Perfect Submission

by Roxy Sloane

  Perfect Submission

  by Roxy Sloane

  This book is dedicated to BC.

  Thank you a million times over.

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  Copyright 2014 Roxy Sloane

  Cover Design: Louisa Maggio at LM Creations

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ONE: ISABELLE

  TWO: CAM

  THREE: ISABELLE

  FOUR: CAM

  FIVE: ISABELLE

  SIX: CAM

  SEVEN: ISABELLE

  EIGHT: CAM

  NINE: ISABELLE

  TEN: CAM

  ELEVEN: ISABELLE

  ONE: ISABELLE

  I don’t sleep. I’m exhausted and broken, my whole body screaming for a break, but I couldn’t sleep if I tried, not after the worst night of my life.

  I’m in jail.

  Holding, to be exact. That’s what the cop tells me as he hustles me down a long hallway, the cold metal of the handcuffs biting into my skin.

  “You’ll be brought up for interviews in the morning,” he says gruffly. “Guess someone wants to teach you a lesson, sticking you down here for the night.”

  Cam handcuffed me. My hands behind my back, he drove me crazy with pleasure. It was sexy. Forbidden. But there’s nothing sexy about the fear and panic that over takes me now, feeling these cuffs locked tight around my wrists.

  “Please,” I beg him. “I need to call someone. This is all a mistake.”

  “You’ll get your call in the morning.”

  He comes to a stop at the end of the hall and yanks a metal door open. “Play nice with the other girls,” he snorts, unlocking my cuffs. “They won’t bite.”

  I look inside and feel claustrophobic. It’s a small concrete cell, maybe fifteen feet square, with bars on three sides. There are five other women sprawled on a narrow bench or pacing the small space. Judging by their clothes and teased hair, they weren’t arrested for white collar crime.

  One of them paces closer, “Not unless you ask, baby,” she coos at the cop. “But it’s extra.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Go on,” he nods, but I don’t move.

  This is just a nightmare, I tell myself desperately. Any minute now, you’re going to wake up.

  “I said move!” There’s a hand on my back, and then I’m pushed hard. I stumble, almost falling inside before the woman catches my arm. “Easy, sugar.”

  There’s laughter.

  “What’s your name, honey?” The woman who helped me leers closer. Her makeup is harsh and smudged, and she stares me up and down with a whistle. “Looking fine. Where you working? Uptown?”

  I can’t deal with this. I’m overwhelmed and living a nightmare come true. “No…” I mumble, my heart racing. “I don’t… I’m not…”

  “What are you saying?” She moves closer. “Spit it out.”

  I try to breathe. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me, I can’t get enough air. “Please…” I whisper.

  “You too fancy to talk to bitches like us, is that it?” another woman snorts.

  “Cut it out, Devonne,” another of the women yawns. “You know those fancy girls don’t know what the fuck they’re playing at. Probably hit on a cop and got busted at one of the hotels, you know how they do.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, you’ll get off with a caution. Maybe some community service if it’s your first offense.”

  The first woman, Devonne, stares at me another minute longer, trying to scare me. Suddenly, she lunges towards me. With her glassy eyes and the strange expression, it’s obvious she’s on drugs. At least the other women seem sober. I back away into the corner, facing forward so I can see if anyone comes near me.

  Devonne bursts out laughing. “Fucking pussy,” she snorts. “They’ll eat you for breakfast in gen-pop.”

  She saunters back to the other side of the cell. She can think she won, as long as she leaves me alone.

  I take a deep breath. It takes everything I have not to cry.

  I lean back against the wall, sitting with my knees hugged to my chest on a hard, narrow bench. When I was a kid, I used to play a game to hide from mom’s dealers, or the bullies in the foster homes I lived. I would hide in the smallest space I could find: a cupboard or cabinet, the crawl space under a bed. I’d close my eyes tight, and count to a hundred, and pretend that if they couldn’t see me, then I didn’t exist. It wasn’t real.

  Now, I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, but the scene doesn’t change. It’s real, too real. The clatter of bars, and the chatter of the other prisoners. Down the hallway, someone is yelling, and here in the cell, it stinks of urine and vomit. Fear pounds in my bloodstream, my whole body tense and exhausted. But I need to show strength.

  This is where you belong.

  The whisper of accusation cuts through my attempt at a pep talk.

  I try to stay calm. This is all a mistake, I just have to make it through the night here, then everything will get straightened out. I’ll go home again, and never set foot in a jail cell again. But logic isn’t my friend right now.

  This is what you deserve, killer.

  I shudder at the word, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? I’ve been running from my past all this time, pretending I’m not to blame, but I can’t run forever.

  I accidentally set the fire that killed my abusive foster father. I left him to burn in the flames. And I was glad he was dead.

  It’s true. It’s all true.

  * * *

  Time passes too slow, every minute in this cell feels like an hour. The other women eventually try to sleep, slumped sitting up on the bench or huddled in the corner, but I can’t relax for a second.

  I can’t let my guard down, and anyway I’m too pumped up to rest.

