The Dark Arts

by Kitty Thomas

  “She's smart. She figured it out. She got some unsuspecting help, and she has financial resources—probably nearly as much as you or I do. So it wasn't as hard as it seems on first glance.”

  “Okay, but even with help, how did she... how were you incapacitated?”

  “I was drunk at a bar, moping over Holly. She slipped something into my drink.”

  Ari turned away from Kane, giving him a full view of the marks Claire had left on his back.

  “Holy shit,” Kane breathed. “That girl did that?”

  Ari turned back around and put his shirt on.

  “She did,” he confirmed. “And I'd be proud of her if she'd done it to the man who deserved it.”

  “Someone hurt her,” Kane said, the pieces finally falling in to place. “And she thought it was you. Fuck. How are you dealing with this?”

  More uncharacteristic empathy. It was unsettling seeing this other side of Kane. Ari had gotten used to the cold bastard.

  He shrugged. “Well, I'm keeping her as my slave, and never letting her go, so you tell me how well I'm handling it.” He said it almost nonchalantly as if this explained everything about his mental state. “And don't you dare judge me. I know it's wrong, even with what she did, but I don't care. That girl needs me. She can't survive out in the world. She was barely holding it together before our paths crossed. How long would it be before she found another man she thought was her captor and started this shit again? She might kill the next guy. I got lucky. She's dangerous. She's wild. She needs to be controlled.”

  As much as Ari was sure Kane colored outside the lines with his own morals, he was also sure he wouldn't keep a woman as his literal slave with no way out. He waited for the inevitable judgment and disappointment from his friend. It didn't come.

  “Do you want to know how Saskia and I met?”

  Well, that was a subject change. Maybe Kane just couldn't process this. “Sure,” Ari said. At least he wasn't calling the cops. Not that he'd ever thought Kane was that noble.

  “She conned me out of twelve million dollars. I hunted her ass down in Italy, told her she could choose between prison or being my slave, and I think it's clear which thing she chose. So, no judgment from me. I required far less provocation than you did. I'm afraid my pet might not still be breathing if she'd held me captive and beat me. Claire is lucky it was you and not me.”

  “Shit. So that night in the club when I was trying to save her from you?”

  “Your instincts were dead on,” Kane confirmed. “I took her out in public too soon. Try not to make the same mistake with your girl.”

  As if he could risk taking Claire out in public.

  “But that night she chose you. She wouldn't let me save her. She was nearly hysterical at the idea of being separated from you.”

  Kane shrugged. “What can I say? I'm an irresistible motherfucker.”

  “But if she wanted to leave now, you'd let her go, right?” No matter how much it seemed they had similar situations and were engaged in similar crimes, Ari would never let Claire go.

  “Absolutely not,” Kane said. “It would kill me. I can never lose her. And someday when I'm gone, she'll have Marcus.”

  There was a fifteen-year age difference between Kane and Saskia. It wasn't a problem now, but someday it would be. Of course Kane had already considered that. He always considered everything. He kept his life in neat compartmentalized boxes with a different identity attached to each box.

  Ari was never sure exactly the nature of Kane's relationship with Marcus. The man worked for him in various capacities from errand boy to bodyguard, but he also seemed to be a friend, perhaps even a sometimes lover. Ari had never pried too far into their arrangement. But now it seemed there was something going on with all three of them.

  “So how is your girl settling in? She seems to be doing well, all things considered,” Kane observed.

  “It helps that I'm not as sadistic as you.”

  Kane just chuckled at that.

  Ari sighed. “I think she's struggling a bit. She knows how wrong this whole thing is. I think she's afraid if she trusts me I'll hurt her and break her more.”

  “But she's very obedient. That's a plus.”

  “Oh, she's a dream, but she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. She doesn't think I can see it, but her face is so expressive. She's still struggling with herself for not fighting me.”

  Kane was silent for several minutes. Finally he said, “Maybe Claire could meet Saskia. You should come to her private show next week. I'm having it at my estate. She's got a whole new series of paintings. You might like one. Did you get the invitation I sent?”

  “I haven't gone through the mail yet. I was kind of pre-occupied.”

  “Well, come. And bring Claire.”

  It wasn't the worst idea Kane had ever had.

  Claire found a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen and poured herself a cup then stood next to the sliding glass door. A small gray biometric panel stood next to the glass now. It should make her feel trapped, but instead she felt safe, knowing that no one could get in or out without Ari's thumbprint.

  She stared out over his endless property, watching the snow come down. She felt the heat flush over her chest as she thought about what had just happened in the playroom with Ari and the artist. Even now the place between her legs heated and came awake again at just the thought of it.

  It had been all her fantasies from before the world came apart. Even as she'd arched into the hands of both men, straining toward them as their mouths devoured her, seeking more and more contact, the fear had lingered in the back of her mind. What if she had a flashback?

  Not a memory. The awful memories sometimes came and drifted by like a macabre horror film. Those were bad enough. But flashbacks were different. When that happened, she actually went there as though her body and mind were both transported out of the here and now, back into that basement. She felt things, and she couldn't find her way back out. It was like a nightmare you knew you were having but couldn't force yourself to wake up from. When it happened, it was like she'd never escaped. Like she was still there.

