Mine

by Stacey Kennedy

  Gabe O’Keefe—who sat next to me—was sharp and intense, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair, a prominent chin and square jawline giving him a chiseled face. My roommate at Harvard had made his millions by opening his first Irish pub, O’Keefe’s, at twenty-two years old. Now, at thirty-three, he helmed a chain of bars all over the United States. His dark eyebrows rose in clear irritation at having to repeat himself. “We were talking about the current problem in our city.”

  “Yes.” I gave a firm nod, recognizing his annoyance, and offering the only sign of apology he’d get from me. “Matthew Harrington”—a Dominant looking to open a rival BDSM club—“attempted to purchase the nightclub Elements the other day. I bested his offer and stole the deal out from under him,” I reported.

  Across from Gabe, Ryder Blackwood said, “We might have to bring Matthew in and discuss the matter, if he continues to pursue opening a club.” His sandy hair set off his emerald-green eyes, which were focused and intent, though his two deep dimples offset the ruggedness of his features. He was the head of the security detail for a San Francisco politician and owner of the best detail company in North America, which was initially how I met him. “But I’m not sure it would be in our best interests to let him know who we are.”

  “I agree. It could backfire,” said Darius Bennett, the CEO of Bennett Inc., a billion-dollar company that provided financial and budgeting services to large corporations, as well as advice on organization and management issues. He had an all-American look, with dirty-blond hair, clear blue eyes, and a strong mouth. “That said, I’m pleased this problem is behind us.”

  I agreed with a nod. “I’m tearing down the club and putting a shopping center in its place.”

  “You didn’t just steal the property away,” Gabe said, and gave a soft laugh. “You demolished it. Way to prove a point.”

  Matthew probably hadn’t gotten the point, because no one except the women who played a submissive role to us knew of our existence. I assumed there were likely whispers of the DC in the dark rooms of the San Francisco BDSM community, but our confidential contracts were firm and could ruin submissives if they ousted us.

  Perhaps it wasn’t the life I’d wanted or hoped for, but it was one that was necessary, as it was also essential for every man in this room. We had too much to lose if the truth of our BDSM preferences were exposed. Those in the BDSM lifestyle would understand. Those not in it, wouldn’t.

  It was a scandal no one wanted.

  “With that out of the way,” Darius continued, “do we have any other matters to discuss?”

  I watched Gabe shake his head, then Ryder, and even Darius—who was the last man to become a member of the DC two years after our secret society had been formed—shake his head, too. The idea for the DC started with Gabe and I, when we were twenty years old, and before we gained our wealth—two young kids who had similar sexual tastes, who learned of the BDSM lifestyle together, who mentored under some of the best Doms out there, and who knew the importance of keeping this all a secret.

  Ryder came into the picture after my mentor suggested that I should hire his security company to oversee Holt. That conversation proved valuable, as Ryder was in a similar situation, unable to play in public clubs in fear of being seen, and lacking the secrecy needed for his lifestyle.

  We’d all come to the DC under different circumstances, but one truth remained—we ruled this city, we had created it in a way that kept our private lives far away from public scrutiny, and we had maintained that secrecy for the last fifteen years.

  When all eyes came to me, I didn’t have the luxury of staying silent. “My latest submissive has become a problem.”

  Ryder’s head cocked, eyebrow arched in curiosity. “In what way?”

  “She’s become attached.” That was the one deal breaker. I wanted women to be submissive to me when I called for them. I didn’t have it in me to give them my heart, because I didn’t have a heart to give. “I think it’s best at this point to put Caroline with one of you.”

  Gabe gave a sly grin, offering his hand. “Let me have a look.”

  I opened the file before me on the meeting room’s desk, taking out the picture of Caroline, and handing the photo to Gabe. “As you can see, she’s lovely.”

  “Yeah, she is.” Appreciation richened Gabe’s voice, as he scanned over the picture with care. “One of my submissives has moved out of state because of a job transfer, so I’ll take her on.” He handed the photo back to me, and as I returned it to the file, he added, “This saves me from having anyone vetted.”

