Bought (Assassin's Revenge Book 2)

by Crescent, Tara

  “Yes.”

  “I went home with a man that night. A stranger I met at a bar. His name was Marc.”

  “And?”

  “Marc is Alexander Hamilton.”

  I heard Lucien’s sharp inhale of breath. “Has he recognized you, Jenny?” Always a faultless professional, Lucien. Ever since our cover story had been hatched, he hadn’t referred to me even once as Ellie. Just Jenny, so that I’d learn to turn when that name was called out. Even now, when real danger hung in the air, he remembered to call me by my assumed name.

  “No.” I was pretty sure I hadn’t been identified.

  “Did you give him your real name that night?”

  “No. I told him my name was Rachel and we didn’t exchange last names.”

  “Ellie’s from Cleveland, and so is Jenny. Where was Rachel from?” Ah, Lucien immediately saw the risks. If Alexander knew that Dylan McAllister once had a slave called Ellie who hailed from Cleveland, then there would be a common connection that tied the two stories together. Three women from the same city would rightly arouse his suspicion.

  I shuffled through the memories of that night. Had I ever told him where I was from? “I never said,” I replied, relieved. I had told him things about myself that night, but not my real name, and not where I was from.

  “And will he recognize your scars?”

  Fuck. I’d completely forgotten about the scars on the back of my thighs. Lucien, who was a more thorough soldier than I’d ever be, had not. “I don’t know.” My voice was fighting to hold back the rising panic. “I don’t think he noticed the scars that night in Paris.”

  “Breathe, Ellie.” It was a sign of how worried Lucien was that he now called me by my real name.

  “Lucien, there’s more. There’s a woman here, Sylvia. She visited Dylan once. She was there the night the scars were formed. When Dylan caned me, she watched.”

  “And?”

  “Sylvia seems to be Alexander’s girlfriend. And she wants to play with his newest toy.”

  “Fuck,” Lucien swore. “Sylvia Anliker? Tall, blonde waist-length hair?”

  “Yes.” My heart clenched again with fear. “Why do you know her?”

  “Because she’s one of the most reprehensible slavers in the world,” he replied, his voice cold. “Two years ago, Sylvia took advantage of the tumult created by the Arab Spring to buy a hundred twelve-year old children from Tunisia for her whorehouses in Italy and Spain. Last year, the battle zones in the Congo were her recruiting grounds. This woman is a vulture, a carrion who feeds on the misery of others and causes terror of her own wherever she goes.”

  “And she’s his girlfriend.”

  “We can abort the operation.” There was hesitation in Lucien’s voice but he made the offer nonetheless.

  I clutched the phone and thought about the consequences. If I disappeared, it would be investigated. Both Alexander Hamilton’s investigators and Madame Lorraine’s investigators would focus on my cover story. With enough detailed probing, no cover story would hold up. If anything was discovered about my real identity – that I was really Ellie Samuelson, who had been abducted by Dylan, who, over the last six years had killed all except one of the guards who had gang-raped her the first night? Dylan would go so far underground that we’d never find him again.

  Not only that, but Dylan would use every single bit of the billions he possessed to get rid of us. We’d succeeded so far partly because no one knew who we were. As a result, no one had placed a bounty on our backs. But Dylan was a billionaire and all the rumours indicated that Alexander was richer than him.

  My revenge would be over. I’d have no hope of ever getting near Dylan again. And I’d be on the run from the hits placed on my head.

  “We can’t.” When I spoke, I willed my voice to show no emotion. “We have no choice but to go through with this.”

  “Do you know where you are headed with him?”

  “He mentioned living in Paris.” Paris. That small house in the suburbs, where we’d sat in the moonlight and he’d gone down on me for the first time in the garden as I’d struggled to stifle my moans of pleasure. Those memories now only caused pain.

  “Then I’ll fly there. Contact me when you can. Jenny. Remember, he has no reason to suspect you. Be desirable. Look at him with lust-filled eyes. Bat your eyelashes at him, but don’t forget who he really is. Your survival depends on it.”