  I replay everything that happened earlier tonight, over and over in my mind. I was so happy, walking into that surprise party on Cam’s arm. My birthday, and I was surrounded by friends and celebration for what felt like the first time in my life. Sure, I’d had parties before, massive extravagant blow-outs that got written about in all the gossip columns, but they were all for show. A way to prove to the world I had everything, play-acting the role of spoiled socialite because I thought it was all I wanted.

  But this time, I was with Cam. Being with him, learning everything he’s taught me, I felt more secure and at peace than ever before. On his arm, I felt cared for. Special.

  Treasured.

  And then Brent walked in. I can remember the look on his face, so smug and satisfied. Why did I ever think I would be free of him? He’s still the spoiled kid who wants me in his thrall. He spent years treating me like a personal plaything, and now that I’m older and stronger, he refuses to let me go. Me being with a real man like Cam is the ultimate insult to him.

  Now, I’m going to pay for that insult with my life.

  My chest gets tight. God, what does everyone think of me now? My darkest secret exposed for the whole world to see. Keely, Justine, Olivia – they must be sickened to know the truth about what I’ve done. Who I was.

  And Cam…

  I choke back a sob. He looked so angry as the cops dragged me away. I’d confided my secret to him, but I know that everything is different now. He hates the world knowing about his personal life, and now my sins will
be plastered across the front page for sure. I’ve exposed us – exposed him – and I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me.

  Maybe he’s changed his mind about us.

  My fear grows, an icy knot. If I lost Cam now… I don’t know what I’d do. He’s the only man who’s ever seen me for me – seen the good in me. Our relationship has deepened with each day; it’s not just about the sex anymore, but what his domination means to me. Freedom. Release. Security. I trust him with my life.

  But can he ever trust me again?

  A guard comes to cell door and barks, “Ashcroft!” The sound of my name makes me jump off the bench. I scramble to my feet, keeping my head up and my voice steady.

  “That’s me.” My stomach twists. What happens to me now? It can’t be worse than this, can it?

  The guard waves me over, keys jingling as he unlocks the cell door and slides it open. “Your bail’s been posted. Come with me.”

  Relief hits me like a tidal wave. Oh, thank God. The other women in the cell barely stir.

  I follow him down the hallway, praying that this is the last time I set foot inside a jail cell. But I know, that might not be true. If I’m charged with murder, I could spend the rest of my life in prison. I can’t deal with the thought, and I try to block it out, but my panic consumes me. I couldn’t live like this, every minute of every day. I’ve barely spent the night in that cell, and already I feel like I’m losing my mind.

  What would I do for a week? A month?

  Twenty-five years?

  By the time we reach the main precinct lobby, I’m barely keeping it together. Faces blur together, cops and people are all staring at me. I wonder what they see: a spoiled brat getting what she deserves, or worse, the killer Brent says I am.

  “Isabelle!”

  A voice cuts through the commotion. I turn. Cam is striding toward me, a furious look on his face.

  I cringe back in shame, but he barks at the cop. “Get those cuffs off her!”

  His voice is harsh. The cop fumbles to obey him.

  “Come with me,” Cam says, taking my arm.

  “My things…” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “I have them. Let’s go.”

  My emotions are a whirl as he leads me out of the lobby and down a back hallway. He’s angry, I knew he would be. He can’t even look at me.

  “Where are we going?” I whisper, hating myself for putting him through this.

  “The back exit. There’s paparazzi all around the front. Vultures.”

  The newspapers. They’ll have a field day with this. And then even people who weren’t at the party will know the truth. There’ll be no hiding after this, no running away from my problems the way I came so close to doing.

  Maybe I should have run, when I had the chance. I would have spared Cam the humiliation of guiding me through the precinct, a total mess from my night in jail.

  He takes me down a staircase and through a fire exit out back. We’re in a parking lot; his car pulls up in front of us, and Cam opens the door for me.

  But I can’t get in. I can’t take another step, not with this tension on his face.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, choking up. “I’m so, so sorry. I know you must hate me, but I never meant to drag you into this. Just drop me at a hotel.”

  Cam turns now, frowning. “What are you talking about?

  I swallow. “You don’t need to do anything else for me. You’ve already done so much.”

  “Is that what you think of me?” Cam takes my cheek, forcing me to look at him. His eyes blaze darkly. “Isabelle, I don’t hate you!”

  “But you’re angry—”

  “At Brent!” he explodes. “At myself for not protecting you! At the waste of space foster dad who started all of this. But not you. God, Isabelle, I could never be angry at you. Not for this.”

  The tension in my chest splinters. “So, you don’t want to end this?” I sob, finally giving in to the tears I’ve been holding back all night.

  Cam cradles my face tenderly. “No. You’re mine, Isabelle. You belong to me just the same as you did before tonight. That means we’re in this together.” He draws me closer, to rest against his strong chest. “I promise, I’ll fix this.”

  I used to be able to handle things on my own, but now that I’ve found Cam, I’ve let my guard down. I’ve gotten soft. I need him.

