by S. M. West
We arrive at a different warehouse and I keep my mouth shut, doing as I’m told. There are five women in the basement of the building, all young, easily under twenty-two, with varying backgrounds and looks. All are under the influence of something.
Their gazes are vacant, glassy, and their movements slow and uncoordinated. For the most part, they are clean, although a few faces are tear-stained. My job is to make sure they are healthy.
I’m a riot of fury as I go through the motions, conducting a physical exam and charting their weight, measurements, heart rate, blood pressure, and finally, blood tests. All this proves our theory. I’m cataloguing these women like cattle for the slaughter.
And when my mother’s cold, flat voice hits me, I want to grab these women and run. “They need birth control.”
My chest squeezes and I shift my gaze from the sterile instruments lining the makeshift tray to my heartless mother.
“And how do you propose I get that?” I’m unable to keep my sarcasm and hostility out of my tone.
Stone-faced, she snaps her fingers in the direction of Tiny. He lumbers over with boxes of the birth control shot. Of course she has them at the ready.
Biting my tongue, I administer the injections, and when done, I peel off my gloves and turn to face her with a stabbing glare. “That takes care of pregnancy, but it won’t prevent STDs.”
“We’re done here.” She pivots on her heel, briskly striding away.
Tiny grabs my bicep, hauling me after her, and the men standing guard take action and start to round up the women. As we head one way, they take the women down another dark corridor of the underground. Fuck. Why can’t I stop this right now?
Tonight is a bust even if it confirms what we suspected. All the police will have is my word and a really good lawyer could easily refute anything I have to say.
Those women are like lambs to the slaughter. A gun peeks out of the waistband of Tiny’s pants and it’s tempting to grab it. But then what? I don’t know how to use the fucking thing.
Battling with myself every step up the stairs, I pull from his grasp once we’re in the warehouse. My mother motions for me to follow her into the only room on the floor, her office.
“Max, I need you to keep your mouth shut and do your job.”
It takes everything in me to respond civilly. “Understood.”
“Like I said before, I will be contacting you more frequently. Be available.”
I nod, grinding my teeth to keep from losing it on her. She flicks her hand as if to dismiss me, but I’m not done. The evening can’t be a total write-off. I want more information and see an opportunity.
Pretending to leave, I turn my back to her and then pause, peering over my shoulder as if it’s an afterthought. “What’s your deal with that guy, Ash Naire?”
She is shrewd; I’ve no doubt she’s questioning my motives and she confirms my thoughts when her eyes narrow into thin slits. “Why are you asking?”
“I’ve just never seen you that way with another man. Well, not since Father.”
It’s subtle and fleeting but she recoils slightly at the mention of Warren Conrad, our dear old dad. Say what she wants about him and all his shortcomings when he ran the business, which she arrogantly does whenever she gets the chance, she can’t deny she loved him.
“What way?”
“You came alive at the hospital fundraiser when he joined us.” A shadow shifts across her features but she remains silent at my observation. “I was curious to know more about the man.”
“You know, Tate, Adam and James aren’t the only ones you need to worry about.” Now she’s on her feet, rounding the desk to stand in front of me.
Her angular features, the very ones that gifted her a modeling career, are harsh and treacherous like the sharp edges of a hunting knife.
“Tommie.” She twists her mouth into a victorious snarl.
I grind my teeth and something claws at my insides. Again, another reminder of how I’m constantly watched. Not only does Tommie have to worry about Ash but now my mother has her sights set on her too. Screw that.
“Did you know Ash noticed your date at the dinner?” Her tone is mockingly sweet, and tension pinches at my spine.
She doesn’t know that I’m aware of their history. That Ash is a vile, fucking monster who kidnapped and raped the woman I love.
“What’s your point?”
“Be careful, my dear son. When you go fishing, you’d better be prepared to deal with whatever you catch.” She purses her lips and sits at the desk.
