by Bella Jewel
I get in my car and start the drive to the prison. Enzo is allowed visitors most days, of course he doesn’t have to see me when I arrive, and there have been a few times he has turned me away, but when I told him I was going to pay his debt off to make it up to him, he’s mostly allowed me in.
Money talks, folks.
Only my heart is constantly being abused by my brain over this fact, because, well, let’s face it, it’s pretty obvious Enzo is only dealing with me because he knows he’s getting his debt paid off. I know this. He knows this. But a small part of me kind of hopes that maybe if we spend a little time together, we might be able to get past this and talk, finding that old connection and letting this go so we can both move forward.
If I can forgive him, which I’m not entirely sure I can at this point, then he can forgive me.
Right?
When I arrive at the prison, I go through all the security checks and sign in, then I go into the visiting room, which is a large open area with more than one set of tables and chairs. Usually, there are two or three guards in at a time, watching everyone. Contact is not acceptable, and we have to sit across from each other at a table. I find one and sit down, waiting for them to bring the prisoners in.
There are only two other people here today, and that makes me a little sad, I guess. I mean, sure, it’s a prison, and these people are in here for doing the wrong thing, but unless you murdered or raped someone, don’t you deserve to be at least visited by someone? Out of the hundreds of prisoners here, only three of us are visiting. That speaks volumes, doesn’t it? And it begs the question, what did these people do to make everyone that is supposed to love them turn their backs?
I think that’s an even scarier question.
The door buzzes and opens, and I turn to see three prisoners being escorted into the visiting room. My eyes fall on Enzo, and I hate the way my heart beats. I hate the dull, throbbing ache, because as soon as I look at him, I see the moment I walked in and saw my sister on top of him, her hips rocking, his hands clutching them, his head back in ecstasy.
I don’t think I’ll ever not see that image.
Ever.
My eyes lock onto his ice-blue eyes, and the ache grows deeper. His hair is long, but nothing like Mason’s. It is just past his shoulders and a light, honey brown. He’s got stubble that is verging on turning into the beginnings of a beard. Something about being in a prison, I think. It’s like if they’re clean shaven, they’re weak? I don’t know, but it seems most of them let them grow out, giving them a more rugged appearance.
Enzo, compared to the bikers I’ve been spending the last few days with, is seemingly a great deal smaller. I always considered him to be quite a well-formed man, well-muscled and toned, but he appears almost ... weak to look at. I give him a small smile, to which he simply nods his head. That hurts. All the years we spent together, the moments we shared, it makes me sad that this is what it has come to. It really does.
He sits down at the chair across from me, and for a moment, we just stare at each other in silence.
“Don’t know why you’re here, Saskia, but I’m hoping it’s to share some good news about my debt, otherwise you know I have nothing to say to you.”
“It is about that,” I say, my voice not wavering, because no matter how much it hurts, I’ve never been one to crumble with weakness or pain in front of anyone.
Hell, when I found Enzo in bed with my sister, I never let him see my pain. I lost my mind, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t cry in front of him, I simply told him what I thought, and then I turned and walked out. When I got home, then I cried. Then I rang Chan, and I cried some more, but never to him.
No.
Never to him.
“I’ve got a new job,” I continue, and my chest aches. It aches because he’s so cold, and while I understand it, I’m trying my hardest. I wish, maybe, that he’d put his pride aside and see why I did what I did. It might not have been right, but neither were his actions, and yet I couldn’t escape them and had to deal. I wish he would, too. “It’s double the pay, extra if I work harder, and I’m going to have the money by the time you get out.”
He stares at me, then nods. “Good.”
Good.
God. Why does that hurt?
Why can’t I find the balls I’ve come to love so dearly and tell him to shove it? If it was anyone else, I would. So, why the hell can’t I do it with him?
Frustration grips my chest.
“What’s the job?”
I exhale. “Maid. Cleaning a massive mansion-like house. It’s really easy, and I can earn as much as I need, really.”
“Anything worth taking, maybe that’ll get the money quicker?”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not stealing, Enzo. I’m not a damned thief.”
“Mansion would be full of good stuff; if you truly wanted to help me, you’d be looking at every option.”
“Listen,” I say, my voice firming up because stuff him. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a criminal. I never have been, and I never will be. “You’re in here for another five months, understand? That debt isn’t touching you in here, it’ll only touch you when you get out. I said I’d have it paid by the time that happened, but I will not steal.”
His lips tighten, but he gives me a sharp nod. “Do whatever you want, just make sure it’s done. Have you spoken to Yolanda?”
“Why in the actual hell would I speak to her?”
He looks away and, for a split second, I’d almost say he looked a little guilty. But, after a moment, he looks back, face stony again. Does he actually feel bad about what he did, or has something else happened? Is he speaking to Yolanda, hell, are they starting some sort of relationship? That thought makes my chest clench and my stomach turn.
“Has she been visiting?” I ask, my voice harder than I would like.
He says nothing. “I was asking a question, Saskia, not looking to answer them.”
Jerk.
God damn it, why does this hurt so much?
Why in the hell can’t I just stop loving him?