  Gabe’s statement was simply said, but that’s how the process worked. Each of us owned a public club to meet potential submissives who appealed to us as Dominants. Those submissives were vetted thoroughly, given background checks that were so extensive they would make the military proud. From there, the candidates were brought into our office and offered the opportunity to play with a member of the DC. Once they agreed, contracts were signed, and play commenced.

  “Excellent,” I replied, grateful for Gabe’s agreement.

  The last thing I needed was an emotionally unstable submissive. The job now belonged to Gabe to ensure Caroline adjusted well without me, and I appreciated not having to hire a therapist. I leaned toward the phone at the end of the table, and hit the intercom.

  “Yes?” the receptionist asked through the speaker.

  “Please send in Ms. Carrington.” I had called her on my way to this meeting, indicating she needed to meet me at headquarters.

  “Right away, sir.”

  The receptionist didn’t work for me. The high-tech company that rented this building from me employed her. That company had government contracts, and because of the resulting heightened security of this office it was the ideal location for the DC’s headquarters. No one could get close to this building without proper identification. Even the rooms were soundproofed to keep secrets from seeping out. That made it the perfect location for our weekly meetings involving the BDSM community, our clubs, and our submissives.

  Only a few short minutes passed before the meeting-room door opened and in walked a leggy, stunning blonde. Caroline was wealthy herself, and she held the air of a woman who came from privilege. She scanned the room, and her soft blue eyes surrounded by dark makeup immediately lowered.

  A perfectly well-trained submissive.

  Her fingers played with the platinum bracelet on her wrist, with a skeleton-key charm dangling from the links—a gift I’d given to her when I took her on as my submissive three months ago. That symbol told all who knew about the DC that she belonged to one of the DC Doms.

  I looked away from the bracelet to her bowed head. “Caroline, please come in and sit down.”

  She shut the door behind her and then took her seat at the end of the meeting-room table. Her eyes drifted around the room, not connecting with anyone, and not surprising me either. I imagined that coming into this room, surrounded by four of San Francisco’s wealthiest men, would intimidate her. “Is everything okay?” she eventually asked, her voice a soft whisper.

  “I’m afraid our time together must end,” I told her, straightening my back, showing her with my posture that my mind couldn’t be changed. “Things between us have become personal for you. As you are well aware from our first meeting, I do not tolerate that sort of connection.” Her shoulders sank in disappointment, so I added, “Gabe has offered to take you on as his submissive, if you are willing.” Her head lifted then and her eyes met mine, and I saw the hurt cross her face when I added, “If you choose not to play with Gabe, this will end your contract with the DC. The choice is up to you.”

  She glanced at Gabe with no excitement registering across her expression. She didn’t want this—she wanted me—and we all knew it.

  Gabe made a low sound of disappointment. “I’ll treat you well, Caroline. There is absolutely no reason to look so upset.”

  “I’m…” She sank further into her chair, her face pinched with emotion, when she a
ddressed me. “Have I done something to displease you, Sir?”

  “Of course you haven’t.” Part of me wanted to reach out and help her overcome the rejection I forced upon her, but that would only show her that I cared. I couldn’t play games with a submissive’s emotions. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, but you need to move on. This is not up for discussion. Make your decision.”

  I witnessed the fight in her mind blasting across her face. She had two choices—either agree to play with Gabe or return to play in one of our public clubs. Once a submissive had a taste of the luxury we at the DC could offer them, public play did not look so appealing anymore. We were experienced Dominants who knew how to increase pleasure with kink and who had a power—both financial and innate—that appealed to women.

  She gave a long sigh, shifting her shoulders until they sat higher, portraying strength. Then she rose, walked over to Gabe and kneeled before him. “I am yours now, Sir.”

  Gabe tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her face and staring deeply into her eyes. “I’m pleased that you are, and appreciate the acceptance I’m seeing now. Go out in the waiting room and wait for me there. I will come to you, and we can talk further.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  She stood, saying nothing more, and went toward the door. Just as her hand wrapped around the handle, she looked at me. Heartbreak was visible in her eyes. Abandonment clouded her face.

