Dark Surrender

by Quin Zayne

  Didn’t some of them reach the point where they wanted to be caught? What if she was victim number twenty five or something?

  Rolling her eyes, she hurried to match his long stride.

  They slipped into an elevator. Her breathing became faster as the door slid shut, trapping her alone with him. Despite the futuristic glass pod, she had the odd sense she was in the jungle, in too-close proximity to a wild animal, a rampant king with cross-species filth on his mind.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She used to keep her cool at auditions. Her hands shook. Too little sleep, maybe a few too many ‘diet’ pills in the constant attempt to work fast enough to keep the wolf’s jaws from clamping down on her ass.

  To her relief, the billionaire watched the teeming Embarcadero and the ships on the bay. Dapper was faint praise. His ease in his body and the tailored suit that enhanced his broad shoulders conveyed total confidence. He might as well have owned the hotel. Perhaps he did.

  Her racing pulse didn’t allow her to enjoy the view. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart. She hadn’t expected the interview to go on more than an hour. Already, she ached to be alone. The one good thing about doing a lot of crap gigs online: it spared her from dealing with people in person. Two days a week at an espresso counter were more than enough.

  This mattered, though. For the first time in weeks, she felt a glimmer of hope for a future she could stand.

  The doors whooshed open and her sigh sounded as loud. She bit her lip. Damn it, she had to act as though she were fine. He wanted perfection, not a nerve case. If he caught on to her anxiety, it might blow this chance.

  A grim smile took over her mouth. Maybe that was it. He’d want to be blown, next. Walking through a restaurant wasn’t much of an audition with a million dollars at stake. The ad said companionship.

  Damn. He might expect sex as soon as they got to his place. She wasn’t ready for that, not with a stranger. Being too romantic was a downfall. Still, she’d fended off photographers, casting agents, and other models in hopes of a love connection. She wanted her first time to be special.

  A million bucks was pretty damned special, though.

  He led her to another elevator, one that required a key card. This one dropped into the dark. She gasped. Nothing but a dull gold gleam from the elevator’s trim held back the blackness.

  “It’s alright. I’m parked down here. My driver is waiting. You won’t be alone with the bad man for long.” His long incisors caught the faint light.

  “Mind reader,” she quipped, hoping she sounded saucy instead of scared.

  “I hear that a lot.”

  She felt like she was in a vampire movie, and didn’t know whether to be scared or excited.

  To her relief, the sinking feeling stopped with a soft whir and the distinct sensation of the pod landing. The elevator doors whisked open. Straight ahead, a chauffeur held the door of a sleek black car with dark windows. If she didn’t miss her guess, it was an armored car.

  Goosebumps broke out over her arms.

  The chauffeur had the blocky build of a bodyguard and wore an ear piece. A bulge under his suit jacket said he carried a gun.

  The reality that an extremely wealthy man could be a target at any time washed over her. She dug her nails into her palms, pulling herself into the present, overriding panic’s undertow.

  “After you.” Damon Karl gestured her to proceed him into the luxurious back seat.

  She took a long breath, quashing the urge to run. Hiking up her narrow skirt, she stepped into the car.

  Leather and a trace of that fresh scent that emanated from him surrounded her.

  The elegant billionaire sat beside her and closed the door. A faint click marked the moment of no-return.

  The driver started the big machine. It purred. Lyrics, something about running with the devil, reached her before the dark window behind his seat whirred up to the roof.

  Mandy sat sealed in with the man who could change her life.

  She no longer doubted he had the money. More than anything, she wished she could discreetly run an Internet search on him, now that she knew his name. Too bad she didn’t think of it when she called Ken.

  Too late. The car glided out of the underground garage. Mandy made her hands unclench. Nothing to do now but see where they were taking her.

  The driver’s route into the heights where rich people lived in palatial homes didn’t surprise her. The tinted windows gave the city a gold cast, reminding her of Dorothy seeing the Land of Oz in emerald green. This was the lion’s view of the world.

  “Go ahead, ask me anything,” Damon Karl prompted her.

  That surprised her. She shifted to face him on the cushy bench seat.

  “Fasten your seatbelt. Armand is a good driver, but I want to protect you, and it’s the law.” His voice slapped her with a tone of command.

  “Oh, of course.” Blushing, she harnessed herself to the seat. The car climbed a steep hill, making her sit back and grip the leather. “Alright, how did you become a billionaire?”

  Cresting the hill and descending made her stomach flip. They were taking her on a roller coaster.

  “Fair question. Sorry to disappoint you, it isn’t one of those enchanting rags to riches tales. I’m partial to the ones about guys who go from living in refrigerator boxes in alleys to heading multinational corporations.” His mouth quirked. “Sad truth, I was born into wealth, as were my father and his father before him. It’s a dinosaur dynasty, male dominant, and I’m heir to the empire. We’re not one hundred percent white. Some of my forefathers had the rebelliousness or good taste to marry local women on their journeys. Perhaps it helped us avoid the moronic stance of becoming virulent public racists. I don’t have much to be proud of when it comes to amassing a fortune, but I am pleased about that.”