  But today there was no flashback. In fact, though she still got nightmares, the flashbacks hadn't happened once since she'd been with Ari. It was as though they were afraid to surface in his presence, as if he had the power to destroy them forever.

  The experience in the playroom with these two men had been nothing like what she'd experienced before. She felt like it should trigger something. After all, how much free will did she have here? Wasn't it the same? She was at Ari's absolute mercy. It was only his kindness that kept her safe. A kindness she still couldn't understand.

  She'd thought it would be just like the basement. Or worse. After all, the guy in the basement had just been crazy. Ari had a legitimate grievance. But this thing with him couldn't be more different. It felt shameful to want him to touch her because it wasn't as though he were her boyfriend.

  He hadn't asked her out on a date or wined and dined her. The way they'd met was far too dark for her to feel these light airy feelings whenever he was near, those butterfly stomach flips when his gaze was on her. His arctic gaze became warmer and warmer when he looked at her now. And it melted all the things that had kept her libido frozen safely in ice.

  As bad as she thought it might be to want him, it felt a thousand times more wrong to love him. It had been so long since she'd loved someone that she didn't know if she was remembering it right. Maybe she didn't know how to feel real love anymore. And maybe she didn't know what it felt like to have love directed at her. This thing with Ari was twisted and wrong. All these soft feelings she found herself having couldn't be real.

  She couldn't be developing actual emotional attachment to this man. Could she? Maybe it was Stockholm syndrome. But she hadn't felt this way in the basement. Whatever captive/captor attachment she'd formed for survival in that basement was very different from the way she felt with Ari.

  She heard the two
men talking as they moved down the hallway toward the kitchen. She felt frozen like prey standing in the light coming from the window. She should run and hide back in Ari's room, but she stood there, drinking her coffee, staring out the window.

  Kane came up behind her. She jumped when he touched the middle of her back, but he didn't make a big deal of it. “Claire, I need you to get a good night's sleep tonight. You have a long day ahead tomorrow. We'll start work at nine a.m.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The title fell from her lips without her conscious thought. She spun quickly to find Ari standing beside the kitchen island watching her. Was that okay? Was she supposed to call Kane that outside of the playroom? But he only nodded his approval.

  33

  It was eight-thirty the next morning when Claire wandered into the kitchen wearing a terrycloth bathrobe.

  Ari stood beside the table, setting up for breakfast. Three coffee mugs, three forks, three plates. He didn't look up from pouring the coffee when he spoke.

  “Good, you're up. Kane will be joining us for breakfast in a few minutes. He's setting up his supplies.”

  “I thought he was coming at nine?”

  Ari poured the last coffee just as the kitchen timer went off. He took the coffee pot back to its spot on the counter and grabbed some oven mitts to take a breakfast casserole out of the oven. He placed the perfectly browned casserole on a trivet in the center of the kitchen table, then retrieved a serving spoon from the drawer.

  This man should have his own cooking show.

  “He said we start work at nine. Not that he would be here at nine. I was about to come get you. Have you showered yet?”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, feeling suddenly shy.

  “Did you come?”

  “N-not in the shower, but yes.”

  “Were you loud like I taught you?”

  “Yes, Master.” Claire felt the heat rising and knew he could see the telltale pink in her cheeks.

  “Good girl. Sit.”

  Claire sat at the table as Ari spooned out breakfast casserole onto all their plates. She could detect eggs, cheese, sausage, onions, and mushrooms.

  “I smell something delicious,” Kane said wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with paint stains on it. He didn't have shoes on. He'd made himself right at home this morning.

  Kane winked at Claire as he sat across from her, and she was certain she blushed again. She knew he was talking about the food, but the way he looked at her when he said it made it seem as though he might also mean something else.

  It felt strange seeing him after what had happened the previous day. But even more strange was the fact that this man didn't scare her. He was very intense, but he seemed to respect Ari. That fact alone made her feel safe near him.

  Ari sat at the head of the table. “Did you put down drop cloths?” he asked, before taking a big bite of the casserole.

  Kane rolled his eyes. “Of course I put down drop cloths. I wouldn't dream of getting paint on your playroom floor. Do you think I'm a barbarian?”

  “A little bit, yeah,” Ari shot back, but there was no venom in it.

  “Careful. You'll scare the poor girl,” Kane said, his eyes never leaving Claire's as he took a bite of the casserole. Claire had to bite back a moan when she finally tasted her own breakfast.

  “Holy shit, this is amazing.”

  Artisan, architect, captor, chef. So many ways to describe this man she was already half in love with even as she knew how foolish and wrong such feelings were.

  Ari chuckled. Then the two men started discussing the painting. Claire quietly ate and let them talk, not understanding half the artist jargon that was bandied between them.

  “Come here,” Kane said to Claire when they'd finished eating. Ari stood and began to clear the table. Claire looked to him—a question. Ari nodded in response.

  She moved around the table to Kane and sat when he patted his lap, her breath coming faster now. Kane gathered her long blonde hair in his hands and piled it on top of her head, pulling a few loose wisps down to frame her face.

