“But he told me I needed to look, because I’d done that to him. He said that pretty girls made men hurt there, and that I needed to fix it.” The exact thing he said came to me suddenly. “He said it wasn’t nice to leave men hurting, and that I could make him feel better. With my hand.”
I could remember it distinctly. The sound of his zipper coming down, the sight of the red ugly baton of flesh Charles had hidden beneath. The way Ron showed me to spit on my palm before taking the other man in my hand. I could remember how his skin felt and how my fingers looked curled around his hot length. How my arm got tired, and how it smelled when the white ooze finally spurted over my fist.
The memory was so strong, I didn’t notice Edward had leaned up beside me until his hand was turning my chin toward him. “Look at me, Celia,” he said sternly.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t lift my eyes to meet his. “I know,” I said, hoping it would be enough to acknowledge the point he surely wanted to drill into me. “It’s not my fault.”
“It’s not. Now look at me.” It took a beat before I managed to find his gaze. His eyes were intense and piercing, even in the dark, but they were also deep and warm. “Say it again.”
“It’s not my fault,” I repeated.
“Whose fault is it?”
“Ron’s.”
“And this Charles guy. You don’t have more of a name than that?”
“I don’t.” If there was more about the man buried in my head, I didn’t want to go searching for it, though I could tell that was exactly what Edward wanted me to do.
I leaned away from him so I could get a better view of his expression. “You look like you’re planning things. I don’t like that look.”
A beat passed before he smirked, a beat that confirmed he was definitely planning something. “Are my plans really that objectionable?”
In the past his sessions had inspired torturous oral sex and pretending to auction me off to a room full of strange men. “Uh, yeah, they kind of are. They’re terrifying.”
“You like that about them. About me. And my methods work.” His smile widened.
That egotistical bastard.
Admittedly, I hadn’t had nightmares about the auction my uncle had put me through. Edward had successfully “replaced” that trauma with his version, where he told me I was worth more than all the money in the world and that no price could be put on any part of me.
So, yeah, his methods did work. “It doesn’t mean they’re easy to endure.”
“You can handle it.” He reached for me.
But I leaned away. “What if I can’t? What if you fucked me up forever?”
“Me?!”
He wasn’t the one I was mad at, yet I suddenly felt angry, and he was there. “Yes, you. I was fine before you came along. I might not have been a decent person, but at least I wasn’t visibly fucked up. You’re the one who brought all this to the surface.”
“And I’m going to be the one who helps you sort through it so it doesn’t destroy you,” he said, soothingly. He reached his hand out to rub his knuckles across my cheek. “I have a plan, bird. I’ll take care of you. Trust me.”
I wanted to trust him. I loved him, and I was smart enough to know that the two went hand in hand.
But the thing about him forcing me to look at myself meant that now I saw everything. I saw the ways I’d been taught to manipulate others. I saw what it looked like when people manipulated me. I recognized patterns of behavior in my relationships I’d never noticed before.
And what I saw scared me.
“There’s something else,” Edward said, reading me with his astute ability. “Something else you remember?”
“No.” It sounded like a lie, even to my ears.
“Tell me.”
I didn’t want to voice it, because if I did, and if his response wasn’t good enough, I’d have to reevaluate our marriage and what we could be to each other.
But if I didn’t voice it, our relationship would suffer just the same. He required authenticity and honesty from me, and if I couldn’t give him that, we had nothing.
I shifted toward him, holding the covers tightly against my chest like they could hide the vulnerability that my question posed. “How are we different?”
His forehead wrinkled as he worked out what I was asking. “You mean besides the fact that I have not and would never share you with another man, how is our relationship different than the one you had with your uncle?”
I nodded, once, feeling guilty that the question even crossed my mind. But also feeling bold because another Celia, the one who had been the victim of her doting uncle, would have accepted that a man’s love meant blindly submitting.
I couldn’t be her anymore. I was fragile from my recent breakthroughs, but I was strong enough to take this stand. I would not be groomed and molded into something someone else wanted, for his pleasure only. Not anymore.
And where did that leave me with Edward? A man who wanted to dictate my life. A man who wanted me to yield to his will.
His knuckles unwrapped to cradle around my jaw. “You want this,” he said, holding me with his fierce gaze. “You want me to take charge of you. You want to belong to me. And the minute you stop wanting this is the minute I step away.”
It was the right answer, and though I still held on to a fair amount of trepidation about what a healthy marriage would look like between us, I sank into his arms and submitted to his kiss, because he was right—I wanted it.
Four
Then: Edward
“I can do it,” Kofi said, decidedly. “It will take a while to make it look believable, but I can definitely do it.”
“You’ll do it little by little? Make it almost unnoticeable at first. There can’t be red flags going off with the first transaction.” There was no way this could be easily detected if it was going to be convincing.
“Sure thing. I’ll spread the embezzlements over time. Then a larger one when you want him to be caught.
I nodded.
“I can’t guarantee a long prison sentence,” he warned.
