by Maren Smith
Her eyes were burning. That little nap she’d stolen after Reeve and Eric had finished with her wasn’t the same as a full night’s sleep. Exhaustion was creeping in on her. What time was it? Four in the morning, now? Five? She looked around the room, at the stack of wire-rack shelves that lined the wall above the row of lost and found tubs, and then quickly rifled through what few boxes and bags were stacked up on top of the bank of cabinets that lined this wall. Where was a crowbar when one was needed?
The maintenance closet.
Jogging quickly across the hall, she let herself in—Oh, thank God! A real light switch! Grabbing both a hammer and a long screwdriver, she headed back to the records room. Throwing the halves of her cloak back over her shoulders, she wedged the screwdriver into the lock, braced herself for the inevitable noise and destroyed the internal workings of the lock. It took three pounding blows and all her strength to twist the screwdriver, but the lock gave way before her determination did.
It made a lot of noise. Somebody had to have heard that.
Sandy hurried. Exactly what she was looking for, she wasn’t sure. Starting at the beginning, she flipped her way through the manila files. She looked at birthdates, but it quickly occurred to her that if anyone was working here under legal age, then OCD or not, Marshall would have to be an idiot to keep that record.
She wished she knew the girl’s name, but she didn’t. This drawer seemed to be all guest records anyway, complete with credit card information, most of which matched their names. Few minors had their own credit cards. Plus, each file had a very official-looking copy of everyone’s driver’s license. At this rate, she could spend days going through these files and never find what she needed.
She had to think.
It was possible this entire bank was nothing but guest records. However, on the off chance that employee records might also be located in this room, Sandy grabbed her hammer and screwdriver and marched down the back to the last cabinet in the row. The other end had started at A; this would either be Z or employee records.
Sandy beat the lock into submission. It took four blows this time, and maybe it was only a trick of her guilty imagination, but it seemed to make even more noise than the last. Taking a moment, she stuck her head out into the hallway. She saw no one. Specifically, she saw no curious security guards coming down the hall with one ear cocked. Shutting the door again, Sandy pried open the drawer and went to work.
The top two drawers were still guest records. The bottom two, however, were just what she was looking for.
Eureka, and in more ways than one.
Every file was tucked into a carefully marked manila file folder, but an array of multicolored tabs across the top seemed to code them into a system that she only belatedly recognized. These were the same colors as the bracelets everybody wore. Each of the dominant files had a white tab, followed by a series of colors that she could only assume linked that person with the roles they were interested in playing. The Castle had three different Erics, but only one had a driver’s license with a picture of her Eric stapled to the inside cover. Sure enough, one of the many tabs across the top was blue, signifying the Castle nursery.
Look at all the Littles he’d taken care of. She caught herself looking through the long, handwritten log of dates worked and with which guest. She had better things to do and not a lot of time left, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from searching out Reeve’s file next. There was only one person with his name. He also had a blue tab, but unlike Eric’s, which had sat right next to the white one, Reeve’s blue tab was literally the last color in a veritable rainbow of them. His started with a black tab. She had no idea what a black tab must mean, but as she struggled to swallow past her jealousy, she ran a finger down the long list of guest names in his personal log. The word ‘dungeon’ kept popping up.
That didn’t surprise her, really. Reeve had that air, that harshness, coupled with his ‘Master’ preference. She could easily see him down in some dark corner of the basement, with woman after woman bent over with her hands and feet tied down and her ass marked with cane strokes, and Reeve prizing her bottom cheeks apart so they’d feel just as split in two as Sandy had, right before he shoved his cock into them, and—
She slapped the file folder closed, briefly covering her eyes with a trembling hand. She really didn’t have the time to mess around with this. And yet, instead of putting the file back in the cabinet drawer, she slapped it down on top, where she intended to stack any other evidence she found so she could take it all with her. Why she wanted his file, she didn’t want to think about just yet.
Searching through the files, Sandy checked the photo and the age of every employee, and by God, she found the girl she was looking for. She also found six others just like her—making seven minors in all. Six girls and one boy, all of whose pictures were nothing short of the most baby-faced that she had ever seen, and all of whom had driver’s licenses that claimed them to be of legal age. Forged birthdates put them anywhere between nineteen and twenty-seven.
“Twenty-seven my ass,” Sandy muttered, looking through the last folder. She was only three-quarters of the way through the fourth of five drawers. If she kept going, she’d probably find more, but she really was running out of time. There was only one window in this room and it was located behind a short pyramid of storage boxes, chairs and a badly scratched conference table. One would have to be half-goat to look outside, but even with the curtain drawn she could see enough early morning light brightening around the fabric edges to know the sun was rising. She had to go. Now—right now—or she wouldn’t make it out of here with any evidence at all.
And yet she reached for that last cabinet drawer anyway, popping it open even as she ordered herself just to grab her files and go.
Eureka number two. Her laptop case and camera were the first things she saw. Followed by her notepad, resting on its side right where someone had put it after they’d finished going through it. Eric or Marshall, or maybe both. Her heart caught in her chest. She really was caught. Reeve really did know. No wonder he’d been so angry. After all, they’d just had literally the most wonderful night together and before the fluids could even dry on her thighs, he’d found out she wasn’t at all who or what she’d claimed to be.