  “Do you have a hair clip?” he asked Ari. “I think I want her hair up like this when I paint her.”

  “I'm sure Holly left something. I'll go check.”

  When Ari had gone, Kane's free hand began to travel under the robe, trailing up along her thigh. Claire jerked away. He removed his hand and let her hair fall freely around her face. When she chanced a glance at him, he didn't appear angry or offended. He instead seemed perplexed, a question in his gaze.

  “Are you upset about what happened with the three of us yesterday?”

  “No, Sir,” she said.

  He seemed impressed she'd remembered to call him Sir. Or maybe that she'd chosen to do it without prompting.

  “I can tell he's very happy with you,” Kane said. “Anyone would be very happy with you.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. Claire tried to find the lie. Was he softening her up somehow? Was it a line? But his words seemed nothing but sincere.

  “Do you not want me to touch you or are you afraid he doesn't want me to touch you?” Kane asked.

  “I-I'm not sure.” It was the truth. She was afraid Ari would be bothered if she just let his friend touch her without him there. It felt somehow like cheating. Even though she was his property, not his girlfriend. So why the fuck should she care about that? And she shouldn't want this man to touch her at all, whether Ari was there or not. Her reactions to almost everything since coming here violated all the things she thought she should want. But her body wasn't prepared to listen to any of the reasons why she should recoil or run.

  If it weren't for her past... if it weren't for the basement... wouldn't she want these things? Hadn't she fantasized about these things? Night after night after night, these pathologically repetitive fantasies had always been there, the background track to her private pleasure. If not for the basement... wouldn't she have jumped on this? So why shouldn't she now? Why should she let that monster take just one more thing from her?

  Kane pulled a familiar white tube from his pocket and placed it on the table. His voice went low and rough, “Do you need something to drop your inhibitions a little?”

  Claire bit her lip, remembering the potent effects of the cream and how she'd behaved like an insatiable slut the previous day under its influence. That cream had given her the permission to feel all the things she needed to feel, its demands so much louder than her mind's constant chattering about how wrong everything was.

  She wanted to feel those things again. So badly. She wanted that blissful sexual oblivion that left no room in her mind for talking herself out of the pleasures she needed.

  Without conscious thought, she pulled back the robe, letting her legs fall open. “Yes, Sir.”

  He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers and spread it over her sex which was already becoming aroused just from anticipation of what the cream could do. She gasped as his fingers pushed inside her.

  “Starting without me?”

  Claire looked up to find Ari standing next to the kitchen island, a transparent blue hair clip in his hand.

  “Master, I'm sorry,” she said.

  She tried to bring her legs together and pull the robe closed, but Kane held her still. He finally pulled his hand away slowly, deliberately—the opposite of someone caught with his hands in the cookie jar. He didn't care that they were caught.

  “Did you want him to touch you?” Ari asked.

  Claire looked down. She couldn't lie with Kane sitting right here to call her on it. “Yes, Master,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “Then you have nothing to apologize for. As long as you're okay, Kane has carte blanche, as I do with his pet. Kane and I share... everything.”

  “Not everything,” Kane said. “He won't let me fuck him.”

  Claire gasped, but Kane only chuckled. She looked up to find Ari rolling his eyes.

  “I'm pretty sure Marcus would object. He doesn't seem t
he type who wants to share with other men.”

  Kane just smiled. “Are we ready then?” He nudged Claire, and she got off his lap, pulling the bathrobe around her, going shy again. She was grateful that wouldn't be a problem much longer. If yesterday was any indication, in a few minutes she wouldn't care what anybody thought about anything, only that they were touching her and didn't stop.

  “Go to the playroom, Claire, and wait for us. We should be there before the cream kicks in, but if not, don't touch yourself until we arrive,” Ari said.

  Claire nodded and left the kitchen, grateful to be allowed a short reprieve from the two of them to collect herself.

  The playroom had been rearranged. Bondage furniture had been moved along one wall, allowing a large open space near the window where the bright morning light shone in. One of the large fluffy rugs had been rolled up and moved next to the furniture. A plastic drop cloth was laid out over a large section of hardwood the rug had previously covered. And on top of that was an easel that held a large canvas. There was a chair and paints and brushes and a palette—all the normal things one would expect an artist to have. A small CD player sat on the floor, plugged into an outlet nearby.

  The door opened, and the two men walked in. Ari sat on the sofa at the back of the room. He laid the hair clip on the leather beside him.

  Kane took a step closer to her. She took a step back.

  “Claire,” he said gently. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

  “If you need him to stop anything he's doing, say Red,” Ari said. “Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes, Master.” Claire let out a breath. He was giving her a safeword to use with his friend. She might not have ever explored her fantasies outside her mind before Ari, but there was this magical invention called the internet, through which she'd learned all sorts of things over the years.

  Lots of people acting out their kinks used weird ridiculous things for safewords like blueberry scone or firetruck. It had to be something you wouldn't otherwise yell out during sex. It couldn't be no, please no, because sometimes in play, no didn't mean no. So it had to be something stupid and unsexy that would break the mood. Red, Green, Yellow was a standard system a lot of people used.