by W Winters
I came nearly instantly, and Carter stilled deep inside of me. Gripping the hair at the base of my skull, he forced me to arch my back and whispered in my ear, “You fucking love what I do to you.” And I couldn’t deny it.
I fucking loved it. But it was a punishment and I was reminded of that and what I’d done before he left me panting and sated on the floor.
“Next time it will be the cell.” His words ring clear in my head as I glance at all the drawers I have yet to open.
I may love the way he fucks me, but that doesn’t change much. I don’t fight the urges anymore. I want them, and they help me to survive, but it doesn’t make me any less ashamed, because I know very well I’m a prisoner here and Carter can do with me as he wishes.
Although I crave my freedom, that doesn’t mean I don’t have desires in my captivity.
The one thing I always notice is what Carter doesn’t do.
He never kisses me. Never once. And he doesn’t talk to me the same way when there are people around. I’ve met two of his brothers and each time I anticipated being tossed aside or demeaned. But each time, Carter’s talked to me as if I’m a friend, maybe. Or a business acquaintance. As do his brothers, although their words are few.
When we’re alone, it’s different. There’s a comfort in his voice I didn’t expect that’s only replaced by a heavy cadence of desire when he gives me a command.
The combination of all of this is a whirlwind of chaos in my mind.
But one fact remains the same: Another day survived is another day I’m Carter’s whore.
My bare feet sink into the rug beneath the bed as I slink off of it and walk toward the cup of coffee on the dresser. It’s still hot to the touch.
A million thoughts bombard me every waking moment. Why is he doing this is the one that’s a constant. Carter’s a man of intentions. Calculated and manipulative.
Lifting the hot cup of coffee to my lips, I blow across the top and feel the heat caress my face.
He could have slipped something into the cup. He could have left it on the dresser intentionally to remind me of yesterday. My feet are planted right where I was when he punished me.
I go over every possible reason he could have had for putting a cup of a coffee within sight and leaving it for me. It’s flavored with enough cream and sugar that the bitter coffee flavor is less evident. Yesterday I made a cup for myself, my first cup of coffee since I’ve been here. And he must have watched.
Maybe that was the reason he left this here; he wanted me to know he was watching. Maybe he just wanted me to wake up.
Swallowing the sweetened drug, I decide it doesn’t matter. I could wonder all I want, but I’ll never know.
The only thing that matters is that if I didn’t drink it, he would know, and I imagine he would be disappointed. Which is something I don’t want to risk happening after yesterday.
I’m determined to be cautious and smart with every decision.
To not go back to the cell, but also to help Carter. I haven’t forgotten his deal. He said I would help him and then he’d give me everything. I’m waiting, staying in his good graces. But something is going to change. I can feel it in my bones. All I have to do is obey and wait for the time to strike. Either for his plan to come to fruition or for another opportunity to make its presence known so I can escape and go back to the safety of my father’s home.
Before I even realize it, the ceramic mug is empty in my hands and I leave it on the dresser to change into the clothes he left for me on the end of the bed.
Another routine of his. It’s the routines that give me comfort. Knowing what to expect, and how to react. That’s something that doesn’t frighten me, if nothing else.
The fabric is thicker today. Nothing sheer or delicate. I have to grip the shoulders of it and hold it at arm’s length to discover it’s a black cotton wraparound dress. It’s beautiful and as I slip it on, the soft fabric tickling just above my knee where it stops, I start to feel beautiful myself.
The necklace, the dress. They’re classically elegant and hug my curves. I’m tempted to brush my hair and use some of the toiletries Jase bought for me.
More than anything, I want to draw the image of the woman I used to be onto the new canvases I was given last night. A blank page begs to be covered in ink, and I feel and look so different now. Maybe not so much on the surface, but everything I think and feel is no longer a semblance of what once was.
But first, I dress how he wants me to, I’ll seek him out, and then I’ll bide my time hiding in the art where I can remember what used to be and hold on to the last piece of the girl I used to know.
I know I’m only playing into Carter’s hand as I thread my fingers through my locks and make a braid, placing it over my shoulder and then reach for the cosmetic bag. I don’t recognize myself.
But the woman in the mirror is lovely. The kind of lovely that fills other women with envy, but as I drop the mascara onto the counter, I know that no one would envy me and all I am is a pretty fuck doll for Carter.
For now. It’s what I have to be. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I try to dignify it by convincing myself that I have to in order to survive. But I can’t deny the thought of him commanding me to spread my legs for him sends a wave of heat and want to my core.
Stepping out of the bedroom makes me nervous. It doesn’t make much sense to feel safe at all here, but there is a hint of safety in knowing that only Carter will come into his bedroom. I know what to expect. Outside of the confines of those walls are things I have yet to explore.
I know where the den is, and I spent a good bit of time there yesterday. Photographs upon photographs and beautiful art lined every inch of wall in the den. It was easy to lose myself, and take in each one, imagining I had somehow slipped away and fallen into the art, away from here.
