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behind?”
    “Of course, it’s hers.” Griggs turned the bag around so Hanson could see the HELLO KITTY logo.
    It didn’t make sense. The rope was here, but the killer hadn’t used it?
    “Ligature marks?” Hanson glanced over at Miles.
    Miles shrugged.
    “Only a slight abrasion on one wrist. Something that could be a rope burn under one breast. If she was tied up at some point, she wasn’t when she died.”
    The rope was pristine, without a drop of rusty red, unlike the body on the bed. The dead girl was staring through blackening, half-closed eyes at the ceiling. Her matted hair seemed to be blond. She was naked, and what appeared to be a T-shirt, jeans, bra, and pink satin bikinis were scattered on the floor and bed. All were ripped and torn.
    “What’s this? A tattoo?”
    With the tip of a gloved finger, Hanson wiped a small bit of blood away for a better look.
    The small circular emblem looked a little like a yin and yang symbol, but with three curving divisions instead of just two. It looked vaguely familiar.
    “Was she raped?” he asked.
    Miles grimaced. “Too messy to tell.”
    “Aww, shit.” Hanson rubbed his eyes. “And her tongue?”
    “Gone.”

Chapter 10
    But you wished to be my plaything, my slave! You found the highest pleasure in feeling the foot, the whip of an arrogant, cruel woman. What do you want now?
    —L EOPOLD V ON S ACHER -M ASOCH , Venus in Furs
     
     
     
     
    “T hat’s my good boy, ooh, isn’t him my precious widdle baby?”
    Lady Cassandra sat back in the faded Victorian sofa, one of the Pekingese cradled in her arms, scratching the animal behind the ears.
    “Mmmmf.” The voice behind the ball gag came out in a muffled whine, not all that different from the rest of Lady Cassandra’s dogs, which were now scratching at the other side of the door.
    “Shut up, Randall. You were late. You know what the punishment for that is.”
    The punishment was being made to wait in the corner, with the ball gag firmly in his mouth. That, and the shoes. Five-inch heels that barely fit his big feet. Pink shoes.
    It wasn’t the pain he minded; he was a hard masochist—that was why he adored his Lady Cassandra. But he was not into sissification. That was a hard limit and she damned well knew it.
    Still, he didn’t have the balls to call Red . He needed to please her too badly. Other mistresses had all cut him loose, for reasons that were never clear to him.
    But not Lady Cassandra. For that, he would suffer the shoes, the stockings she sometimes made him wear—even the pink ribbons braided around his prick.
    So he wobbled on the heels, legs trembling, with hands clasped behind his back.
    He was disappointed that he was not even allowed to look at her while he waited. She was wearing that lovely blue kimono again.
    She was on the phone, talking as if he were just another piece of furniture.
    “You listen to me,” came Lady’s voice. “I never promised you that.”
    Her voice had turned deep and deadly. It made the hair on Randall’s neck stand up. He knew where her anger would go as soon as she hung up the phone.
    “Those photos don’t matter because there will always be new ones. Apparently, you can’t keep a leash on him any better than I could.”
    There was a pause, and then she laughed.
    “I wouldn’t care if you were God himself. Your ass is on the line here, not mine. You just remember that.”
    He heard the sofa creak and the sound of her heels crossing the floor.
    “Go to the bench and bend over. You know the position. Hurry up!”
    The vinyl padding was cool against his stomach as he stretched his cuffed arms and ankles toward the legs of the bench.
    She took a crop off the wall and swung it a few times. He could hear it cut through the air. The anticipation made his prick twitch.
    Thwap!
    She brought the crop down on his ass and he gasped. She was swinging hard, right out of the gate.
    “No warm-up for a piece of shit like you,” she said.
    Thwap, thwap,