She’d be angry, too, if only their situations were reversed.
Except she ought to be angry. She had a right, in fact, to be angry too. So what if she’d lied to him; he’d also lied to her. This whole place was built on each and every employee’s ability to lie to the guests who came here. This whole place was one gigantic, horrible, miserable lie. One that somehow wormed itself into a girl’s heart, no matter how stalwartly she tried to brace herself against it, and it deserved to be shut down! On principles alone, never mind the illegalities of what they were doing.
Grabbing her files and her things, she kicked the drawer shut. It was the only vent she gave her frustrations before grabbing the door handle and yanking it open.
And very nearly plowed head-first into Reeve. He was wearing an ill-fitting security uniform. Both the pants and black shirt were a size too big for him, and his feet were bare. And red. They looked cold. So did his hand, which was poised as if to grip the doorknob before she’d yanked it away from him. In spite of all that, he recovered from his surprise a lot quicker than she did hers.
“Congratulations,” he growled, stopping her heart dead in her chest. “You’re a dead woman.”
Oh, shit. It’s what Sandy meant to say, but what came out was absolutely wordless and shrieked at high volume. Dropping everything, including her laptop, she tried to slam the door, but he grabbed it too. Though she slammed her full weight against it, so did he, and he weighed more.
Her Little Red Riding boots had no traction. Inch by inch, she slid backwards as he forced his way in, until she gave up and in a burst of raw energy, he shoved inside.
“Yeah,” he said, slamming the door behind him. “I’m definitely looking at a dead woman.”
/> “What are you—” Sandy sputtered. “H-how did you—”
“Find you?” he countered, both angry and incredulous. “Look up.”
She did. Absolutely no effort at all had been made to hide the black security camera hanging from the ceiling directly above the door. It was pointed right at her and she’d never even noticed.
“Three guards have been watching and recording you from the moment you walked into this room,” Reeve said. “Thanks for making me run all the way back here in nothing but a blanket. You used my keycard, too. I can’t tell you how happy I am that I was able to help.”
Oh, shit…
Sandy fled into the room, which was laughable, because she had only the length of ten file cabinets before she was blocked by a mountain of boxes and a table. Beyond all that was the window. Even if it could be opened, they were still on the second floor, but jumping to her death at this point was still a viable option she was absolutely willing to entertain.
“Don’t even think about it,” Reeve snarled, stalking the length of the cabinets after her. She threw her leg up onto the table, but he grabbed her ankle anyway. She scrambled for the other side, but only made it a few feet before he caught her other ankle now too and heaved. Her knees went out from under her, her belly hit the table, and backwards she went, skin squeaking across the varnish as he pulled her to him.
Her feet hit the floor and her hips teetered off the edge. Scrambling now just to get up again, she almost made it before the heat and weight of his hand clamped onto the back of her neck and down she went again. Mad as he was, his strength was still tempered. He didn’t slam her head to the table, but he did force her down until her chest smashed flat against the surface, followed by her cheek.
“Let me go, Reeve,” she quavered, every inch of her from the middle of her shoulders, over the curve of her ass, to the backs of her knees erupting in the most prickling dread. “I-I m-mean it. Let go.”
Something was terribly wrong with her, because even as she said it, all she felt was a pinch of sadness for the cowardice that made her offer him that choice. What if he gave it to her? What if he let her go, what would she do then?
“Not a chance,” Reeve snapped, but instead of making her feel better, she felt even worse. And not just worse, but panicked, especially when she heard the clink of his belt as he unbuckled it, and felt the jerk of his body when he yanked to free it.
“What are you doing?” The hiss of leather as it released his waist was a distinctly serpentine sound. It kicked her panic up a notch. Hands pushing against the table, she struggled to rise. “Wh-what are you doing?”
His weight on the back of her neck did not budge. No matter how she twisted, she couldn’t escape his hold. She honestly expected the next sound she heard to be the whip of his belt lashing her ass. But instead, she jumped at the unexpected clatter of the buckle when he threw his belt so far behind him that it hit the wall and door.
Letting go, Reeve took two giant steps back from her. His expression was furious. His hand when he pointed at her shook, but his voice was cold and deceptively calm. “Be very fucking glad I’m too God-damned pissed to deal with you right now, or I’d take a layer of skin right off your ass.”
Pushing back up off the table, Sandy was unprepared for how much it hurt just to look at him. Never mind that she’d brought most of this trouble down on herself. “Why are you so angry?” Her own temper reared at the whininess of her own voice. She sounded so… pathetic. She used to be so strong, but she felt anything but that right now. “You don’t get to be angry at me.”
His eyebrows shot upward. “I don’t get to be angry?”
“No! You don’t have the right—” she spat, but that was as far as she got before he started laughing. It wasn’t a happy sound. It was hard and bitter, and he only looked angrier when he did it.
“You have a lot of nerve talking about rights.”
