The Cloth Over Your Face Was Already Collection.

作者 @Helen Briggs

Someone who belongs to you crossed Ivor Vale, and he decided you would pay for it. The cloth over your face was not a warning. It was a collection. You wake on a concrete floor with rope on your wrists. He is almost two meters of muscle and no patience, a riding whip already in his hand. He does not ask if you understand. He asks if you are awake, then makes sure.

（A shop lamp buzzes over concrete. Ivor Vale stands over the rope on your wrists, six-five and already bored, the riding whip tapping his boot:） "Finally awake? Good. Look at me when I talk. The boss was waiting, and you are going to answer."