  I knew that. I didn’t have to fake the desire. I didn’t have to remind myself who Alexander was. I never forgot. The memories never receded. I remembered everything.

  I stared into the mirror and a dark-haired woman with frightened green eyes stared back at me. I bent my head to survey my fingers again, willing them to stop shaking. I could survive this. I had to. If there was any sense of balance to the universe, any sense of fairness, Dylan McAllister needed to die at my hands.

  “I have to go,” I said into the phone.

  The SIM Card I flushed down the toilet, hoping it wouldn’t clog the pipes and create a mess. The list of outgoing calls couldn’t show Lucien’s number. I broke the phone into pieces mechanically, my thoughts a tangled storm. Remember this, I told myself once I’d disposed of the pieces in the trash, Jenny Fullerton’s sister is dying. Jenny likes to submit and please her man. Jenny knows nothing about Alexander except that he’s apparently very rich, and has bid an insane amount of money for the pleasure of her company for the next three months. Jenny is a little nervous, but Jenny is also excited. Because Alexander is good-looking and wealthy, and what girl could pass that up?

  For the next few months, until I was inside the Hanoi compound of Dylan McAllister, Ellie Samuelson didn’t exist. Her fears and motivations didn’t matter. They couldn’t matter, because if Alexander Hamilton ever found out who I was, he would kill me.

  I needed to be Jenny so completely that nothing I did would arouse suspicion.

  I pasted an apologetic smile on my face and headed out to find my new master.

  Chapter 10

  Alexander:

  I should have forced her to walk away. Fuck that, I should have walked away myself. But I did neither of those things.

  My phone rang. It was Jean-Luc. “Her cover story’s fake,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because our people just searched the hotel room she was staying in on Khao San Road.”

  “And?” Jean-Luc wouldn’t have called if he hadn’t found anything.

  “We found a knife taped to the underside of the toilet seat,” he said. “Why would a first-time traveller from Cleveland need a twelve-inch Bowie knife? Your little slave girl has some dangerous toys. ”

  “Submissives are not slaves,” I said automatically. I searched for explanations but every single scenario damned her. “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself. And I’ll be careful.”

  Jean-Luc exhaled. “Please do, Alexander,” he said dryly. “I’d hate to lose a boss, particularly one who pays as well as you do.”

  As I waited for her, my lips curved into a smile as a wicked thought struck me. I didn’t think she had a weapon on her, but there was only one way to find out for sure.

  ***

  Ellie / Jenny:

  Another of Madame Lorraine’s staff was waiting for me outside the washroom to take me to Alexander. I followed quietly, my eyes distant.

  With each step I took, I forced Ellie to recede. With each step, I embraced Jenny. When I got to the room, I smiled a genuine smile at Alexander and when I spoke, my voice was warm. “Sorry I took so long.”

  His lips twitched. “You took about as long as I expected,” he replied easily. “It’s one of the things about women that we men just don’t understand.” He gestured to my cheap, yet obviously new suitcase. “Is this all you have for three months?”

  I nodded, and he shook his head. “We’ll have to fix that,” he said mildly. “Now, change into something a bit more suitable for walking around and we’ll go grab dinner.”

  “Sho
uld I change here?”

  His eyes slowly surveyed my body. They started at the top of my head, slowly wandered down to my face, with my rouge-stained cheeks, my fire-engine red lips, and my soot-darkened eyelashes, then down to the black, translucent robe that revealed more of my body than it hid. His gaze took in the swell of my breasts, before sliding lower in a heated scan that traveled to my waist before sliding out again to my hips. His eyes lingered on my mound, which had been waxed clean by the handlers. I was completely naked under the robe and I could feel the air caress my pussy. I was completely aroused by the time he was done with his inspection, though my heart was beating as loud as a drum.

  “Yes, Jenny. Change here.”

  ***

  To my slight surprise, my suitcase hadn’t been opened. I bent and unzipped the cover, surveying the cheap clothes that were its contents. Next to Alexander’s expensive suit, I had nothing suitable to wear.

  I shrugged. This was what I owned and it had never been a problem until now. I rummaged through my clothing, feeling his eyes on me.

