The Arrangement Duet Box Set

by Madison Quinn

  “Keep her quiet. I swear if I hear one fucking peep, I’ll come back down and punish her again while you watch.” He takes the knife I knew he had within reach, and slits the rope that had been holding her up.

  She immediately crumbles to the floor. He grabs a hold of her blonde hair just before she can crawl away. He looks from me to her before fixing his gaze back on me, warning me, and reminding me at the same time that the reason she’s here is because of me.

  “The light goes off in ten minutes.” He tosses the sobbing girl hard to the floor before stomping up the stairs.

  I wait to hear the locks engage before I look away from the door. I need to hear those locks to know that he’s not going to sneak back down here and attack when I’m not looking. It happened when I first got here, before I learned to try not to fall into a deep sleep. Nights after a fight are always the worst though. Even when I don’t make an effort, I’m so exhausted from the increase in work-outs, the lack of food and dehydration, that I always collapse as soon as we get back. Tonight proved just how exhausted I was. He had somehow got a passed out girl down the steps and strung up from a pipe without me waking up.

  “I… I need to clean—”

  “No! Don’t touch me!” she crawls away from me quickly.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. I just want to help you.”

  “Then get me out of this hellhole.”

  “I wish I could. There’s no way out.” there’s nothing I wouldn’t like more than to grant her wish. “Look, he’s going to turn the lights off in a few minutes and then it’s going to be pitch dark in here. He won’t turn the light on again, he never does. I have a first aid kit, let me bandage you up so your back doesn’t get infected.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  What’s with the damn questions? Can’t she just let me clean her damn wounds and bandage them before he fucking turns the light off? He said ten minutes, but I guarantee the lights go off before the time is up. Not that I have a clock down here or any other way to tell how much time has passed.

  “Why did he take me? Why am I here? What does he want?”

  Fuck… she had to go there. I can’t fucking tell her that she’s here because of me, that I’m the reason he took her to begin with.

  “I don’t know,” I lie. “Look, he’s going to turn that damn light out real soon, I promise. It’ll make… checking your back that much harder in the dark. He doesn’t turn the light on, at all.”

  “I want to go home,” she sobs.

  I don’t have a home to go to, yet that’s what I want too. Her voice forces my attention back to her, and I slowly make my way over to the spot under the steps where I’ve hidden the first aid kit. Sometimes he takes things, even when he has no reason to punish me. Once, my mattress disappeared for three straight nights, even though I had won the fight for him the previous day. I think he does it to remind me that anything he gives me can be taken away. After that, I hid the first aid kit under the steps hoping he wouldn’t find it and try to take that away too.

  The moment I get close to the girl she flinches, but I don’t blame her. I also still flinch at any sound, new voice, and even a change in what has become my daily routine. Seeing her like this reminds me of when he first brought me here. I was drugged for the car ride, but it was the bite of the belt that had me coming to, just like she did. Those first few days were hell: I was scared of everything, sleeping was impossible, and my body hurt like it never had before.

  I don’t think he hurt her as bad as he did me that night, but it’s not like I’m a doctor, so what the hell do I know? He could have hurt her in worse ways… ways that I can’t even see. I shake my head, refusing to go there, when the vomit threatens to come up again.

  “I’m going to check on your back okay?” I softly warn her.

  She barely nods, but it’s there. She’s wrapped herself in a small ball on the floor, her arms around her bare legs and her head tucked in. Her long blond hair covers her face, not giving me a chance to see if he hurt her there too. She’s trying to make herself as small as possible, as invisible as possible, something I tried as well. I cough to hide the gasp when I see her back, when I see what he’s done to her. Slashes cross her skin, from shoulders to waist, in various directions, both new and old—several of them have blood dripping from where the belt pierced her skin. I cringe, realizing he whipped her before bringing her down here. Probably in the van…that’s where he hit me the first time.

  “I’ll try to be gentle.” I sit on the floor behind her and open the first aid kit up.

  I don’t have many options: some alcohol wipes, ointment that is supposed to prevent infections, and lots of bandages. I slowly make a plan of which ones to tackle first, prioritizing them, because when the light goes out I won’t be able to do much without being able to see properly.

  “What’s your name?” she whispers.

  “Luke,” although I haven’t been called that in a long time, “what’s yours?”

  “Emily,” she hisses when I apply the alcohol pad, but she doesn’t try to stop me.

  “How old are you?”

  It seems silly to be asking her these questions, but I’m guessing she started it as a way of distracting herself from what I’m doing. If it helps, I’ll keep asking her whatever stupid questions I can think of. It’s my fault she’s here and not at home, in her own bed.

  “I just turned fifteen yesterday.”

  Happy fucking birthday.

  “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen… maybe sixteen? What’s the date?”

  “July third.”

  “What year?”

  When she tells me the year, I find myself struggling to even move my fingers, much less the rest of my body. I’ve been here for so fucking long. I knew it had been at least a couple of months, but I didn’t think it had been close to an entire year. Ten months ago, I had woken up briefly in the back of his van, but that had only lasted a few seconds before he injected me again with something that knocked me out. Ten months ago this nightmare had begun, and it shows no sign of fucking ending anytime soon.