  She blinked, and managed not to stare. It seemed an odd thing to say. People often said she looked ‘exotic.’ Apparently, that was supposed to be a compliment or an acceptable way to fish for heritage or race information. The entirely white-looking models and baristas didn’t get those comments. Was he trying to bond, come across as something other than a white-bread tycoon?

  “That’s—refreshing, I guess.” He was right, his being born into billions made a disappointing tale.

  She didn’t care about the specifics of his money—it wouldn’t mean anything to her anyway. Despite her dad’s aspirations for her to develop a business brain, she didn’t have the aptitude for it. Unless Damon Karl was doing something good for the planet instead of contributing to human right violations, making wildlife extinct, and clear-cutting rain forests, she didn’t give a damn what he was doing. With as much money as he had, odds were, most of it was filthy and dripping blood. Fingers in the graves from child labor, blood diamonds, preventable cancers, and all the rest of the sickness from greed taking precedence over lives would be only the beginning.

  She kept her face toward the window. “Sorry, I get queasy on roller coasters.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  “Leading the witness,” she objected. She needed to break the tension.

  He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re so refreshing.”

  She fully relaxed for the first time since she set eyes on him. Finally, this was going alright. He likes me.

  “Okay. Do you have a criminal record?”

  He gave her a sharp glance. “You’re good. People would be foolish to underestimate you.” He drew in a long breath and avoided her eyes. “Well, there is one thing. My senior year, I got busted for trespassing.”

  “Trespassing?” It was such an incongruous charge for a billionaire, she couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice. Most of them were so much dirtier than that.

  “I took a girl to a haunted house on a dare. It was out in the boonies near one of my family’s country places, in the woods up north. A neighbor saw our flashlights and called it in. There’d been vandalism in the area, and fires. A fire
starts in those dry hills, it can burn through part of the state. The sheriff and a deputy nabbed us.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah. He let my date go—he recognized her. Me, he hauled into jail, I suppose to make an example of me. Pride wouldn’t allow me to explain, and I was at the age where I felt self-conscious about how stupid it would sound. I wanted to impress a girl, and scary places were great for necking.” He grinned. “No way I could tell that to a grumpy sheriff. He figured I was so stupid I’d burn the place down for kicks, or I’d smoke weed and torch the county by accident.” He shook his head. “By the time he got me to the jail, he’d lectured me six ways to Sunday. I was in no mood to call my old man and admit I was out with a local girl and got arrested for trespassing. You see how stupid the whole thing was?”

  “Yes. Being young is an automatic strike against you to some people in authority.”

  “Exactly. So I spent the night in jail, grateful the only other inmate was passed-out drunk. In the morning, a deputy let me go with a warning. I sneaked in through the back of the house and never told anyone. A couple days later, we were back here in sin city, and I was relieved of all temptation to spirit off damsels to haunted houses.” He spread his hands. “That is the sum total of my criminal record. I don’t know if I even have a record. I think the sheriff wanted to make his point.”

  “That’s quite a story. It doesn’t make you sound dangerous.”

  His eyes flashed. “That might be a premature conclusion.”

  She giggled, not sure how to read him. Maybe he fancied himself a bad boy billionaire. She bit her lip. “You’d make a good interview subject. You seem earnest.”

  “Earnest and not dangerous. I see my ratings at the polls falling fast.”

  “You’re in politics?” She kept her face and voice neutral. Few aspirations could be less sexy.

  “No, but I’m thinking about it.” His slow, crooked grin suggested he might be joking. “I’m not cut out for being a man of leisure.”

  She laughed. This wasn’t so bad. At least he had a sense of humor about his position in life. She wondered if he ever thought about the people living in tenements, all the people in this country without enough to eat and without medical care. It seemed unlikely. There were exceptions, but few of the one percent who hogged most of the world’s wealth gave a shit about the less privileged. ‘Do you give a shit about anyone but you?’ was an unappetizing question. She didn’t ask it.

  If she won him over at his place, she was going to find out up close anyway. No point ruining the surprise.

  ***

  In the grand foyer of the most enormous house she’d ever entered, she shocked herself by spinning in a circle, taking in the stunning artwork on the ceiling, the gorgeous marble pillars, the exquisite architectural details.

  The home dated from the mid-nineteenth century. The broad staircase curving gracefully to the upper floor featured a mahogany banister cap sculpted as Zeus, greeting visitors with piercing eyes and a stately beard.

  The butler failed to suppress a smile.

  She was probably the most embarrassing gawker to enter this museum-quality place. The enormity of the Victorian manor stunned her. This was Damon Karl’s home.

  “Your home is exquisite. I’m dazzled.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.” A grin spread over his face. “Take your time.”

  Mandy refrained from looking into his eyes. She couldn’t stand to have him see right into her again, how awestruck she was, how afraid, and angry to be afraid.

  Unable to collect herself, she gazed around at museum-quality sculptures and paintings, mind completely blown.

  His placid face confirmed he had no doubt he had her. She wished she could prove him wrong, wipe the confidence off his mouth by turning her back and stalking out of his outrageous mansion, her heels clicking loud as gun shots on his marble floors.