“Don’t act like you’re so pristine! You’re not blameless here! In fact, of the two of us—”
He came at her, closing the distance between them that all she could do was jerk back. Her butt hit the table. She grabbed reflexively at his waist when he seized her shoulders, hauling her up on her toes. She thought he might actually hit her this time, but his kiss was just as devastating. His mouth crushed hers. It was the angriest kiss she’d ever received, and still it stole her breath. Her heart faltered; her head spun. Before her fingers could more than twitch in the folds of his shirt, though, it was over. He abruptly shoved her off him and she fell against the table, grabbing that now instead. He swiped his hand across his mouth as if the lingering effects of her lips on his were unbearable.
Sandy was too stunned to be hurt just yet. Perhaps hurt might have come a second or two later, but Reeve started pacing first. A restless back and forth expression of the turmoil she could see bubbling up behind the fierce black of his angry stare. His breathing quickened, turning shallower by the second. He licked his lips, then rolled them tight together, and Sandy’s only warning of the impending inner snap that shattered his self-restraint came when he suddenly came at her again. He seized her like a man possessed, catching her face in his hands before the full force of his furious passion locked onto her mouth.
She crashed into the table all over again. Her legs tried to give out, but the heady grip of his hands had already abandoned her face. He grabbed her ass instead, fingers digging into the fleshy curves of her butt and thighs, gripping and squeezing as he hupped her up against him, then dropped her on the edge of the table.
“Tell me no,” he growled, nipping at her bottom lip with a gentleness so at odds with the angry hunger in his squeezing hands. “Tell me fucking no.”
Mewing, Sandy opened her lips, her arms, her legs, and hooked them around all of him that she could reach. She couldn’t bear even the slightest distance, though it all seemed to vanish between them when her pussy and bottom bumped up against him. She arched, offering her breasts, loving the hard flinch of his belly when her own came in contact with it. His broad shoulders were her only anchor in the storm. She clung to him, trusting him to keep her safe even as they both were swept away.
He ripped her costume from her shoulders to her waist. She had no idea if he was just that strong or if Little Red Riding Hood’s seams were meant to tear. Either way, there was no greater exultation than that instant when his hand and mouth found her breast. There was no surrender more magical, more gratefully gifted than the one she offered as he yanked her back off the table, spun her around and bent her over it once more. She loved the strain in her shoulders as he pinned her arms behind her back. She loved the sensual pressure when he grabbed her hair, forcing her head so far back that her spine arched. She loved the force with which he entered her, pounding into her until the table knocked the wall it was up against and her echoing cries were so guttural and deep that she hardly recognized herself.
Pleasure shattered her. It ripped her into pieces so devastating and so small. Even in orgasm’s aftermath, as he tightened his grip for those last rigorous thrusts, spilling himself inside her—no condom, again—the height of her ecstasy felt as cutting as a knife.
She didn’t want to put him in jail. She didn’t want to do anything that would get him hurt.
She was a horrible person for not caring more about the victims than herself.
It was a moot point, anyway.
Pushing back off her, Reeve straightened his clothes without talking. His sweat was on her skin, his semen cooled as it spilled down her thighs when she stood. The few feet that grew to separate them as he turned away may as well have been a canyon, and the silence between them was broken only by their heavy breathing and all the ghosts of the things she knew she ought to be saying—now, while it still might make a difference.
But there were things she wanted to hear him saying right now, too, and he wasn’t. So she didn’t. And the longer the silence stretched, the wider the canyon became until by the time she’d pulled the tattered remnants
of her costume up to cover herself, the distance was once more damned near insurmountable.
He zipped up his pants with his back to her so he wouldn’t have to look at her. She’d thought the knife had already cut as deeply as it could go, but she was wrong. He paused at the door to gather up the scattered files she’d dropped, looking only at a few before shaking his head. There wasn’t any anger left in him, not in his eyes or in his voice as he said, “I guess now we know what you really came for.”
A punch to the gut would have been kinder. Instead, she had to watch him walk away.
Chapter 13
Good morning,” Marshall greeted Jackson, who was standing guard at the door just inside his office. He strode across the floor in his blackest pants, his whitest shirt, and his most authoritarian vest, complete with the gold chain of his turn-of-the-century pocket watch looped across the front. As he crossed the room, it caught the reflection of the morning light shining in through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk.
“Good morning,” he greeted Eric and Reeve, seated in two of the three chairs that had been set out for this little interrogation. Setting the steaming mug of coffee he carried safely on his desk, he even greeted Sandy, dressed in the remnants of her costume and an extra security t-shirt Jackson had provided. Her hands were tight in her lap and her back was broomstick straight. “Good morning.” He didn’t quite smile, but there was something distinctly cat-on-the-verge-of-pouncing about him when he looked at her. Reeve didn’t like it, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it either.
Sandy didn’t reply but she did take a slow, deep breath, visibly bracing herself for what she obviously knew was going to be pretty bad. His arm ached to reach around her, but the need to comfort was countered heavily by the equally strong urge to put her across his knee for the paddling of her life. He couldn’t do the former, he wouldn’t do the latter. He also refused to leave her to face this on her own.
