Wanted Box Set

by Karpov Kinrade

  I hesitated, on the fence, but deep inside, I knew I couldn't just walk away. I didn’t have a choice.

  Trusting the street-smarts knew what they were talking about, I stepped inside.

  Immediately, the butler left, closing the door behind him with a click.

  It was then I saw the man, standing in the shadows. As I watched, he emerged into the circle of candlelight, book in hand.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the lighting, but when they did, my jaw dropped.

  He was tall, at least 6'3", and elegantly lean in a black suit tailored to his trim, muscular frame. Yet it was his face that drew my gaze, so fine, ageless, and all chiseled angles. His dark, nearly black eyes glinted in the candlelight or perhaps with a hint of madness.

  He looked so elegant, suave, and fierce at once.

  He snapped his book shut and set it on a nearby shelf, his gaze never once leaving mine. “Good evening, Miss Blackwood,” he said as he reached out his hand in greeting.

  A shiver ran up my spine the instant our hands met, and almost at once, a wave of unexpected desire rolled over me, making my legs tremble and taking me by surprise. Shocked, I drew a silent, fortifying breath and stood firm, willing myself not to flinch under his gaze or touch. "Thank you for the interview, Mr. …?" I never got a name. Just an address.

  He tilted his head, causing a lock of dark hair to fall across his forehead as his long, elegant fingers tightened ever so slightly around my hand. "It's Count… actually."

  I narrowed my eyes. "That's rather grandiose," I teased and then promptly bit my lip. Don’t freaking forget your place, Kass.

  Fortunately, he didn't appear offended, judging by the wry smile that curved his lips, anyway. "It is a title well-earned," he said mildly. Then, his eyes dropped to my hand, still clutched in his, and I stared at the line of his thick, black lashes as he studied the ink on my arm.

  Suddenly self-conscious, I pulled free of his grasp. Instantly, part of me felt a loss at the lack of contact, which was, of course, a shit-ton of pure stupidness, so I mentally clocked myself in the head, hoping to knock some sense into my brain.

  "Please, sit," the Count waved a hand at a tufted leather chair as he took the seat behind the mahogany desk nearby. "Tell me, Kassandra. May I call you Kassandra?"

  To be perfectly honest, the way he said my name made me a bit lightheaded. I sat down, mentally kicking myself again and forced my mind back to the interview. For the first time, I realized he’d never actually told me his name, but now it felt weird to ask again. "My friends call me Kass,” I said, clearing my throat. “But Kassandra is fine too."

  "Tell me, Kassandra, why are you applying for this job?"

  This was it, my moment to shine. I looked him straight in the eye and recited from memory the script I'd been given to say, "I'm passionate about housekeeping and finding new and innovative ways to keep a home clean and inviting. I'm organized, strong, and can work long hours without tiring." Ha! What a crock. "I would be an asset to any house." There, I’d nailed every word and emotion.

  The Count leaned back, steepled his fingers, and studied me in the candlelight. The flickering of flames lent him a menacing look but strangely, that only somehow amplified the attraction I felt. This wasn't an innocent boy who didn't know which way was up. This was a man… a man who had clearly walked with darkness and lived to tell the tale—and a man who obviously knew his way around a woman, maybe even women with my kind of demons. My libido warmed at that, a libido that had been very much neglected of late due to my inability to make good decisions on the men front. Yet, while I was a year into taking a sabbatical from men entirely, my libido whispered I just might want to make an exception for this tall drink of water.

  Then, I became suddenly aware of the silence hanging heavy in the room and the fact that the Count was just sitting there, watching me.

  I gritted my teeth. Quit thinking with your pants and think with your head, Kass.

  As if aware I was suddenly paying attention again, the Count arched a cool brow and said in a low, menacing voice, "I have three rules for anyone who works with me or lives with me, Kassandra."

  I froze as a prickle of foreboding crept down my neck.

