Camille, Claimed

by Ginger Talbot

  “So the winner of this challenge, what do they get?”

  He smiles, a grim, faraway look in his eyes. “Everything that matters. The great and glorious honor of being the Patriarch. The final voice in all family disputes. Management of the family businesses—as overseen by a board of directors, of course. The right to rule the Franklin Empire as long as they can keep it.”

  Then his focus returns to me. “I have one concern. You are the descendant of a weak link—your grandfather. I don’t know what that means for you, but I guess we’ll find out during the challenge.”

  Then he tells me about my grandfather, and more pieces of my past click into place. “Our family has harsh training methods for our boys. We can’t let weakness taint our bloodlines. The strongest ones, the deserving ones, survive their childhoods knowing their glorious purpose. We homeschool them until they’re ready for high school, then send them to a private preparatory school that was founded by the Franklins, so they can be properly prepared for their entry into the world. Your grandfather…he did well with the physical trials, but he had a fractured mind. He violated many of our traditions. He had a predilection for little girls, for example, and he also killed those who had not transgressed against us. He was due to be winnowed in a hunt, but he found out about it and ran like a coward. Went underground, changed his name to Lenin Montgomery, lived in the woods. He took himself a little girl as a bride, and she gave birth to your father. We found out many years later, after he was already dead. We do not take women who are younger than eighteen. That’s against our tradition.”

  His brows draw together, lines corrugating his forehead. “You carry the blood of great men in your veins, but you are also tainted. Today, as you are aware, has been a test. There’s one more test coming. We need you to prove yourself to us. We’re about to have a hunt.”

  I smile at that. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Bastien

  An hour later Augustus, Solomon, Paxton and I meet at the edge of a wooded area. We’re each handed a Bowie knife. We’re hunting the redhead, Sarah, and her boyfriend, Fabian. Or Sinner Sarah and Sinner Fabian, as Augustus calls them. They’ve been given knives too, and a five-minute head start.

  I know that none of the Franklin men are allowed to kill each other on their home turf, but as we stand there waiting for the hunt to begin, Paxton looks at me narrow-eyed, as if he’d be delighted to try to find a way to see that I die by accident. He stands close to his father, who doesn’t even look at him.

  Daddy issues. Won’t last long in the challenge. Solomon, with his cool smile and appraising smirk, he’s a dark horse.

  A servant blows a whistle, and that is our signal to dash into the woods. Gray clouds slide across the sky, blotting out the sun, but I’ve never felt warmer. My heart sings as I jog through the underbrush. My father and I used to do some hunting when I was younger, although oddly, I never enjoyed killing animals and the only part of it that I liked was when he taught me how to track. That was a skill I pursued with a passion. We ended up tracking a lot of animals and then letting them go.

  The skills I learned are coming in handy now. Of course, it’s not as if Sarah and Fabian present much of a challenge. They are completely inexperienced and totally panicked. They blunder through the underbrush, leaving shreds of their clothing and flattened bushes that point out their path like an arrow. They tramp on dried branches, which snap as loud as gunshots in the quiet, and flocks of birds explode into the sky, cawing in panic.

  When I come upon them, I slow down and let them run for a little while. I want them tired.

  And then I burst through the tall weeds, and Sarah screams and drops her knife. She falls to her knees and grabs it as Fabian jabs his knife at me, his eyes saucer-big with terror.

  Sarah’s face is white, and sweat pours down her temple; she’s the one with the burned boob. That’s a shame—I’d rather hunt prey that’s in peak condition.

  “I’ll do anything!” she cries out to me. “I’ll never steal again. I learned my lesson. I did, I did!”

  Solomon comes strolling up, hands in his pocket, whistling a little tune and smiling. He’s not even breathing hard. Yeah, he’ll be one to watch during the challenge.

  Heather’s eyes bounce from him to me and back again. She focuses on me. Perhaps because I’m the devil she doesn’t know.

  “I’ll be your slave! I’ll suck your cock every day!” she pleads.