  “I don’t own anything fancy,” I said defensively.

  He shook his head. “Nothing fancy required,” he reassured me.

  I was so jumpy around him. Two years back, all I had felt was hot anticipation and fierce lust. But even putting aside Alexander’s connections with Dylan, there was so much I didn’t know. I had no idea what he wanted from me, how he expected me to behave.

  “You look stressed,” he commented.

  “I don’t know how to behave around you. My previous master was much more rigid.”

  He eyed me. “I’m not a big believer in protocol outside of a session.” He stalked closer and I fought my urge to flee. “Tell me, Jenny. Are you attracted to me?”

  My nipples were like two firm, tight pencil erasers. My pussy was swollen with need. “Yes.”

  He smiled. He looked like a predator and I was his prey. “And,” he said, taking my right hand and resting it on his erection, “I am attracted to you. Is there much that needs said beyond that?”

  “Please tell me the rules Alexander, so I may please you.”

  His lips thinned and I was suddenly afraid I’d revealed too much. But whatever he thought of my statement, he didn’t tell me. He simply shook his head. “Get dressed.”

  I pulled out a simple pink t-shirt, one that Lucien had bought me four years ago in Lagos. I’d been too afraid to go to a mall with him and I’d stayed huddled in my room while he’d muttered a curse and gone shopping for me. Along with the t-shirt, I pulled out a grey soft cotton pleated skirt that I’d bought on Khao San Road, the same time as I had bought the cheap satchel that was my purse.

  The t-shirt was too transparent to be worn without a bra. I groped for underwear, keeping a careful eye on Alexander’s expression. Dylan would have beaten me raw for denying him access to my body, but Alexander didn’t say anything.

  “Delaying, Jenny? Get naked.”

  The words had definitely been an order. I reached for the ties of the robe and undid them, letting the fabric drop to the ground. “Come forward,” Alexander said, his voice slightly hoarse.

  I inched near him. Part of me wanted to run away. The other part of me wanted to give in to the desire I felt for him.

  His eyes didn’t survey my body. They rested on my face. I had no idea what my eyes revealed and his own expression was unreadable. “Beautiful.”

  Then he gestured to my clothes with a grin. “Best put them on, Jenny. You’ll cause a riot in Thailand if you walk around naked.”

  I laughed. “I hadn’t really planned on it,” I quipped before I realized I was joking with Alexander. I shut up immediately, afraid of his displeasure.

  He watched both my laugh and my frightened aftermath. He didn’t comment. Instead he took my hand in his and led me down the stairs to a waiting black car.

  ***

  “Tell me something about yourself.”

  “What would you like to know, Sir?”

  His lips tightened with displeasure and too late, I remembered his rules. Alexander outside of a scene. Sir in a scene. We were in the car, seated side by side with our thighs pressed together, and though there was sexual tension in the air, we weren’t in a scene.

  “If you know the rules and you disobey, you earn punishments, Jenny. And since I told you once, and reminded you again, you have one punishment coming your way.” His voice was level, but I shivered. Two years ago, there was a hint of something dark in him but he’d held it in check. For the next three months with a slave that he believed wanted to explore every bit of her submissive desires? Nothing would be held back.

  “I’m sorry, Alexander.”

  His fingers tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and I trembled again. I couldn’t help myself. I tried telling myself I was afraid but the reality was far more disturbing. Though he was someone I should hate, all my body cared about was his touch. “You apologize very prettily, Jenny.” His hand wrapped around my waist and he pulled me towards him. “Sit on my lap,” he demanded.

  Jenny Fullerton’s sister had leukemia and this man had paid a million dollars, money that would be vital in her search for more aggressive treatments of the disease. Jenny Fullerton would be very grateful and very eager to please.

  Who was I kidding? This was me. The yearning I felt wasn’t Jenny’s emotion; it was mine. The way my body swayed towards him? That had nothing to do with me pretending to play a role. That was just me. My body. My arousal. My need for this man. My memories of that night.