“What the fuck are you getting at?” My pulse quickens at her second threat in as many minutes.
I stride back toward her desk, leaning over to get in her face. Why I didn’t do something about her long before this is beyond me. I was too focused on protecting Tate, not thinking about how to bring down our mother. Hopefully she is none the wiser, but her days are numbered.
“That’s enough.” Her icy gaze flares with an unknown emotion and there’s a creak followed by footsteps behind me.
Looking in the direction of the door, I straighten and turn to face the devil himself. Dark features, strong defined jaw and a light dusting of grey at his temples. He has an ultra-domineering presence about him. He’s easily forty if not pushing fifty. He a sick, sick man and I can’t wait for him to get what he deserves.
“Maximillian.” Ash extends his hand and I want to cut it off. “What do you want to know about me?”
Was he here all this time? Watching and listening? Suspiciously, I shake his hand and blistering hatred coats my throat. I don’t want to pretend with this madman. Not since Bobby, my sister’s dead husband, have I wanted to kill someone with my bare hands. I pull from his grip and force my fingers to not curl into a fist.
“What are you doing with my mother?” I don’t care if I come off sounding like a protective son. Let them think what they want. Any bit of information I can gather about these two could help us put the pieces together faster.
“Max,” Taya says, and he moves in behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay. I’ll allow it. For now.” He pauses lifting his dark gaze to me. “We are friends. We met through a mutual acquaintance.”
“Are you in business together?”
Ash is likely too sly to admit anything, but it’s worth a try. Any response he gives might be useful.
“Ah, I believe proper etiquette dictates it’s my turn to ask a question.” This asshole thinks this is a game and he’s loving it.
Through a tight jaw, I nod. “Fine.”
“What’s going on with you and Thomasina?” He asks in such a way to suggest he already knows the answer.
I bristle at the familiarity in his tone, willing my body to relax. Ash is hyperaware and doesn’t seem to miss a thing. He would take great pleasure in knowing he’s gotten under my skin.
“We’re friends.” I want to say more. Declare she’s mine and he’s to stay the fuck away. But fortunately, it’s like Van or Tommie are whispering in my ear to play it smart and keep my cool.
“Friends? With benefits?” Is he taunting me? I’m not taking the bait.
“I believe I get a question now.” I flash a wry grin and go back to the question he dodged not too long ago. “Are you in business with my mother?”
He beams at my volley. “We could be.”
His response is crafty, not giving anything away, yet Taya finds it displeasing. Her hard features sharpen and twist, and only confirm my suspicion. She has designs on this sick fuck and Ash isn’t the least bit interested.
“Why are you asking about Tommie?” I slip in another question.
“Ah.” His smile is huge as if he has me where he wants me, jabbing and provoking. “She hasn’t told you.”
His vile insinuation lingers between us and my gut turns to lead, expression hardening. The smug bastard likely thinks he’s gotten one over me, but he’d be wrong. I know more than he thinks but his superior tone rubs my f
ace in all the appalling and ugly shit he’s done to Tommie.
And the worst part? I have to stand here and silently swallow that shit. Take it. I can’t blow my cover and call him out, or better yet beat the crap out of him.
My anger fuels me. “Answer the question.”
Ash is arrogant and resolute, never breaking eye contact, nor responding.
“Would the two of you stop talking about that woman?” Taya huffs, pushing her chair back to stand.
A phone buzzes and Ash pulls his from a jacket pocket. With a brief glance to the screen, his lips twitch in amusement and his dark eyes glitter as his gaze lands on me.
“It was nice to see you again, Max.” He puts the phone away and buttons his suit jacket, nodding to my mother, and leaves.
I’m not ready for him to go. There’s so much more I want to ask and I can’t shake the feeling he’s bested me. Taya and I walk away behind him and her reaction is curious, and something we’ll have to leverage. As he exits the building, she scurries after him, paying me no mind. She does want more than business.