  "The first rule, Kassandra, is no lying. Ever. Without exception. So, before I terminate this interview and have you escorted out, I will give you one more chance to answer my question. Why are you applying for this job? This time, I want the truth."

  He never raised his voice, but there was such power behind his words I felt compelled to obey, and that terrified the ever-loving shit out of me.

  This was the moment I should have gotten the hell out of there. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

  Still, I needed to know what I was playing with, so I asked, "And what are the other two rules?"

  His dark brows creased with displeasure. "We will go over those should you get the job."

  It was my turn to frown. What a freaking strange interview. I sucked in a breath as I prepared a suitable combination of the truth. Then, I smiled, knowing exactly what I’d say. After all, a lie is always most believable when it contains a kernel of truth, and my lie had the advantage of being entirely true and entirely a lie at the exact same time.

  "The truth is, I came back home after being gone for some time to help take care of my little brother after my mother died. I need a job, and this town isn't exactly overflowing with them. I'm a shit housekeeper and I couldn't care less about 'innovative cleaning techniques', but I am a hard worker and I will learn to do what you want and do it well, should you hire me." Let's see what he did with that. I raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, "ball's in your court, buddy."

  He studied me for a long time. I didn't know if he was waiting for me to crack or what, but I didn't play his game. I just sat patiently, waiting. I could do that all night.

  Finally, he smiled. It was brief, and it didn't reach his eyes entirely. Eyes that looked weighed down with so much pain it couldn't be hidden.

  "Very well, Miss Blackwood, you're hired. You may move in tonight and start tomorrow."

  "Thank you, I—" I paused as his words sank in. "Wait, what? Move in?"

  He nodded. "Were you not aware? This is a live-in position. That's non-negotiable. Will that be a problem?"

  I gulped. Yes. "No, not at all."

  I plastered a smile on my face but inwardly I was already swearing at myself. What the hell are you going to do now? You're really up shit creek, Kass.

  2

  The third time my phone buzzed, Leonard's eyes dropped to my purse. "Feel free to attend to your personal business, Miss Kassandra. You will not offend."

  I gave the butler a half smile of soft thanks and pulled out the phone. I’d much rather ignore it, ignore him, but I knew I'd have to deal with him at some point. Might as well get it over with.

  He’d sent several texts and I scanned them all quickly.

  Update. Now.

  NOW.

  I'm not a patient man, Kassy. You should know that.

  WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, KASS?

  My reply was brief and to the point.

  I got the job. Back off. Everything's going as planned. I'll get you what you need. You just better deliver on your part of the deal.

  His response was immediate.

  Check in daily. Or else. You know what happens to traitors.

  I shoved the phone back into my purse, trying my best to ignore his threat but my body wouldn’t let me. My pulse quickened and even though the mansion was cool, sweat beaded my forehead. Flashbacks of the last time I was in this house hit me with brutal force.

  A high school party with no parents.

  Alcohol and drugs.

  I drank too much and felt sick. Too sick.

  He offered to help me to a bedroom to rest.

  Then he didn't leave.

  I reported the rape, and the next day I was pulled into a car, taken to the woods and beaten so badly I missed school for two weeks recovering.
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  I was blindfolded and couldn't identify the guilty.

  But I knew.

  I also learned my lessons that night.

  1: Guys who offer to help always want something.

  2: Snitches get stitches.

  "Is everything okay, Miss Kassandra?" Leonard’s quiet voice yanked me from the past.

  I blinked and shoved those memories back into the depths of my mind as far as I could. "Yes, everything is perfect." I said with all the charm I could muster. "But you don't need to drive me. I can drive myself. It'll be easier that way."

  Leonard frowned. "I wouldn't hear of it. I shall drive you and be of assistance in any way I can, as instructed by the Count."

  The tone of his voice and the way he worried his lip made me realize that he was desperate to do his job well, so I reluctantly conceded. But Jesus, this was not going to be a good scene if my dad was home and drunk.