“That’s fine. I do want him in prison, but the more important thing is that he won’t be able to qualify to foster anymore.”
“He won’t be able to be anywhere near kids after prison time,” Kofi promised. “Depending on where he’s sent, I can throw in a couple of prison beatings too if you like.”
I thought about Camilla, about the burn marks she hid under her clothes, about the scars that weren’t visible that took longer to heal. “I’d like,” I said. “Make it hurt.”
Kofi grinned. “Can do. I could start this as soon as you send your payment. Half upfront.”
I took a beat, as though considering, but I’d already made up my mind. I would have paid twice the price he’d quoted, now that I had money. It was well worth it.
“I’ll transfer the funds first thing when I get back to London,” I said, extending my hand out to shake on the deal we’d apparently just made.
“Fanfuckingtastic,” Kofi said, leaning back in his chair. He pulled a joint out of his front pocket, lit it, and took a drag.
“I told you this was a place of business,” Roman said, with a wink.
I hadn’t believed him when we’d first arrived. He’d told me I’d find the sorts of people I needed on the island, but when we’d landed, and I’d discovered Exceso was a place of pleasure and debauchery, I’d been skeptical.
After several hours spent in a building known as The Base, he’d proven he was right. Yes, sex was the main transaction on the island, but there were other deals that were made as well. Not only had I made the arrangement with Kofi to take down Camilla’s abuser, but I’d also met with a group of bounty hunters who’d assured me they could help track down many of the family items that had been sold off after my parents’ deaths. It was bound to be an expensive project, but I was completely invested.
I sank back in my armchair and took a sip of my brandy. There was still a long road
ahead of me to get all the justice I sought, but today had been one of progress.
“And you doubted me,” Roman said, throwing back the rest of his scotch. “Have I ever let you down?”
I should have known better than to doubt Roman Moore. He’d proven himself time and time again over the last two years. The man had been waiting for me after my graduation from grammar school.
“I was friends with your father,” he had said. “Let’s go get back his money, shall we?”
I’d been skeptical then too. I’d already tried to talk to the authorities about the money my cousins had stolen from us and been told adamantly that there was no case. The funds were gone, according to the investigation they’d conducted. Therefore there was nothing to pursue.
But Roman Moore knew differently.
“Your cousins hid the money in offshore accounts,” he had said. “They’ve spent some of it, and there’s not an exorbitant amount left, but it’s enough to get you started.”
“How do you know?” He was a stranger telling me about family money that I’d never heard of. I had no reason to believe him.
But he had a compelling answer. “I’m the one who set them up.”
Roman Moore wasn’t exactly the most ethical person, it turned out. When he’d discovered the cousins who had been entrusted to raise us and watch over our money had filed bankruptcy and turned my sister and I over to foster care, Roman had weaseled his way into their good graces, offering to help them hide the money only so he’d be able to lead me to it when it came time.
That wasn’t all he had to share. He also told me in detail how my father’s company had been taken over and disassembled, sharing information I never would have been able to glean without someone who had been on the inside. It was only with his help that I was able to add the most important name to my revenge list—Werner Media.
“You did leave Camilla and I in foster care for six years,” I reminded him now. “I’d say that was a bit of a letdown.”
“Pshaw.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you time and time again—I’m not fond of children.”
That was Roman. Willing to help out the son of a former friend, but only if it didn’t inconvenience him too much.
Though his version of loyalty was skewed, I’d grown to be quite dependent on him. He’d helped me get access to the money that should have always been mine, then he’d helped me destroy the cousins who’d stolen it, leaving them even more destitute than before my parents had died. Now, along with supporting my goals for vengeance, he was helping me build my own media company.
Three decades my senior, he’d become a sort of father figure, and I appreciated him more than I could ever express.
“Business is done for the night, got it?” Roman gestured to Stefania, the heavyset woman he’d chosen as “his” when we’d arrived. At the snap of his fingers, she came over and sat on his lap, flaunting her generous bosom in his face. “Now we enjoy the benefits of the island. The very voluptuous benefits.”
I scoffed, realizing I should have kept my disinterest to myself only after I’d made the sound.
“Look, Ed…” Somehow I managed not to cringe at the nickname he sometimes used for me. “You can’t be fed on revenge alone. You need to search for other things to feed you as well. Like women.” Roman peeled down one cup of Stefania’s bikini top. “Women taste much better than fury.”
I wasn’t fortunate enough to have found that to be true.
“I think I’ll stick to my brandy,” I said, watching as he trailed his tongue over her nipple, teasing her until it grew taut. Something hard and hot spiked in my chest. A sort of envy that didn’t wash down easily with my drink.
Roman turned from his current feast to give me his full attention. “Whatever you’re into, Ed, there are women here for that. I promise you.”
I wasn’t sure about that. I wasn’t naive enough to believe that my tastes were singular, but I was experienced enough to know they were somewhat unique.
