Rafe shrugged out of his soaked black shirt, flung it over a chair, and moved it away from the table. “Jax, take a seat over there, would ya?”

Jax gave him a funny look but followed the request.

“No, I need you to turn the chair around, so the back faces the table.”

“Sure thing.” Jax turned the chair and plopped onto it before removing his own wet T-shirt.

My gaze traveled between them, back and forth, and I felt as if I were missing something. I’d just tried to escape. I’d almost drowned, and they were acting nonchalant. Too nonchalant. What the hell was going on here?

Rafe’s gaze fell on me, and for a few heavy moments, I didn’t breathe. That look, his lips thin, eyes narrowed, made my pulse rocket. A clap of thunder sounded, and I jumped.

Rafe pulled the belt from his pants.

I backed up. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t give me a chance to retreat. With a yank on my arm, he brought me closer and wound the belt around my wrists.

“Rafe…please—”

He pulled the leather tight, and I gasped as he bent me over the table with a hard shove. Drops of water landed on the wood, and my breasts flattened against the surface.

He pushed my arms across the table and tossed the other end of the belt at Jax. “Knot it around the chair.”

“Rafe?” My voice came out unusually high-pitched, and I swiveled my head in time to see him take down the paddle he’d pointed out earlier that morning. “You wouldn’t.”

Jax snickered as he attached the belt around a slot in the chair. I pulled on it, but it wouldn’t give.

“I definitely would.” Rafe brought my attention back to him. His voice chilled me, sending dread and remorse through my blood. Dread for what was coming, and remorse for my actions. I should have been smarter about trying to escape. I should have taken a few days to gain his trust first. This attempt had turned into a disaster.

“My old man only used this on my brother and me a handful of times. It hurt like hell, and you can bet your ass we learned quick. You’re about to learn quick too.”

I stiffened as he halted behind me. Waiting for that first strike was the worst part, and when he finally did crack that paddle across my ass, I lost my breath for what seemed like forever, though it must have only been a mere instant before he did it again. I jumped from foot to foot and bit into my lip to keep from yowling. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of voicing my pain.

And I never, ever wanted him to know how this was turning me on. My face burned from humiliation—not from what he was doing, but rather from my own sick reaction to it.