn’t.” “It’s always been the way,” I answered, locking my eyes on the cold concrete floor before me. “Hmm,” he mused. “Not always though, eh?” “Not now, Rob.” He shrugged when I flicked my eyes upwards and scowled at him in warning. “When then, Anderson? When are you going to deal with the grief? It’s been two fucking years.” His sudden anger surprised me, yet, strangely, I had expected it. My mind was torn two ways. Open up to my best friend and allow him to take the crushing weight of my shattered soul, or keep it within me and keep her memory sacred. “One day.” It was a vague answer, and Robbie knew that, but he let it ride, his touch on my head almost loving. Our relationship wasn’t one of sentimentality. It was raw and harsh, cruel and depraved. Except I couldn’t stop myself from craving the sting of agony he gave me. The truth was that, with Sam, I could deal with the grief. Kloe lived on in the happy and gentle soul of our son. I saw her in him every day. Every time his eyes lit up when I walked into the room, each laugh that burst from him, and the simple way he slept with his hands tucked under his cheek, reminded me of Kloe. I could cope with her death when I took him in my arms, or bathed him, or played with him. He allowed my heart to keep beating, and without him I wasn’t sure where life would have taken me after I lost her. “Bend over the bed.” Robbie’s voice brought me back to the present and I did as he asked immediately. I hated that I submitted to him so easily. My personality was demanding and domineering. However, most of my early years had been oppressing and intimidating, and it was too late to change that now. My body, and my spirit, craved it. Pain and authority were the only things that settled the unremitting hunger inside me. Robbie’s hands slipped around my waist and I sucked in a long breath when his fingers snapped at the button of my jeans. My cock strained, the denim constricting and causing me to release a groan of virtual agony. “Breathe, Anderson.” His growl in my ear triggered a shiver to travel along my bones, the need in me growing stronger by the second. He moved back and my body instinctively stiffened in preparation for the coming strike of pain. And he didn’t disappoint. Adrenaline and endorphins shot into every nerve ending when the lash of pain numbed my mind and allowed my body to feel. Sweet, euphoric agony dug deep, blinding the pain of life and liberating the pain of suffering. Not many would understand my need for pain, my need for the freedom to ride in my veins, yet, it was all I’d had for so many years of my life. It had been the only thing I had felt, the only sensation and stimulation my sorry life had contained. It was an addiction. My senses dependant on the only stimulus that had ever touched my body and given it some sort of purpose. More thrashes across my back brought more and more shots of ecstasy, each one building me higher and higher until I thought my cock was going to burst. Reading me perfectly, Robbie reached around and freed me from the confines of my jeans, my cock throbbing so hard it was almost as if it was begging him for release. “Take yourself,” he growled, as desperate as I was for some relief. Wrapping my fingers around my cock, I squeezed hard and started to slide my hand up and down. Robbie pulled his cock free and matched my own movement, until both of us were in sync, our wanking one of rhythm,