With them occupied, I slip out the door and pull my phone out, wanting to call Tommie, make sure she’s okay. The thing buzzes in my hand and as if we’re on the same wavelength, she’s sent a text.
Tommie: Back at HC and going to sleep. I’m exhausted. See you tomorrow.
The second I read it, the tension seeps from my body like air releasing from a balloon. At least she’s safe.
Tommie
Boom. Boom. Boom. My head throbs like a marching band. Something crawls up the back of my neck and my body trembles, the movement making my head hurt even more.
I try to brush whatever it is away, but my movements are sluggish, slow, as if I’m in quicksand. It’s almost impossible to move. Am I dreaming? What’s wrong with me?
The same tickling sensation tingles along the side of my arm and my slow, heavy movements only frustrate me more. Everything takes so much effort. The tickle now glides across my cheek, slithering down my jaw and neck. I tremble again. Irritated and confused.
With what feels like an impossible amount of effort, I blink and finally pry open my eyes. It’s dark. Where am I? Oh my God, am I back in Ash’s dungeon? No, it isn’t that dark. Beams of hazy light filter in and I can make out a ceiling. Pre-dawn, maybe?
I can’t focus. What is wrong with me? Panic smothers and unfurls in my chest and plants itself deep in my gut. I shift and the familiar feel of a mattress supports my body. A bed? I don’t remember going to sleep.
Where am I? What’s the last thing I remember? Coffee. My apartment. Everything upside down.
The mattress dips beside me. Someone is next to me. In bed with me. I try not to breathe, my will clawing at this oppressive force weighing down not only my muscles but also my mind. Icy tentacles of terror spread through my insides, my brain frantically searching for an explanation, some reason for any of this. What the hell is going on?
“Good morning. You still sleep like a beauty.” His voice is an ice pick to my heart.
I freeze both thought and movement. I must be dreaming. No, a nightmare. This can’t be real. Why does it sound like Ash is beside me?
Slowly, even more determined than ever, my body sluggishly turns in the direction of his voice. I want to scream. Ash is in bed with me, lying on his side with his head propped in his hand. His dark disturbing eyes drill into me and his wicked grin burns my insides.
A tornado of crushing thoughts and emotions flies at me. I thought I had time. I thought I could get in and out of my place without worrying about him. Stupid. Why did I underestimate him? Of all people, I know what he is capable of. Fuck!
A black feather is in his other hand, hovering in mid-air as he fans its wisps back and forth against the dark scruff of his neck. That was the tickling sensation.
“What are you doing here?” My mouth is drier than a desert and my words come out more like a croak.
Move.
Run.
These thoughts bombard my mind, but I’ve been drugged. It’s the only logical reason why I feel the way I do. It’s why I can’t remember what happened before this or how he got into my home.
And as I lie in the bed, I’m suddenly and acutely aware that I’m naked under the covers. Oh my God. He undressed me and God knows what else. I fight the urge to throw up, my shame surging, bitter and fast, up my throat.
“I thought I’d pay you a visit. We didn’t finish our talk. But truly, I owe you a lot more than talk. Or more accurately, you owe me.”
“You drugged me.” The urge to be sick is a fierce storm brewing in my belly.
His dark expression is blank and impenetrable. If I vomit on him, he won’t get out of the bed. No, it’ll enrage him and only make things worse. He’ll hurt me. Punish me.
With a few slow and steady breaths, the brewing storm inside of me begins to settle, even if temporarily.
“The coffee. The older guy.” Fragments of memories from the night before coming together.
A sly grin slithers across his full lips and it’s as if I’m staring into the pit of hell. His gaze dances with devilish delight.
“Get out.” My voice and body quiver with boiling rage.
I hate my fear.
Even worse, I hate the glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes. His triumph is a wrecking ball, shattering my composure into a million little pieces.
“Thomasina, need I remind you that you are mine? I could have taken you many times before now.”