Damn you, Enzo. Damn you.
~5~
SASKIA
I’ve been working here for a week.
So far, so good.
Mason is hardly ever here. He comes in at night, usually after I’ve gone to bed. I hear him rummaging around for a bit before everything goes quiet. Then, by the time I wake up in the morning, he’s gone. I’d almost think he doesn’t like his own house; it feels as though he’s uncomfortable here, like being in it makes him want to rip his own hair out. I don’t know why, it’s a freaking beautiful house.
I love being here.
I had my two days off yesterday, to which I went and collected some more stuff from my apartment and spent a few nights there, coming over here during the day to tidy a few things up, but it was mostly pretty casual. This morning, I’m back in for my five-day stay and, honestly, I’m relieved. I really do love being here, it’s an escape from reality, without a doubt.
I walk into the house just after seven in the morning.
I don’t see Mason or hear anything as I get to work figuring out what needs to be done during the week. Mason said he’d leave a list, and I find that list on the counter. Picking it up, I read over it. He needs washing done, cleaning, shopping, and he wants some mail posted as well as some letters delivered to some place in town. Right. I can handle that. I glance around the big, empty house and exhale.
I’ll go upstairs and start with his room.
I always start with his room, just in case he comes home and wants to use it.
I move up the stairs and toward the door at the end of the hall. Mason’s room is massive, I’m talking huge, it’s probably the size of my apartment. When I reach the door, I go to turn the handle but realize it’s locked. I wonder if he’s still in there? I knock a few times, wait, then knock some more. Nothing happens. Pursing my lips, I go back downstairs and take the spare set of keys for all the rooms. He show
ed me where they were when I first started just in case I ever needed them and he wasn’t here.
He must have accidentally locked his room.
I walk back up and use the key to unlock the door. Then I step inside and stop dead in my tracks. My eyes widen, and I stare for what seems like a few really long minutes, blinking at the sight in front of me.
There is a woman tied to his bed. She’s cuffed in a perfect cross, legs and arms outstretched, and she’s butt naked. Everything on display. She’s wearing a ball gag in her mouth, and a mask that covers her eyes. Oh. My. Lord.
I glance around the room, feeling like I’ve just stepped into a BDSM club. I can’t see Mason. Did he leave this poor girl here? Alone? Where the hell is he? Did he go out to get coffee? Breakfast? Or did he simply forget about her? I bite my bottom lip and glance back at the girl, then figure what the hell, she might want to be freed. I’m going to see if she’s okay.
I walk over and say carefully, “Hi there, I’m Saskia. Mason’s maid.”
The girl squirms.
I reach over, trying not to look at her ridiculously perfect body, and pull the mask off her eyes. She stares up at me, wide eyes, mouth still filled with that weird looking ball.
“I’m going to take this gag off. I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable for you, believe me, I feel you, it’s not every day you find a woman tied to a bed in a house you’re cleaning.”
She starts shaking her head as I reach over and unbuckle the ball gag. The moment it leaves her lips, she growls, “Put it back in! Immediately!”
I blink. “Pardon me?”
“Hurry up. If he knows I took it off, I’ll be punished.”
I snort. “Punished ... for what? Talking? You’re kidding, right?”
“Listen here, little girl,” she snaps. “Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it is wrong. This is our thing. Mine and Mason’s. Now, put the gag back on and get the hell out.”
I cross my arms and stare down at her. “You listen here, lady. I don’t take kindly to orders, especially not from women who are tied to a damned bed. You do know I have the higher power here?”
She scowls at me. “Who the hell are you anyway?”
“I said, I’m his maid.”
“You look like a teenager. Go back and play with your friends and put that back in my mouth.”
I cock a hip and raise my brows. “What happens, exactly, if I don’t?”
She purses her lips like she’s going to lose her mind. I’m still trying to avoid looking at her but, honestly, everything is out there on display. The woman is spectacular, and I suddenly do feel like a teenager in comparison. Why the hell aren’t my boobs that big and round? And my skin so golden and tanned? Damn her. I’m not even going to look at her lady parts, because I bet they’re perfect too.
Is this what Mason is into?
Women who he can dominate and leave tied to his bed while he goes and does whatever the hell he wants?
“You don’t want to know; your little mind couldn’t handle it.”
She’s pissing me off now.
She is throwing around insults, and she’s the one tied to the bed.
“I don’t particularly like how you’re speaking to me. I’m not the one, lady, who is tied to a bed. Maybe it’s your mind that’s little. Don’t you have better things to do than to be a man’s little toy?”
She goes red and snaps, “You wouldn’t know what you’re talking about. You probably have missionary sex and that’s it. Maybe you should try it, do you good to learn to shut that mouth.”
I snort. “Get over yourself. I’m going to call Mason and find out what the hell to do with you.”
She shakes her head. “Do not call him. Put the ball back in my mouth and leave the room. Go on with your little day, and you can hear what happens later when he comes home and praises me for being a good girl.”
I laugh. “A good girl, seriously? You’re a grown woman.”
She goes red again.
“And you’re a bratty little maid, now get out.”