  “Are you fifteen or sixteen?” her quiet voice pulls my focus back.

  “Sixteen.”

  “You’ve been here…?”

  “Almost a year.”

  She’s silent for several long moments, taking in what I said and what it means for her. The moment she realizes it, a shiver goes through her body.

  “He’s not going to let me go is he?” she realizes.

  “No.”

  I can’t lie to her; I can’t give her the false hope that he gave me when I first got here. Does that make me an ass? Maybe, but I’d rather her hear the truth from me now so she doesn’t accuse me of lying to her later. She’ll already hate me when she finds out that I’m the reason she’s even here right now I can’t have her hating me for lying about this too.

  The lights dim, and I take it for the warning that it is, quickly trying to bandage up as many of her cuts as possible. I shake my head, knowing the scars these will leave, because I have those same scars on my own back, arms, and legs.

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  On her terms

  Madison Quinn

  Chapter 1

  Nicholas

  My phone has been buzzing all morning with text messages from Cara—normally this would drive me crazy and frustrate me to no end since it’s the middle of the work day. However, from the moment I see the first picture of Kenzie smiling in an awful, green dress with too much lace, I can’t help but chuckle. I’ve been down this road with Cara before: she loves to try on ugly or silly dresses when she shops and clearly she has gotten Kenzie involved in her little game.

/>   The pictures all make me chuckle… until the one entitled “Pretty Woman.” The picture has Kenzie wearing an incredibly short and tight, dark blue mini skirt with a white tube top. All that is missing are the fishnet stockings and the red wig. While this is one of Cara’s favorite movies, the similarities are not lost on me. Of course, Kenzie was not a prostitute when I met her, but some of the circumstances are so close to the movie that I can’t ignore.

  There is no denying that she looks incredibly sexy in the picture, and seeing her in so little clothing has me thinking of how it felt to kiss her last night. I don’t know what came over me when I leaned in after our dinner, I was just overwhelmed with this sudden urge to feel her lips against mine again. I can still remember how soft her lips felt and how she pressed against me while she tugging my hair. And the sounds she made! I don’t know if she even knew she was making them, but every time she moaned my dick twitched with desire. I couldn’t help but think about what type of sounds she would make when I fucked her, and that thought nearly had me at full attention.

  With us that close, there was no hiding how much I wanted her, but I didn’t need her becoming uncomfortable. I know she doesn’t feel the same way I do. I want to fuck her, and she wants someone to make love to her. I’d want to fuck her anywhere I possibly could yet she would expect it to happen in a bed, surrounded by flowers and candles I’m sure. I’d walk out as soon as we were done, but she would expect cuddling and for me to sleep with her. That’s not an option.

  Except, I have slept with Kenzie. I still don’t know what to do with that. When I signed the contract with Bridget, I never expected her to have such an impact on my life. I thought I would be able to keep this arrangement separate from my personal life, that they would only overlap at the occasional charity event that we attended with my parents. My parents adore Kenzie; my sister thinks she has a new best friend, and I’ve realized we are becoming friends. All of this from a single contract with Bridget, that was meant to change my image for the press.

  Originally I thought this would end in a couple of weeks: that the press would realize I was capable of having a relationship with a woman and that they would back off. However, I’ve realized that no matter what I do, they may never back off. Kenzie and I have been dating for about three months now, and yet when we went a couple of weeks without being photographed, the press were quick to drag me through the mud. I hate that the press has bothered Kenzie; I hate that she’s had to leave her job, even temporarily because of me. And I hate that Kenzie is so stubborn that she won’t let me pay her for the income she has lost. How many women would turn that down?

  “Mr. Parker?” Melody knocks on my door pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Come in.”

  “Mr. Morrison is requesting a meeting with you—“

  “I have something scheduled with him later this week, don’t I?”

  “Yes, but he’s requesting a meeting today. He says it’s urgent—“

  “Okay, move what you have to in my schedule. See if Alex can cover something or reschedule it for later this week.”

  David Morrison is PFS’s Director of Human Resources and employee relations. I know if he is requesting to see me ahead of our normally scheduled time that it is important. David has worked for me for the last five years and was quickly promoted to his current position based on his ability to relate to our employees. PFS has hundreds of employees across many different fields, yet he has a solid understanding of nearly every position. He is able to talk to a disgruntled employee about an issue they may have and by the end of that conversation, he will have them apologizing for their behavior and assisting them in developing a plan to correct their performance issue. He just has this knack for resolving conflicts, with not only employees but to the management team.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Parker; thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” David arrives in my office only a few minutes later.

  “Of course, how are you?”

  “I’m well, and you?”

  “Good. Please have seat and tell me what’s going on.”