  And before I wasted another minute, I needed to warn Jeremy I wouldn't be living there anymore.

  “Just give me one sec,” I said.

  Leonard nodded and turned to afford me some privacy as once again, I texted madly into my phone.

  Stay a few days with your friend. I got a job, but it's live-in. I'll keep you safe, I promise. Love you.

  Jeremy responded at once, and his response broke my heart.

  I can only stay maybe two nights before the parents get suspicious. What should I do after that?

  Go to another friend's house?

  I can't. No one else.

  Shit.

  I'll figure something out. Just don't go home while dad's there.

  We made quick time to my house, and Leonard didn't raise an eyebrow at my neighborhood or my passed-out, drunk asshole of a father on the couch.

  The butler followed me to my bedroom and stood at the door, almost as if on guard, as I threw everything I owned—which admittedly wasn't much—into a bag that I tossed over my shoulder. "Ready," I said.

  "Is that all you wish to take?" he asked politely.

  "It's all I own," I said. "So… yeah."

  He nodded and with a gentlemanly nod of his head, took the bag from me and carried it down the hall.

  We’d almost made a clean escape when the snoring from the couch turned to a series of coughs and my dad awoke. His eyes narrowed into slits as he sat up. "What the hell do you think you're doing, you little bitch?"

  I paled as shame and rage leapt to life inside me. At my side, Leonard went ramrod straight and for a slight man who didn't look inclined to fighting a dude twice his size, he didn't seem the least bit worried or scared.

  Curious. And impressive. Leonard instantly rose in my esteem.

  "I'm leaving," I told my father.

  My dad glanced between me and Leonard, clearly trying to assess the threat.

  Leonard nodded politely. "Shall we go, Miss Blackwood?"

  "You're not taking my daughter anywhere," my dad slurred.

  I snorted at that. "He's not taking me, I'm leaving. And you can't stop me. I'm an adult." Reason never worked with him, and since I didn't want this to lead to an altercation, I followed up with a threat. “If you try to stop me, the cops will be here before you know it."

  My dad hesitated, and I knew that was my chance.

  I hurried to the door, but Leonard was there first, holding it open. I dashed through and he was close behind. We made it to the car and down the street before my dad left the house. By then, it was too late.

  I exhaled deeply as we zoomed down the road.

  "I'm sorry about that," I said. The words slipped off my tongue by rote programming. I've spent my entire life apologizing for my father and my family. Apologizing for daring to exist.

  "You are not responsible for the actions of others," the butler replied.

  His words surprised me, and I gave him a smile then leaned back in the leather seat and closed my eyes. My cheekbone still hurt from the run-in earlier, and I could feel the swelling getting worse. Tomorrow, the puffiness and probably even the bruise would be hard to hide. Still, I didn’t regret it. Not for a second. What would such a blow have done to Jeremy? I shuddered, knowing I'd take any number of beatings for him.

  Unwilling to spare another thought on my dad, I forced my thoughts in a different direction and glanced at the butler. "Can I ask you something?"

  "You may. I will answer if I can."

  "What's the Count like to work for?" And live with. My bedroom had better have a lock on the door—and windows.

  There was a long pause. "The Count is a very private person. As long as you follow his rules, you'll be fine."

  "And what are those rules?" I asked. "Besides no lying."

  "He wishes to tell you himself when we return."

  Leonard wasn't exaggerating. The moment we returned the butler ushered me directly into the Count’s office even before taking my bag to my room.

  Again, the Count stood in the candlelight, an enigma of fierceness and beauty. "You will clean in the evenings and have the days for rest, is that understood?"

  Weird but whatever. I nodded.

  "And you will follow the rules I set," he continued.

  "And those would be?"

  He placed a scroll—an honest to god scroll—in front of me. It was embossed in gold filigree, and written in calligraphy, were three rules:

  I swear never to lie.

  I swear never to steal.

  I swear never to disobey.

  There was an X and a line, presumably for my signature.

  "Do you agree to these rules?" he asked.