  “Sorry. I’ve got someone else in mind for that position, and she doesn’t have a fried tit.” I move closer to Fabian.

  “It was her idea!” he whines, backing up. “She wanted to steal the car. I told her not to, man, come on! You know how bitches are!”

  Heather’s face contorts with fury. “You motherfucker!” She runs right at him with the knife. He swats it aside and is about to stab her, so I lunge forward and pull him off. He falls to the ground. I stand there patiently, waiting until he gets back up before I punch him in the face. His knife goes flying.

  I let Solomon take care of Heather, while I slowly dispatch Fabian. I perform an anatomy lesson on him while he’s still alive. Finally, after so many years, I not only get to kill, but I do it at my leisure. I barely even register what Solomon is doing to Heather, I’m so intent on keeping Fabian alive to the very end.

  The screams, the thrashing…it feels so right.

  By the time I’m done with him, there’s a steady drizzle, but I only notice it when the water starts to puddle on the ground. Lightning forks overhead, casting a white-hot spotlight on the two mangled bodies that sprawl on the soft forest floor.

  I’m flushed with exhilaration. I feel more powerful than God.

  “Best we head back,” Solomon says, glancing up at the sky, but he doesn’t hurry. He strolls slowly, hand in his pocket. We find Augustus and Paxton standing a few hundred feet away, in the open, watching us. Or rather me.

  “So I passed muster?” I say to Augustus as we make our way back, rivulets of water streaming down our faces.

  “You are a true descendant of Isaiah.” He smiles broadly. I imagine that’s high praise coming from him.

  I smile back, a genuine smile of the purest happiness, because the killing gave me a high like no drug ever could. He’s given this moment to me. For all his faults, he’s let me be who I really am, and I will be forever grateful to him for it.

  We’re greeted by Maria and Jess, the blonde, and a couple of Augustus’ security team holding fluffy towels, and we stand in the enormous foyer blotting ourselves off and kicking off our soggy shoes. Maria and Jess have shoes for us, too, and they hurry to put them on each of us, kneeling at our feet after they’re done.

  Then I say to Augustus, “Where’s the stick?”

  “The stick?” he says.

  “The half-naked sex slaves kneeling at my feet and begging to suck my cock. The hunt. That’s the carrot. Where’s the stick?”

  “Not much escapes you,” he says approvingly. He inclines his head for me to follow him.

  We wind our way through the house and come to a doorway with a security guard. He lets us pass him. Augustus uses a retina scanner and then a fingerprint scanner, and we enter.

  There’s a guard there sitting in a swivel chair, watching a bank of video monitors. My eyes devour details, looking at the keyboards, the type of equipment they’re using, the scenes he’s watching. This room would be impossible to break into physically, but there might be other methods.

  One of the monitors has a map with a bunch of little blips on the screen. “That shows the location of all the Sinners. Once we put the collars on them, they can never be removed. Not even by us. Women are deceitful seductresses, and from time to time one of them might deceive one of the servants into taking pity on them and setting them free. But the collars prevent that.”

  “So if they step beyond a certain point, they die?”

  Augustus shakes his head. “Good heavens, no, then they could just escape their p
enance by committing suicide. They’re knocked unconscious, so we can retrieve them and deal with them. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, we make all the other Sinners watch, over the course of several days. Makes quite the impression.”

  Augustus points at one of the monitors, and anger chokes me when I see Emilie in her living room, sitting on a sofa with her husband and children. It’s their home on my father’s property. They’re playing a board game. I wear my mask of calm perfectly, but inside, my gratitude of just a few minutes ago has evaporated and I’m eviscerating Augustus with a dull knife.

  “Impressive,” I say, my voice calm and politely admiring. “I know my father has top-notch security systems. And yet you not only managed to get someone onto his property, you managed to install surveillance without him knowing.”