  She blew out her breath. No way she was going anywhere. As sick as the whole thing was, she wanted to be here. She wanted to see this through. Not only did she want the million bucks, she wanted to uncover the mystery.

  Turning again, slowly this time, she surveyed the oil paintings along the staircase and doors opening into more rooms. A puzzle box of bounty. The paintings must be originals, each room full of priceless treasures.

  He had all this, and he wanted her. Not the real her, her as raw material for his living doll. She shuddered and put her arms around herself. Taking advantage of his permission to take her time, she approached a case full of small figures buried with pharaohs and other elite in ancient Egypt to work for them in the afterlife.

  The cabinet glass reflected her wide eyes. To quash her compulsion to open the cabinet, she twisted her braid. The small pain brought her back.

  What made a hot as hell man this way? What made him a controlling, fetishistic bastard? What was he going to do with her—with all his money and power fixated on creating the woman he wanted so much that he bared himself in his desire to her?

  The twisted truth of it: his compulsion gave her power. He’d reveal himself in everything he required. She'd pay attention, and she'd find his soul.

  Maybe she was only trying to make herself feel better, less vulnerable. It worked.

  Her secret BDSM reading was going to pay. Submission offered a key into the truth. She was going to turn that key and find out what was inside Damon Karl.

  If nothing else, that goal gave her something to think about, a way to deflect her hackles from rising at her new position of being the ultimate sex object for a man who knew nothing about her and cared less. It wasn't her reality he was buying, it was her ability to transform into his fantasy. Acting, it's an acting job.

  “Come, let’s sit down. No one will disturb us here. You can finish reading the contract in my library.”

  He took her into a gorgeous room with floor to ceiling bookcases. Everything was made in an era when artistry mattered. She wanted to caress the gorgeous wood surrounding her. Everything gleamed, dust-free. Motes wouldn’t dare settle here.

  She longed to lose her nervousness in a book, but she pulled her greedy gaze from the spines. She hoped the books weren’t for show. If he was a reader, that gave her a way to reach him beyond the physical.

  Her mouth went dry. She’d dangled her virginity in front of the lion. He’d chosen her. Now, he wanted her to sign a contract.

  Deal with the devil. Musical chords traveled her spine.

  He moved to a leather sofa and she followed, understanding how an unimaginably wealthy man can command obedience merely by expecting it.

  Defiance must be unthinkable to Damon Karl. The rebel in her wanted to give him that experience. Behave, ordered the business-major she’d have forced herself to become if her family hadn’t been killed.

  “Here. Read the contract. Take your time. It’s long, and it’s thorough. You’ll be pleased to find it states my requirements in full.” His eyes flashed. He nodded toward the luxurious sofa.

  Sexy bastard. He liked to twist the blade.

  She sat and held out her hand, acting as though she was eager to continue.

  He sat beside her and handed over his tablet displaying the contract, his face still as a sculpture’s.

  Taking a slow breath, she willed her hand to stop trembling. The man wasn’t a fool. He obviously saw right through her pretense and didn’t like it. She risked a tiny, real, nervous smile.

  This city was full of women who’d do anything to have this opportunity. People became viciously competitive when money was on the line, or to elbow out contestants for the opportunity to impress someone powerful. Some industry icons designed competitions for young models to bring out the worst behavior. Torment aspiring beginners on camera, sure thing. Anything for television ratings. Throw the contestants into the current version of the Roman arena with instructions to tear each other apart.

  Now, she sat in the lion’s den. The tablet felt heavy on her hand.

  Taking a slow breath, Mandy
forced herself to read his contract. The gist of it made her pant, with its dense paragraphs of disclaimers about the possibility of medical complications, side effects, psychological difficulties.

  She must never reveal that she’d struggled with anxiety, bulimia, depression, and what her college shrink called ‘complicated grief.’ Mourning the loss of people who hurt you and your best friend in the world was complicated, alright.

  Ignoring the lights flicking on in the fountain and enchanting garden beyond the bay windows, she read the document to the end. He wanted nothing less than full access to her—everything. Her face, her body, her commitment to study what she was told to study. Further, she must agree to perform all duties, from self-improvement to social interactions, and to obey every directive from him to the best of her ability.

  He covered all the bases. The contract specified it was a live-in position at a remote location. She’d be out of contact with everyone she knew for months.

  It hit her. He was offering her the job. Either that, or he was a sadistic bastard, and this was part of the audition. He might be judging her reaction. Maybe this was how he got his thrills, dangling such enormous, mouth-watering bait. A million dollars.

  She swallowed, balking. Signing the contract was a huge step. More so than she imagined, but she applied for this because she was willing to become a living doll. For a million bucks.

  The thing she hadn’t expected: the man making the demands devastated her.

  She’d have a hell of a time saying no to him, even with no money involved. As though afraid he’d read her thoughts, she quashed them.

  She was doing this for the money. His beauty and magnetism were only perks.

  At least he didn’t rush her. She sneaked a peek.

  He sat there, relaxed. The man didn’t need to manipulate. He knew he’d get his way.

  He probably knew why, damn him.

  Trying to hide her shaking, Mandy signed.

  She stared at her completed contract, unmoving, her breath stalled in her chest.

  Her signature ought to be in blood.