  “Mr. Parker, as you know we conduct routine employee satisfaction surveys throughout the year, and up until now, we have always had gleaming results. Our employees have generally been satisfied with our compensation packages,” they should be–I offer one of the best compensation packages out there to all employees. “Including their salary, health benefits and time off. We have been using these surveys for the last four years however, this is the first year that the results have been less than positive—“

  “What do you mean less than positive? We haven’t changed anything related to benefits or pay.”

  “No, Mr. Parker, their satisfaction with those items and their overall job responsibilities remain quite high.”

  “So, what is it?”

  “Well… sir…”

  “Spit it out, Davidson!”

  “The area that plummeted drastically is their confidence in the CEO of PFS—“

  “Their confidence in me has dropped?” I sit back in my chair in utter disbelief. I have prided myself in hiring only the best employees, in offering the best incentives and in providing a workplace in which my employees are happy, which has resulted in very little turnover despite the industry trend. I have worked hard to portray the image of a manager that they can believe in and of a company that they can be proud to work at.

  “Um… yes, sir.”

  “Do they cite reasons for the sudden decrease in confidence? When was the last time this survey was distributed, and how was their confidence level at that time?”

  “The last survey was conducted roughly nine months ago; at that time their confidence level in you was high, sir.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s quite low, sir.”

  “What was the reason cited for the change in confidence? I’m assuming you asked that question?”

  “Yes, Mr. Parker. The survey automatically triggered a secondary question if they indicated their confidence level in the CEO was low asking them for the reason of their low rating.”

  “And?” He’s frustrating me with how vague he is being.

  “The reason why the consensus was low for that question was due to the negative publicity. Several of respondents stated they are concerned about the stability of your life, your ability to manage your personal life and your professional life as well as the—“

  “Wait, you’re telling me that their confidence in me has decreased because of what the press is saying?”

  “Based on the responses provided, yes sir.”

  “Unfuckingbelievable!”

  The fucking press! Of all the things to have a negative impact on now; they’re fucking crossing the line. I can’t have them impacting my employees’ confidence level in me. I can’t lose staff because the press paints me to be a playboy! PFS’s low staff turnover is one of the selling points I make in every proposal we present. If I suddenly have an increase in employee turnover, I will lose projects that we’ve worked months on and spent thousands of dollars trying to close.

  I can’t let her take this away from me too. It’s her fault the press won’t fucking leave me alone—they left me alone while we were together and even for a time after things ended between us. Come to think of it, they left me alone for about a year after that. I’d suspected she was behind the negative press, but Carter has kept tabs on her, and she isn’t even in the state.

  “I… I thought you would want to know immediately, sir.”

  “You were right; thank you, Mr. Davidson. Forward the survey results to me when you get back to your office. I will develop a plan to address the areas in which we fell below our expectations.”

  “Of course, Mr. Parker.”

  I’m fucking pissed off. I need to figure out how the fuck to fix this and fast. The only problem is, I’m too fucking pissed off to think. I can’t focus on anything. I can’t fucking think, let alone find a solution to this debacle of a situation that I’m
fucking in. There’s no point in getting my PR team together again; last time they weren’t helpful, and I ended up firing half of them for their ridiculous ideas. I send off an angry email to my legal department, requesting they notify the press that the next publication that borders on slander will result in an immediate lawsuit. Nothing will come from it, as it never does. The press walks a very fine line in what they publish, and so far none of it has come close to the definition of slander, according to my legal team.

  “Melody, cancel the rest of my day and notify Carter that I’m leaving in five minutes.”

  I don’t wait for a response before I shut my computer down and put away my files from the day. I can’t sit here and do nothing; I need to fucking do something, and right now I need to find a way to relieve this stress so I can fucking think clearly. Nothing is more important in my life right now, outside of my family of course, than fixing this fucking mess. My entire career, PFS’s future and the future of hundreds of my employees, fucking depends on my next move.

  “Sir?” Carter is at my door exactly five minutes after I notified Melody that I was leaving.

  “I’m leaving, Carter.”

  I follow Carter to the SUV, still trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to solve this problem. All I know is I need to clear my fucking head; actually, I need to get out of my head for a little while. I need to…

  “Carter, take me to the Blue Moon.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Carter has dropped me at the front door of the Blue Moon and waited until I was cleared to enter. He has never liked the fact that I come here because he is not permitted to enter with me. He doesn’t like that he cannot communicate with me once I enter the building either, as all cell phones are secured upon checking in.

  This is one of the areas Carter and I have agreed to disagree. While I recognize his concerns, this is the safest option for me. I will not expose myself again, like I did with her and risk the press finding out everything again. The Blue Moon offers a place for people like me to come, and do what we want, without worrying about the press. The application process for a membership is very thorough to ensure people like her can’t get in. In addition to very hefty annual membership dues, all members go through an extensive background screening. Membership is by invitation only; you cannot just apply to become a member without an invitation and written reference from a current member. The people who belong to this club have too much to risk going to the press themselves. The press can’t find this place—hell, if you don’t know it exists, you wouldn’t be able to find it. There are no signs or even windows on the building. There is nothing outside, except a large black door. When you step through the door, you immediately enter the security area where you are held until approved to enter.