How did I let this happen? Van and his warning come to mind. I should have come to my place with him or someone else from HC. But surely, he knows something is wrong. I was supposed to text him. Maybe he’s on his way right now.
“And before you think someone is coming to your rescue,” he says, and I seethe with how easily he read my thoughts. “Zero has texted both Evan and Max. They think you’re safe at HC.”
My first instinct is to kick and scream—to fight—but I won’t. My body is still sluggish from the drugs but I’m slowly growing more alert. I don’t want him to know that.
“Did you forget Zero is the best? He’d be insulted. We’ve known where you were all these years.”
I didn’t forget Zero, his tech guy, or anything else from my time in captivity. But I refuse to answer him. While I rack my brain for ways to get out of here, I ask, “If you knew where I was, why didn’t you come for me?”
The answer is written all over his face. He enjoys the anticipation. The game. The thrill of keeping me on edge, hanging, all these years.
He pushes to sit with his back against the headboard and casts the black feather aside. I want to stab the quill into his eye. Despite my therapy, conquering my past and surviving, he’s still controlling me from afar. He has been all these years. The threat of when he would return.
“I’ll admit, at first, it took some work to figure out who invaded François’s home. But you know Zero, no challenge is too great for him. Soon enough, I knew everything there was to know about Evan Hart and exactly where you were in Manhattan.”
He’s talking about the mission Van carried out years ago when he found me in the basement of a house where I’d been banished for disobedience. I was left naked and chained to a wall.
The house was empty but for me, and that’s the scariest revelation. When Van told me, I wondered if someone would have come back for me or did Ash leave me to die?
I’ve told myself, time and time again, he wasn’t done with me. It was just another one of his ways to enforce his control over me. Punish me.
But even now, in some sick, twisted way, his intentions all those years ago matter. Did he send me to François’s to die? I had already been alone for three days, I think, or maybe longer; I had no way of telling time or day from night.
If my death had been my punishment, then Van raiding François’s mansion had saved me in more ways than one. And now, what did he want from me? To finish the job? Kill me? Or keep me captive again?
“W
ere you going to leave me?” I may be buying time with the question but I want to know the answer.
Despite all he had done to me, and even now with my life potentially on the line, I want to live. I want to know what his intentions are. It makes all the difference in how I play this.
He raises a brow. “At François’s?”
“Yes. Were you done with me?”
He loves my question. His eyes gleam with an intense satisfaction and the corners of his mouth twitch upward. I want to punch him in the face. And I could.
The effects of the drug, whatever it is he gave me, are wearing off. Thank goodness, but I have to be careful not to let on, and I also can’t rule out that he may already suspect I’m getting stronger by the minute. For now, I won’t risk a hasty retaliation until I’ve figured out the best way to escape.
“No. Would you have liked me to be done with you?” His fingers pinch my chin, turning my face to look at him. “I will never be done with you, Thomasina. Even when I should be. I’ve been told to just cut my losses. End you. End this.”
My heart jumps into my throat. I don’t know how to feel about this. Surprise and alarm battle within me. I’d longed for him to leave me alone, even knowing that might mean death, and now I realize there is only one way for this to end. A strange, eerie calm plants itself in my soul and I stare at him as he waves his hand between us.
“Perhaps it’s the smarter move to just kill you and be done. You are a lot of trouble. Always were. Even before you were a speck on my radar. Even when I took you, I knew I’d rue the day. But I will never be done with you.”
I shudder at the sad, dark truth. The only end is for one of us to die.
“You disappoint me.” He pushes off the bed, shaking his head reproachfully. His expensive black suit is still crisp, showing no telltale signs that he was just lying down.
Tall, feet shoulder-width apart, he flattens his black tie against his white shirt. “What are you doing with those men?”
“What?” Another reminder that he’s never been too far away, even when on another continent.
He hovers over me, wipes at the wetness streaking down my cheeks. “Those men you have sex with. The countless men you have given yourself to over the years.”