“Really,” I mutter as I pull out my phone. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
I dial Mason’s number and put the phone to my ear, waiting for it to ring. It does, three times, before he finally answers. “What?”
“Last time I checked, the greeting was hello. Not what. Didn’t you learn any manners in school?”
He exhales. “What do you want, Saskia?”
Grumpy.
“I just wanted to let you know, I came across your play thing tied to your bed. I have to tell you, she’s not a very nice woman. Whatever punishment you’re giving, it’s clearly not working.”
He growls, low and deep. “What the fuck are you doin’ in my room?”
“Mason,” I say calmly, “I’m your maid. I clean your house. I live in your house. What do you think I was doing in your room? I wasn’t having a party with your clothes.”
He growls again. “The door was fuckin’ locked.”
“Yes. It was. And I thought it was by mistake, so I unlocked it and now I’m getting bad mouthed by Barbie here, because I took this stupid ball out of her mouth.”
“Put the fuckin’ thing back and get out.”
I raise my brows. “You can’t be serious? You’re going to leave her here all day?”
“Yeah, I’m goin’ to leave her there all day.”
“Why?” I gasp. “What if she needs to pee? Or,” I whisper low, “worse...”
“She holds it in. She does as she’s told. Which is somethin’ you should fuckin’ try and learn.”
“Being tied to a bed with a ball gag in your mouth is hardly doing as you’re told. You don’t get much choice.”
“Put it back in and leave her there,” he snaps.
I huff. “Fine, but I swear to god I am not cleaning her pee if she can’t hold it in. Should I give her a drink?”
“No,” he growls.
“Food? Lunch maybe?”
“Fuck me. No.”
“What about if she gets bored, can I turn the television on?”
“I swear to fuck I’m goin’ to come in there and tie you to the fuckin’ bed if you don’t shut that pretty little mouth.”
“You think my mouth is pretty?”
He makes a long, drawn-out, frustrated sound. “Put the ball back. Lock the room. And leave her be.”
“I’m not sure I can do that. I mean, honestly, it has to hurt after a while.”
“You don’t do it, you’ll have no job.”
“Yeesh,” I mutter. “Moody. Fine, I’ll leave her there, but I can’t promise I’m not going to check on her.”
“Saskia,” he warns, voice low and holy fuck, very sexy.
“Yes, Mason?” I say sweetly.
“Do as you’re fuckin’ told.”
“Your fetishes are strange, but okay, I’ll do what you’re asking. I don’t like her anyway, I was only trying to be nice. She’s very mouthy. Remember that for later.”
He makes a groaning sound, partially angry, partially frustrated, mostly exasperated.
“Goodbye,” he mutters.
“Bye, boss!”
I hang up and turn to the girl. “Looks like you’re in for a long, boring day.”
“Just put the ball back in,” she snaps.
“Happily.”
I walk over, pick up the ball, and shove it back in her mouth. She makes a groaning sound.
“What if you get a blocked nose and can’t breathe? You could die ...”
She glares at me.
“Fine, have it your way. But I won’t be held responsible. My fingerprints are on this ball gag now. So, you better keep breathing.”
I tie it up and shove the blindfold back on, then I leave the room and shut the door.
Crazy woman is honestly going to lie there all day waiting for Mason.
The man must have a magic cock, or mouth, or hands, or all of it.
Because damn, that’s a long time to wait.
I must admit, though, I am curious.
Really strangely curious.
~*~*~*~
MASON
“Mason, please, get them out! Get them out of here!”
I walk over, kneeling in front of my mother, taking hold of her face. “There is no one here, Mom. They’re gone. They’re not here.”
“They are here!” she cries. “They are, I saw them. They’re hiding. They’re tricking you. When you leave, they’ll come out, and they’ll hurt me.”
I squeeze her hands, trying to get her blue eyes to focus on my face; it seems to be the only way she is able to come back to reality from whatever hell she’s living in in her head.
“Mom, look at me. Look at me. It’s Mason. I promise you, they’re not here.”
“Mason,” she cries, cupping my face. “Mason, don’t leave. When you leave, they come. Please don’t leave.”
I look up at the clock. I’m late for work. If I miss another day, I probably won’t have a job. Without a job, I’ll have no money. Right now, Mom doesn’t know left from right. She has money, plenty of it, that my dad left her when he passed, but she has zero control over it right now. She couldn’t shop if she tried, which means I am the breadwinner, I am trying to keep everything afloat.
“Mom, listen to me, we’re going to get your medication and put you to sleep, you’ll feel so much better when you wake up.”
“Mason, no!” she screams. “No.”
Her fingernails dig into my face, and I wince, but I don’t push her away. We’re still unsure as to what is going on with her. She became ill after my father passed and started having hallucinations after an attempted break-in one evening. The doctors think it is mental, some sort of heartbreak and the fear she felt when she was alone and nobody could help her when someone tried to get into her home, but I think it’s more than that.
Something isn’t right.
Trying to get somebody to believe me is nearly impossible.
Getting help is even harder.
“Come on, Mom, let’s go upstairs.”
“No, you can’t leave, please don’t leave.”