  One day, when Dylan’s body lay dead, I would walk away and I would try to understand why even though I should hate every single thing about this man, I was painfully drawn to him. But for the moment, I obeyed and climbed on his lap, my side pressing into his chest.

  His fingers traced the line of my jaw and tilted me towards him. I leaned in, shamelessly inclining my head for a kiss and I heard his soft chuckle. “You still haven’t answered my question, cherie.”

  “It’s a really open-ended question, Alexander,” I said. I was being so bold. Had it been Dylan, my ass would have been flayed raw for my tone.

  His thumb caressed my lower lip and my mouth opened automatically. I shifted restlessly in his lap and he growled. “Are you trying to tease me, Jenny?” he asked. “It is an open-ended question. Tell me what your favourite food is. Tell me what your favourite book is. Tell me if you enjoyed your prom.”

  What was my favourite food? I didn’t know. My favourite book? I couldn’t narrow it down. “I didn’t go to prom,” I said. “I was the girl whose nose was always buried in a book. Prom just wasn’t a big deal to me.” It really hadn’t been. When the pages of a book held Mr. Darcy, how could any boy from high school hope to compare? I just hadn’t been interested.

  “We have that in common,” he said. “I didn’t go to prom either.”

  “Why?” Stupid, stupid Ellie, who wanted to know everything about this guy that her body longed for.

  Something flashed in his eyes for a second. Something bleak, before he shook his head with a smile. “It’s a long story, Jenny, and I’m still asking the questions. Favorite food?”

  “I don’t think I have one.” A memory brushed to life; my friends and I at a Fourth of July barbeque in Amber’s back yard. There’d been ribs and potato salad and sweet, juicy watermelon for dessert.

  “Tell me. You thought of something right then, didn’t you?” His hands stroked my arms. Up and down, a soothing motion that made me want to bury my head in his chest and never let go. I felt calm, yet turned on. Safe, yet my body prickled with anticipation.

  I should have been afraid about how well he could read me. On one level I did feel fear. I had no illusions that if Alexander Hamilton discovered who I really was, I’d be killed or worse.

  But another part revelled in the connection, in the awareness that we both had of each other. “There was a barbeque once,” I replied. “In Cleveland. I must have been fourteen.”

  “W
hat did you eat?”

  “Potato salad and watermelon.” I’d been going through a vegetarian phase. My mom had been in one of her rare dry spells, and I had driven her insane by quoting horrifying statistics about the meat industry. Finally she’d thrown up her hands in disgust and told me to cook my own damn food.

  His lips twitched; his hands stayed on my arms. “Did you sneak beer from the adults when no one was watching?”

  I laughed. “I was too much of a chicken.” My voice was rueful. Lisa had taken a sip, but by then, my mother had realized that the best way to ensure good behaviour from her introverted teenager was to threaten to take away her book. I’d been in the middle of reading Dune. I would have died if my mother had confiscated the book and so I’d declined the beer. Lisa and Amber had teased me relentlessly about it for years after. “Did you?”

  “I grew up in Provence,” he replied. “The French have a different attitude to drinking. I didn’t need to sneak beer from the adults; they were happy to offer it to me.” His hand wound around my hair, pulling it back to expose my throat to his lips. He nibbled and bit, and I groaned as I felt his erection graze my ass.

  This was insane. My body responded to him the way it had in that bar in Paris. Need boiled in my blood and I whimpered and tried to rub my body against his. But I was met with a swift rebuke. “Tsk, tsk,” he chided. “Hold still, cherie.”

  It took all the self-control in the world to obey. To stay still as his lips caressed every inch of my neck and his hands kneaded at my breasts over the t-shirt. Just when I was ready to take any punishment, any punishment at all, if only I feel his lips on mine, the car stopped.

  We had arrived at our dinner destination.

  ***

  Alexander:

  I was a fool, but I was trying to recreate Paris.

  In that bar in Saint Denis, it had taken her some time to relax around me. We’d talked first. Laughed and shared anecdotes as we sipped wine, and slowly, she had grown more comfortable. I’d seen her body language change from wary to open, then to aroused.