  I collapse into his embrace, relief surging through my veins. “I can’t do this without you,” I gasp, holding him tightly. “I’m so scared, Cam.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but I’m here. Whatever it takes, I’ll protect you,” he promises. “I swear, everything will be OK.”

  “But how can it be?” Because the truth is, I’m not innocent.

  “I’m your Master, aren’t I?” he demands, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

  I nod, loving the sound of those words on his lips.

  “Then trust me. That’s an order.”

  TWO: CAM

  I try my best to keep my anger under control, for Isabelle’s sake. She’s scared and vulnerable right now, and I can’t imagine what she’s been through tonight. The last thing she needs is my rage too.

  Not at her, but Brent. The cops. Every person who laid a hand on her tonight and brought such fear to her eyes. I want to tear them all limb from limb.

  But most of all, I’m furious at myself.

  I’m the one who let her down. When she confessed her dark secrets, I promised everything would be OK. But I stood, powerless, as they led her off in handcuffs from the party tonight: humiliated and exposed in front of everyone. I had to let that happen; there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for letting her down.

  The city lights speed past the car windows as my driver takes us back to my place. Isabelle is curled against me, holding me tight like she’s scared someone will drag her away again.

  It took all my influence and power to get her released tonight. I followed the cops to the precinct, and spent hours pacing angrily in the lobby, calling everyone I could think of. Between Keely, Ash, and myself, we managed to get a judge out of bed for an emergency bail hearing. They set the bond at $1m, but I paid it without a second thought.

  I’d pay anything to keep her safe.

  But I can’t, not from this. She’ll have to face the world tomorrow: press, the public, and police interviews. What happened with her foster father’s death was an accident, she should never have been arrested, but if they’ve charged her with murder, there’s something more to the story. Some way Brent was able to dig up the past and bring every horrific memory flooding back for her.

  I hold Isabelle tighter. They’re not going to take her away from me again. I meant what I promised her-- I’ll find a way out of this, somehow.

  Brent is going to pay.

  Back at the apartment, Isabelle follows me inside, still holding my hand tightly. I take her to the bathroom and turn on the shower, then help her undress and clean off under the hot water. I wrap her in soft towels, and lead her out into the bedroom. She’s still shaking, her eyes darting nervously around as if she expects the cops to come storming in again.

  “You’re safe here,” I reassure her, but she shakes her head.

  “I have to go back, don’t I? To the police station, to court. They’ll want to interrogate me, and…” she struggles for air. “I can’t,” she shakes her head, biting her lower lip. “I can’t do this, Cam! I can’t go to jail for the rest of my life!”

  “You won’t.”

  “But you can’t promise me that,” Isabelle tells me, tears spilling down her cheeks. “If they put me on trial, if they find me guilty…. And why wouldn’t they? I killed him. It’s all true! I deserve to suffer for it.”

  “Shh,” I wrap my arms around her again. She’s trembling like a leaf. “You don’t, you know that’s not true. It was an accident.”

  “Was it?” Isabelle pulls away. “What if I really did kill him, and I just bloc
ked it out or something? It’s all a blur, it was so long ago, and I was so scared… But I was glad when I heard he’d died. Only a terrible person would feel glad!”

  Her eyes glisten with tears again.

  “You were just a girl,” I try to calm her. “You were scared, but you wouldn’t have hurt him on purpose, Isabelle. It’s not in you to cause that kind of pain.”

  And anyway, that bastard deserved it.

  “No,” Isabelle sobs. “It’s not true, I can’t… I can’t…” She gasps for air, shaking. She’s having some kind of panic attack, consumed with fear.

  “Isabelle!” I stride over and take her by the arms. “Listen to me.”

  She tries to pull away, bent double now, wheezing. She’s not listening, she’s too far gone. Sympathy and understanding won’t work, not with her in this panic. Only one thing will bring her back, cut through this chaos she’s drowning in.

  Her Master.

  “Isabelle.” I drop my voice, low and steely. “Stop this right now. That’s an order.”

  She stills, lifting her head. She’s still panicky, but there’s a hopeful look in her eyes, waiting for my next words.

  “Good girl.” I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger, lifting it higher. I stare into her eyes. “Now breathe for me. In, out. In, out.”

  Isabelle gulps a ragged breath, then another.

  “Better.”

  I hold her there in that position until her breathing becomes steadier. Her blue eyes are wide and teary, she’s hanging on by a thread.

  But she’s holding on.

  Again, I marvel at her instincts to submit. Even through her emotions, she wants to please me. She wants to surrender to my will. No: she needs to.

  Her gaze flickers to the bed.

  I step backwards. A part of me wants to curl up with her on the bed and rock her to sleep in my arms, but I have to stifle that desire. That’s not what she needs from me right now.

  She needs me to master her, to be totally in control. Strip away her fear, and give her something more to focus on.

  “Take off your robe,” I order her.

  Isabelle looks at me, unsure.

  “You need to forget about what just happened,” I state simply. “I promise you, there won’t be room in that pretty head of yours for fear or doubt when you’re moaning in ecstasy. I have a hundred ways to make you forget your own name. So I’ll order you only once more. Take. Off. Your. Robe.”