  That’s why I could never love a woman.

  I fucking ruined every single one I touched.

  Allie

  I arrived home after my workday a few minutes before five o’clock and unlocked the door to my condo in midtown San Francisco. My place was walking distance to Union Square, the Civic Center, and just about every hotspot in San Francisco. Large windows wrapped around the exterior walls, and the view my condo offered was incomparable.

  The design of my space was simple and modern, with an aqua-colored throw blanket on the back of the couch providing the brightest color in the room. I decorated in mostly neutral colors to allow the view to be the focal point. I loved this condo—it was the one luxury I awarded myself without feeling bad about spending money. My parents would’ve wanted me to live in a nice home, and I worked hard enough that I figured I had earned it, too. But, the home wasn’t extravagant, either, giving the appearance I had millions of dollars in my bank account; it looked like a condo that I could afford on the salary I made.

  I locked the door behind me and dropped my purse on the small desk. As I stared out at my living space, I knew life would be easier with my new income. But really, I didn’t have it so bad to begin with.

  My two-bedroom unit had been paid off by the trust fund my brother gave to me; he called it his duty to look after me. I had only been a homeowner for over a year now and loved it to pieces, but I would’ve given the home back if it had meant I could have had another day with my parents. If they hadn’t died, my brother would not have given me money.

  I missed them. Terribly.

  And I hadn’t touched my trust fund since I bought my house and car.

  Thoughts of my past, and the realization that they went there because of Henry’s leaving, circled my mind as I walked into the open-concept living room. I reached my brown leather couch and dropped down onto the soft cushion, grabbing my iPad off the glass coffee table. I clicked Facetime and dialed my best friend, Taylor Erickson.

  It wasn’t long before I saw Taylor’s face on the screen. She was so naturally pretty it sickened me sometimes. Her honey-colored hair was down today, framing her oval face, making her hazel eyes look even lighter than usual. “Hi, you,” I said, pulling my legs underneath me and leaning against the armrest.

  “Hi, babe.” She smiled, flashing me her sparkly white teeth. “How was your day?”

  “Interesting, to say the least.”

  “Oh, really? What happened?”

  I rehashed what took place at work today and ended with, “So, yeah, now I’m working for the famous Micah Holt.”

  “Wow.” She waggled her eyebrows; her warm smile making me miss seeing it in person. “Nothing like having a little eye candy at work.”

  “God, he’s so arrogant,” I grumbled, still confused by the whole interaction with him. It annoyed me that his comment For now, yes bothered me more than it should have.

  I hated self-absorbed, money-hungry men like him.

  So, why, when it came to Micah, did I have to remind myself of that?

  Ignoring that disconcerting thought, I said, “Seriously, you should see him. He’s got the whole ‘I am a God and you should worship me’ vibe going on.”

  Taylor paused, and I could see her fence behind her; she was sitting outside on her patio. The sun shone down on her hair, highlighting the lighter blond. “Well, he kinda is God-like, and besides, he can’t be all bad.”

  I snorted. “What makes you think that?”

  “I read in a magazine a while back that he’s involved in a lot of charities.”

  “Which ones?” I smiled. “The giant douchebag charity?”

  Taylor laughed with me. “Sounds like an interesting charity. But, no, from what I read once, he founded one for breast cancer.” She paused, clearly crossing her legs as the iPad screen jumped around. “Oh yeah, and one that helps kids who have lost their parents go to summer camps and Disney World—things like that.”

  I absorbed that particular news. Either Micah was a better guy than I gave him credit for, or he took part in those charities to look better in the public eye. The latter sounded more like the man I met today. “Okay, so he funds a couple charities. I’m still not won over.”

  “Of course you’re not.” She gave me a knowing look, only coming from my best friend who’d been through it all with me. “No one can win you over.”