  “I don’t enjoy having to threaten you.” He looks politely regretful. “This isn’t personal. Every single member of the Franklin family is monitored in the same fashion. Men, women, children…we watch them all. If you attempt to warn her that we’re monitoring her, we’ll take her and violate her, and we’ll kill her children in front of her, and then kill her husband.” He shrugs. “That goes for everyone in the family. This is how we ensure that our family business stays private.”

  My gaze roves over the other screens.

  Senator Franklin, a white-haired man in his sixties, is on one of them. It looks as if he’s in his office. He has a young woman bent over his desk. He’s pulling her hair, and her face is contorted in pain as he takes her from behind. He must know he’s being watched, but he doesn’t seem to care.

  I arch an eyebrow. “What if someone doesn’t have family that they care about, and they’re willing to take you on?”

  He smiles. “We do our best to raise our sons right, so that will never happen. However, we all have an implant that contains a GPS tracker and two little sacs of special compounds we’ve designed. One has a sedative, and one has a tiny amount of deadly poison. Only the Patriarch has the code. If you were to attempt to expose us or to violate family rules—such as, say, freeing any of the Sinners—we would be able to find you instantly, anywhere in the world.”

  Interesting. I don’t feel any ache on my body that would reveal the tracker’s location.

  His cold eyes meet mine. “I will give you one last chance. If you wish to drop out of the challenge and go quietly on your way, never saying a word about us, you may do so. Of course, we would continue to monitor your family.”

  I snort at that. “Fuck no.” Because I’m going to take you out for threatening my sister, asshole. “So what’s next?”

  “The challenge is May fifteenth.” He looks me up and down appraisingly. “You might have a chance. You’ll be an interesting contender.”

  I nod with understanding. “Part of the appeal of bringing me here. I’m cannon fodder. Something to put between you and them, a way to draw them out. And that’s why Robert never warned me they were gunning for me.”

  Annoyance flares in his eyes. “Do you ever get tired of showing off how clever you are?”

  That stings, but I deserved it. And I make a mental note. Stop revealing how much smarter I am than them. Clever only gets you so far.

  “Fair point,” I say to him. “You’ve got to understand, I’ve grown up without guidance for the last twenty-five years. Every natural impulse I had was slapped down. Thanks to you, I’m just learning what I am now.”

  The ass-kissing works. His gaze softens.

  And this time I keep my thoughts to myself.

  You think you’re strong, but there are different types of strength. You’re weak as shit in more ways than you realize. You’re a sucker for flattery. I’ll use that against you.

  “If I won,” I say, “are you saying that I would actually be in charge here?”

  “Yes, the charter commands it. But you would be required to enforce the Franklin Family Charter, and God help you if you strayed. I’m going to teach you all the rules over the next couple of days, so you can be a legitimate contender.”

  “I assume there are rules that stop you from just eliminating everyone who challenges you by using the GPS capsules,” I say. I wonder where in my body mine is. I have to give them credit; I don’t feel a thing.

  “Of course.” He bristles at the insult. “I would never dishonor the charter in such a way. And if any coward committed such a transgression, the others would rise against them and kill them.”

  “Naturally.” I manage to keep all traces of sarcasm from my voice.

  His eyes drift to the screen where Senator Franklin has just finished with the young woman. She’s crying, pulling her pants up. He’s returned to some paperwork on his desk and ignores her completely as she limps from the room. A little smile curls Augustus’ lips as he watches.

  “You can stay here on the property, where it’s safer, until the challenge,” he says to me. “Being strong doesn’t mean taking unnecessary risks.”

  “I have some other business I’m dealing with,” I tell him.

  “Are you talking about your company, or the clubs you own, or Camille?” I widen my eyes and pretend to look surprised, and I’m rewarded by his smug look.

  Oh yeah. Overestimate yourself and underestimate me, motherfucker. It’ll catch up to you soon enough.

  “Mostly Camille. My company and the clubs are run by trusted associates of mine. You’re welcome to visit the clubs at any time, although the entertainment is tame compared to what can be found here, I’m afraid.”