Someone in here has a fondness for old trucks. Nearly ten photographs had trucks in them, rusted and worn down, the hoods covered in snow or blue flowers peeking out from under the tires. I’ve never felt so strongly that old trucks are beautiful until I felt the emotion from the photographs. Maybe I’ll draw that instead. Or both. I have plenty of time for both.
I know where the kitchen is from Carter’s bedroom too.
And I’ve ventured there on my own once, but the other times Carter’s brought me there.
Yesterday he made me kneel in the kitchen. The way he said it reminded me of the punishment in his bedroom, and I quickly fell to the ground to obey.
The cold floors were smooth and unforgiving against my legs, but I stayed still and at his feet as he fed me bits of his meals. I think he truly enjoys doing it. Having me on my knees beside him and at his mercy. And I have to admit, I didn’t hate it, at least not until someone came into the kitchen.
I could hear whoever it was walking in, but they didn’t say a word. I remember how I stilled, how I didn’t know what to do.
Carter continued to place the chunks of salmon between my lips. And within seconds, whoever had entered, left.
From what I know, there are four men living here. The only other one who’s talked to me outside of Carter is Jase. But I imagine it’s only when Carter permits it. And I have a mental note in the back of my head to befriend him. The more ammunition I have, the better.
But I’ll be careful. I’ll be smart. And for now, that means obeying.
I’m nearly to the right threshold of the grand kitchen when I see Carter leaning against the counter, an iPad in his hand and his attention focused on it.
I can’t help the way I freeze. As if I could somehow blend into the rich hall and vanish before he could see me.
Even if his touch lights every nerve ending of mine on fire, I still fear Carter. That will never change. Letting out a shaky breath is my downfall; Carter peeks up from his task and sees me. His gaze is lethal as he takes in my appearance.
Slowly. Ever so slowly.
Every inch of skin where his gaze lingers is instantly set ablaze.
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br /> “Come.” It’s the only word I’m given. A command not to be denied, and that rapid hammering in my chest intensifies. One step after another.
My life has become a series of careful steps.
Before I’ve even come fully into the kitchen, he commands me to kneel and I hesitate. His voice is different. The reverence and desire are absent. Something’s wrong and immediately I feel defensive. My hands feel clammy as I wonder what’s changed. I nearly swear to him that I haven’t done anything wrong.
I’ve only ever kneeled at his feet, but the power in his voice makes my knees weak and I drop to the floor where I am, feet away from him in the hall, although I’m afraid he wanted me next to him. Fear. Fear commands these so carefully taken steps.
A moment passes and then another before he glances my way, through the doorway to the kitchen. “Here, songbird. Come kneel here.” There’s an edge of annoyance in his voice and I nearly cry. It’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous that his reprimand would upset me to that extent, but as I crawl the last few feet to sit beside him in a kneeling position, my body nearly buckles, and I realize why this morning Carter seems different. Harder and less interested.
“You have her trained well.” The man’s voice sparks anger in my blood. It mixes with the fear, confusing me and I have a difficult time managing my expression, my movements. Everything in me is screaming to look at Romano, to stare into his cold dark eyes and tell him to go fuck himself.
“There’s still plenty for her to learn,” Carter speaks absently, swiping the screen of the iPad and focusing his attention on it. He doesn’t touch me. Not like he does around his brothers.
My head hangs low, so low it nearly hurts my neck, but I don’t want Romano to see my face. I have to bite the inside of my cheek so hard that it bleeds to keep from speaking up.
Be smart, I remind myself although it doesn’t soothe a damn thing I’m feeling.
“How’s--”
Carter cuts Romano off and states, “I’m happy with it. Let’s move forward.”
With his simple words, Carter leaves my side to walk the few feet across the kitchen, passing the iPad back to Romano and I chance a peek up. In his crisp dress shirt and dark gray slacks, Carter’s expensive, dominating appearance is at odds with Romano’s mien. His shirt hangs baggy in the front, not tailored to be fitted, I’d suspect because of his weight.
“When does it begin?” Carter asks with his back to Romano as he stalks toward me. He catches my stare and holds it until he reaches me, forcing me to pull my chin up so I don’t break his gaze.
He only looks away when his hand reaches my hair and he cups the back of my head. The satisfaction and thrill of having him hold me so gently and possessively are undeniably fucked up. But still, I nearly smile.
The more comfortable I get, the more I grow to crave his small touches and the warmth of his body.
It’s not supposed to be this way, but I can feel myself slipping into this new reality.
“Next week,” Romano answers him and I can practically hear his grin. “We’ll start taking them out all at once. As many as we can.”
Adrenaline pumps in my veins, remembering the conversation from weeks ago. He’s going to kill my father’s men and all I can think about is Nikolai, my first kiss and only true friend in this world. My family and everyone I grew up with.
I know, and yet I can do nothing. The air around me is suffocating as I sit there silently, remembering how easily some of them have killed before, how I’ve wished that those men would die so many times. But not all of them. Not my family. Not Nikolai.
Inside I scream at myself to beg for answers, to beg for mercy. But on the surface I stay calm and wait for Romano to leave. There has to be a way for me to spare some of the people I love. The only people I love. The only family I have.