  “What?” I gasped in fake horror, knowing perfectly well that most wealthy men who wowed women didn’t wow me. Having a lot of money wasn’t an excuse to be a jackass. All—not a few, but all—of the guys I’d met through my brother and through growing up surrounded by high society were selfish pricks trying to get richer than the guy next to him. That’s why I didn’t live the life of privilege that I once had. I didn’t wear designer clothes, attend fancy charity events, or spend money on things I didn’t need. That world was cold, fake, and lonely, and I left it behind the day I started working for Henry. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” Taylor hesitated, a sudden sadness reaching her eyes, as she got up and moved, clearly sitting in a shaded part of her patio. “Regardless that you are a difficult woman to please, I miss you.”

  My heart clenched. Taylor had been my best friend through thick and thin. We’d known each other since we were nine years old, and I wanted her here. “I miss you, too. How are things in Southern Cali?”

  “Oh, well…” Her lids lowered, voice became small. “I think Shawn is cheating on me.”

  I gawked at her. “Do you realize how calmly you said that?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Taylor gave a small nod, looking so much more broken down than I ever remembered her being. “To be honest, I’m sure he knows that I know, and he doesn’t seem to care.”

  “Are you serious? What a fucking asshole!” I squeezed the sides of my iPad, not understanding why Taylor stayed with Shawn. Or, really, why she dated any of the jackasses she did.

  Despair and loneliness lay across my best friend’s expression. My heart hurt for her, as I’d grown used to seeing that sadness over the past five years—desolation that hadn’t been there when she lived in San Francisco with me.

  Back then, Taylor had been happy, especially when, after high school, she secretly dated my brother. Although I knew about the relationship and had given them my blessing, my brother wanted things to stay on the down-low. He’d begun to build his empire, and Taylor had been only nineteen at the time, while he had been twenty-nine.

  The relationship had been short, intense, and in the end it ruined them both. The last happy day they’d had together was the last day I�
��d seen either of them happy. “Why don’t you move home? If he’s being such a fuck-face, why stay there?” She’d moved to be with another guy, who’d ended up going to jail for fraud. “Since nothing is really keeping you there anymore.”

  “Well, this is my home now.” Taylor’s lip quivered, and I saw her fighting back tears, as her iPad screen shook. “I do love Shawn. It’s not that easy to just pick up and leave.”

  My heart sank into my stomach. God, I wasn’t sure when love got so confusing for Taylor. But how Shawn treated her wasn’t love. It was something else entirely. Something I wished I could protect her from.

  I could’ve lectured her now. Deep down, I wanted to. But I knew she didn’t need that from me. “My heart is with you, even from here.” I blew her a big kiss through the iPad. “Just don’t forget yourself, babe, and what makes you happy. You know I have this condo all to myself, and there is a room waiting for you.”

  “I do know that.” Taylor’s heavy sigh sounded like static through the speaker. “But right now I’m trying to figure out what even makes me happy anymore.”

  I stayed silent, not having much to say. I had no idea how to help her out of the mess she’d landed herself in. Taylor had a heart of gold, but somehow everyone except for me missed that about her.

  “You know,” I told her, hoping to lighten the mood. “I was thinking today about the first time we got totally smashed. Remember how I barfed on your dad’s shoes?”

  Taylor barked a laugh. “Oh my God, yes! He was so pissed off.”

  Her smile made me smile, and the conversation shifted to all the fun we’d had together. She’d been through it all with me. We had seen each other at our highs and at our lows. But Taylor’s low seemed to have lasted for a whole five years now. I might not have answers for her, but I’d remind her of the woman she used to be as often as I could, hoping that maybe one day, she’d be that woman again.

  Chapter 3

  Allie

  The next morning, I parked my black Volkswagen Golf in Holt’s parking lot, located east of Kearny Street. I made my way toward the modern skyscraper on Montgomery Street, in the heart of the Financial District. The scent of bacon-wrapped hot dogs being grilled by a street vendor farther down the street spiraled through the air. I never understood why anyone would want a hot dog so early in the morning.