  “You can grab Camille and bring her here,” he says. “The only rule is that she must be available to any man here, unless you intend to marry her. We do have the option of keeping our wives to ourselves, although most of us enjoy sharing them too.”

  The idea of anyone else’s hands, mouth, or dick coming near Camille makes my vision swim red. Yes, I’m going to psychologically destroy her and then end her life, but the ghost of jealousy still flares inside me.

  “That’s a deal-breaker for me,” I say. “I’m just getting used to your ways, and maybe someday that will change, but my general feeling is, what I capture is mine.”

  “I hope you’re not putting a woman ahead of the family,” he says with a hint of a scowl.

  “No, this is my personal belief system. If anyone comes after me, I am the one to take them down. I don’t call for help. If I want something, I take it myself. I don’t ask for help. And call me old-fashioned, but when I kidnap a woman and mentally break her down to be my slave, then that set of holes belongs to me and me alone.”

  “A shame,” he says. “But we’ll let it go, for now. Then I’ll fill you in on what I can this weekend, but you’ll have to leave on Monday.”

  I consider asking if that’s in the rulebook, but I suspect it’s more a matter of injured pride.

  “I would appreciate any wisdom you can impart, then,” I say humbly, and I see that smug look again.

  When I roll my eyes, I make sure I only do it in my head.

  Weak as shit.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Camille

  I no longer trust my alarm system. I’m giving some serious thought to staying in a hotel, but that would only be a temporary solution. Instead I spent a lot of money having a locksmith put heavy duty bolt locks on every door in the house, and I nail shut every single window. If there were a fire, I’d be screwed, but at least nobody can break in.

  For now, I’ve let Landon talk me into not postponing the wedding. More accurately, I’ve let him guilt me into it. He called me up and sounded so utterly miserable that I caved.

  I’m eating lunch at the café across the street from work when my mother comes stomping up to me. I’m at a café table with two chairs. As always, she pulls up a third chair to represent my father’s absence and sits down uninvited.

  She’s on the warpath today.

  “What did you do to yourself?” she snaps, scowling at my forehead. I still have a bandage where I got stitches after breaking my window.


  “Thank you for your concern, Mother. I had an accident.” My words drip with acid, but she just barrels on ahead.

  “I have been attempting to contact Landon, and he is apparently no longer accepting my calls. I assume you’re behind this?”

  “You’d better believe I am.” I want to lean away from her and hug myself like a child, but I force myself to do the opposite. I lean toward her, hands planted on the table-top, and her eyes go wide and startled. “After you told him your version of what happened to me in my teens? You had absolutely no right to do that. I told him that if he talks to you again, we’re through.”

  “He needed to know,” she says primly. “And it was after I told him and he didn’t leave you that I knew he was an appropriate choice for you. I did you a favor, vetting him like that. I’m not surprised that you don’t appreciate it, though—you never show the least bit of gratitude for all the things I’ve done.”

  I just stare at her in astonishment. She really believes the things she says.

  “I expect you to contact Landon and tell him that he may speak to me.”

  “Why, specifically, do you need to speak to my fiancé?” I ask her coolly.

  “I am your mother, and you will not shut me out of your life like this. If he still is your fiancé, after the way that you’ve been behaving,” she snipes. “I wouldn’t blame him in the least if he left you.”

  I reach for my coffee cup, but my hand starts to shake. I can’t handle this right now. This morning there was no hot water, and when I called the gas company they told me I was three months behind in payments, which is ridiculous; my payments are automatically withdrawn from my bank account. They claimed they’d sent me multiple notices, but I never received any. I had to take a cold shower.

  Then I went to drive to work, but I had another flat tire, so I had to call a tow truck and an Uber. I was fifteen minutes late for work, and my first client was hysterical and complained to my manager.

  I never used to worry about money, but I’m starting to get rattled. I refuse to take money from my mother, because that would mean I was instantly under her thumb—even more than I already am. What would happen if I lost my job?