If there were ever a time that I was tempted to challenge that notion, however, it was now. We’d spent the day distracted with business, but I hadn’t been immune to the abundance of beautiful women in our midst nor the sexual acts that had been performed with high frequency around us.
Still, fooling around wasn’t my priority. There were more items on my list to be addressed.
“I’m good. Thank you.” I finished off the contents of my tumbler in a single swallow.
“Can I refill your drink?” The words were said before I’d even lowered my empty glass, spoken perfectly but with a fairly thick French accent.
I looked up to scrutinize the woman who had asked. She wasn’t even that—she was a girl. Fully developed in a dress that revealed as much as it hid, but very young. Her plump lips were lined in blood red, the color bringing out her brown eyes and olive skin.
“Are you even legal?” I asked before I could fully consider the question.
“Are you?” she tossed back, her hip thrown to the side, tauntingly. It begged to be touched, to be gripped with firm fingers while being fucked from behind.
Yes, she was young—too young for most of the men in the room. But I was young too. Age-appropriate, in fact.
I slanted my eyes, considering it. Considering taking Roman’s advice, forgetting my schemes and losing myself in a woman instead, at least for the night.
Not this one, though. She was tempting, but as I’d hinted to my friend, I needed a woman who could handle me. Not a child, no matter how luscious her mouth.
“I’m closer than you,” I said back, turning my gaze from her in obvious dismissal.
“Everyone’s legal here. International waters in the middle of the Caribbean. What kind of talk is this?” Roman was intent on merriment and was determined that I join in.
I gave a halfhearted shrug. “I guess I forgot where we were. I’ll have another cognac.” I’d only recently discovered the brandy, and it was quickly becoming a favorite.
“Coming right away. Sir,” she added with enough sarcasm to suggest I didn’t deserve the title and enough challenge in her tone to dare that I try.
She was right—I didn’t deserve the title. Compared to the others in the room, I was merely a boy. I had big confidence and even bigger plans, but I was still only an intern and grateful to those who would teach me how to carry them out.
Yet the unearned title ignited something in me, something low and primal that had my dick stirring with curiosity, and try as I might, I couldn’t keep myself from watching her as she walked away. She still had baby-fat that many of the more mature women on the island had long lost. It made her appear curvy and lush, and the back view highlighted this as well as the front. Her short dress hugged her indecently, showing off the definition of her round behind, and I could suddenly imagine my face buried there, my teeth tearing at her juicy flesh.
No, no. She was too young for that. Too innocent for the likes of me.
But what was an innocent girl doing in a place like this?
A dark thought jarred my stare. I swung my head sharply back to the men. “Are the women here of their own volition?”
Stefania let out an uninterpretable laugh.
“Fuck, man!” Kofi scanned nervously around. “You shouldn’t even be asking something like that.”
Roman seemed less concerned with the implications of my question. “It’s fine,” he said, reassuring the other man. “You certainly don’t want to be asking Maximillian about the women he’s with, and anyone who comes with Abdul Bagher is most likely owned. But if you’re wondering about our little waitress—she’s definitely here because she wants to be.”
I focused on the last part of what he’d said, which was somehow the most shocking. “How do you know that? She can’t even have finished grammar school.”
“That don’t mean nothing,” Kofi said. “She’s obviously flirting with you, man. You should bang her.”
“I know because she came with Claudette.” Roman nodde
d to a woman across the room, kneeling at the feet of an older man who was sitting at one of the conference tables. “Claudette often brings friends. This is the first time I’ve seen this particular girl, but they’re all the same.”
“Wannabe subs,” Kofi spelled out.
“Wannabe, exactly.” Stefania smirked in agreement.
“Well, they come because they believe they want the submissive lifestyle,” Roman asserted. “Most just find that they don’t once they’ve truly experienced it. Claudette loves it, though, so I think she keeps spreading the gospel, so to say, hoping to find other disciples.”
I studied Claudette. She was fully naked, her eyes cast down. Her arms were twisted behind her, and the spread of her thighs looked like it had to be uncomfortable. Yet she sat motionless, even when the man reached down to stroke her head, like she was a pet.
Her discomfort was an admitted turn-on.
Except I didn’t imagine myself a typical dominant. A sadist, perhaps, but I enjoyed psychological pain more than physical. I’d learned that about myself early on. I’d fucked quite a lot, despite my young age. I also fucked quite mean, and I couldn’t bring myself to believe that any woman would truly seek that sort of treatment, not for more than the occasional novelty, anyway. I certainly hadn’t encountered any that found it particularly enjoyable, which was why I’d come to practice a one-time-only rule with my partners. That way it was my choice not to get involved and I never had to endure the inevitable conversation about changing my behavior if a relationship were to continue.
Because changing wasn’t ever going to happen. I was who I was, and I was definitely not nice.
Seeing dominance in action, though, I wondered if maybe there were ways that I could adapt. Maybe I could be satisfied with rigid rules and doling out punishments. Maybe there would be room to manipulate sex into a game that fed my sadistic needs as well as the masochistic desires of another.
Revenge Page 5