Please, show mercy. I nearly whisper the words as Carter leaves me yet again, walking Romano to the door and leaving me lonely and pathetic on the floor of the kitchen.
I don’t make a sound. I stay silent.
But I will beg. I will fight. I will do anything. I won’t let them kill my family.
There has to be a way.
If he cares anything for me, he’ll show mercy. My gaze drops to the shadows of the two of them in the hall. The saddest part of the last thought is that I already know he won’t show mercy. I’m only his whore.
Chapter 23
Carter
The fire crackles. I’ve always found comfort in the soothing sound. My songbird’s humming is the only thing that’s come close and whether or not she knows it, she’s been humming every so often since I left her in the den.
Gripping the back of the tufted sofa, I watch the glow of the fire play across her face. The shadows only make her look more beautiful. Even though she’s drawing near the hearth, she hasn’t turned on the lights. The sun set hours ago, taking the daylight that filled this room with it. But she’s stayed by the fire, consumed with her art.
“Aria.” I attempt to keep my voice calm and gentle, so I don’t startle her. But I achieve the opposite and the black charcoal in her hand leaves a mar across the center of the piece she’s drawing. Surprise and fear are evident from her parted lips but she shifts her expression quickly, leaving her pad and the charcoal on the hearth to kneel for me.
She doesn’t address me any other way, simply waiting for a command. Her submission is beautiful, but there’s a twisting in my gut. She’s faking it. It’s only because of yesterday. She’s only being good because I caught her searching through my room. She doesn’t fool me.
“You did well this morning,” I compliment her as I round the large sofa. Her eyes watch me; they watch every movement I make.
As much as I see her, I know she sees me. It’s one of the things that’s pulling me to her every second of every day.
I don’t want to miss the little hints of honesty that she can’t hide from me.
“I don’t like that man,” she says under her breath, daring to raise her eyes to me. “Romano.” A grin pulls at my lips. “I couldn’t tell,” I say, toying with her.
She did perfectly. Submitting to me and showing him how I have her under my thumb. That I’ve gained control of her, even when she couldn’t contain her contempt for him.
She’s helping me set him up for his own demise, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask her as I sink into the sofa, relaxing against it as she nods once and then whispers, “Yes.”
“Come here.” I pat the seat next to me and watch her debate on whether she should crawl or stand to get here. Glancing at her right hand, covered in charcoal, she chooses to stand and reach for the towel on the coffee table. She’s deliberate in her motions as she quickly cleans her hands and then walks quietly to sit beside me. Only the crackling of the fire occupies the silence.
As she sits, I slip my arm around her waist, pulling her closer, lowering my lips to her ear then nipping her lobe before moving to her neck.
When I’m touching her, she knows exactly how to behave. She loses that constant inner questioning and gives herself to me completely. Letting her breathing quicken and her head fall to the side. She can’t hide from me when my hands are on her.
It’s a heady feeling I’ve grown addicted to.
I imagine she doesn’t realize how often she touches me. Like now, how she reaches out to my shoulder as I rake my teeth up and down her neck.
Nipping her ear once more and feeling the thrill of her ragged moans deep in my chest, I whisper to her, “I want the man dead.”
Her lashes flutter open and as they do, Jase enters the doorway. He hesitates and nearly turns around, but I gesture for him to enter. Time and time again, she seizes up when another person is added to the equation. She forgets how to react and becomes a lost little bird with a broken wing. Stiff in my embrace, she struggles to know where to look as Jase enters.
Slowly she pulls her legs up onto the sofa and bows her head. I know Jase i
s watching me, but I can’t take my eyes away from her.
“You’re mine,” I tell her in a voice that commands her to look back at me. “You will hold your head up high.” Her eyes widen slightly and then follow my fingers as I trace them from her collar down the center of her chest. “How else will they see this?” My pointer intertwines with the necklace and she nods in understanding.
I can feel her heart racing just beyond my touch, but I let the necklace fall into place and turn back to my brother. The judgment and disgust that lingered in his eyes only days ago are gone, replaced now only by curiosity. It’s all going better than I’d hoped, even if it has taken longer than I’d planned.
“It’s set for next week.” As the words register with Jase and he tells me the shipments are coming in early for Romano, I notice how Aria’s demeanor changes again.
She already knows too much. As much as I enjoy her presence, she shouldn’t be privy to the knowledge of how her father’s empire will fall.
“You look lovely tonight,” Jase speaks directly to her. Surprise lights up her face as the fire continues to cast shadows over her.
“Thank you,” she says, but her voice is soft, too soft and she clears her throat to repeat herself. “Thank you.”
“I admire your art,” he adds, and I glance down at the scattering of papers on the floor. Three new ones today, and each more stunning than the last. She’s not rushed anymore. She takes her time, and the beauty she creates is captivating. I never expected to feel proud of what I thought was only a distraction.
The thrill rings in my blood. She craves acceptance, protection, and a tenderness that I can’t always give her. But my brothers can. Even now as she worries and struggles, his kindness makes her weaker toward me. Each small gesture of acceptance makes her more willing to obey me.
“She’s talented.” I compliment her as well, although I speak to Jase.