  "Never disobey?" I repeated the last line, a flutter of nerves churning my stomach. Obedience has never been my strong suit.

  "That is the requirement for working here," he said in a voice that brooked no discussion.

  I pushed the paper away and shook my head. "Unquestioning obedience is unreasonable," I objected. "I'm an employee not a slave."

  "So, you're turning down the job?" Was that an incredulous note in his voice?

  This all smelled of something dangerous. Damnit, I should have run the instant I saw his candlelit room.

  My phone chose that moment to buzz again and the Count's eyes fell on my purse. "You will also relinquish your cell phone while you are on my property,” he said. “And any other recording or communication devices."

  What the hell? "Why?"

  "I value my privacy," he replied without elaboration.

  I pulled my purse onto my shoulder. "I don't think this is going to work out, after all," I said. I was only half bluffing. The consequences of walking out on this were too high. I knew this. I had to take the job, no matter what he demanded of me, but shit, this was seriously messed up.

  "Very well, you're free to go," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  Was he bluffing? Who the hell knew? It wasn’t like he needed me. Surely, there were a shit-ton more qualified candidates than me, anyway.

  But then again… all the strange rules.

  I stood, deciding he was bluffing after all. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Count. And good luck on your hunt for a housekeeper. It's hard to find good help in this town. Most people work on weed farms or don't want to work at all."

  I turned to leave, measuring my steps to the door, counting every second until he gave in.

  The door loomed closer. And closer. I was an inch away from the doorknob.

  Hell, that’s what I got for playing chicken with an enigma.

  I was going to lose.

  The Count cleared his throat. "Would you like to know what your salary would have been? Before you leave?"

  Bastard.

  I stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow. "Sure. How much do you pay your slaves?"

  He stood and walked to a large painting on the wall, an oil from the looks of it that depicted a dragon protecting a beautiful woman wearing a sword. He slid the painting aside to reveal a safe, and with fast fingers, deftly plugged in the security code.

  The door swu
ng open on well-oiled hinges and I tensed, craning to see the contents without looking too obvious. I caught a good glimpse of piles of cash before he closed the safe and returned to his desk with a small black chest accented with rubies and emeralds. Were they real? That would be extra! Slowly, he opened the lid, revealing the box stuffed with cash, all one-hundred dollar bills.

  "You must be a favorite with the IRS, paying in cash like that," I said, but I took a reluctant step forward. That was more money than I'd ever had in my life.

  He took a small stack of cash from the box and set it on the table. "Each month you will receive $7,000, cash, for your work," he said, placing another smaller stack next to the first. "And if you do your job exceptionally well, you will also receive a $3,000 bonus."

  Ten thousand dollars a month to clean his house? That was a fortune.

  "What's the catch? Why are you paying so much for a housekeeper?” Then, I folded my arms and looked him directly in the eye. “Are you expecting sex?" I asked bluntly. "In my experience, men always want something for their money."

  I'd like to say that if he had wanted sex, I'd be out. That I had a line. But when it came to this, I couldn't afford to have a line. Not if I wanted to save my brother.

  The Count’s dark eyes searched my face. "Firstly, I am not like any man you've ever met, Miss Blackwood, I can assure you of that. And secondly, I do, in fact, want something for my money. I want a clean house, and someone who can serve and prepare drinks when I have guests. The rest of the money is for your discretion. What happens here stays here."

  "Illegal shit?" I raised a suspicious brow. "I can't be involved in illegal shit."

  "Your record would beg to differ," he countered softly, "but no, nothing illegal. Just private."

  "You looked into my record?" I asked, feeling both embarrassed and angry. Both were a combination of emotions I’d become well-acquainted with over the course of my life.

  His face was an unreadable mask. "Of course I did. How would I consider you for a live-in position if I hadn't done my due diligence?"

  I cocked my hip, studying the devilishly handsome man before me. "Then you know I'm not squeaky clean. Why risk it?"