She continues her inspection until she finds all the cameras. She waves at the one over the tub and pastes on a fuck-you smile—definitely meant for me—that doesn’t get near her eyes. Facial expressions fascinate me, and I’ve made it my mission to become expert at reading them. That skill saved my ass more than once in this business. I’m sure I saw it. For a split second before she plastered the fake smile in place, her brows lowered, and her lips tightened. Well, shit. This little one is scared to death and might be a little too clever. She seems willing to take a beating to prove a point and has almost perfect control over her voluntary facial features when her guard is up. Something to remember if I ever have to face her at a poker table.
Destiny crosses the room, dwarfed by the large Turkish towel wrapped around her small frame. She pivots to face the camera. A dancer. Tilts her head to one side, eyes wide, staring at the lens as if considering some deeply technical thought. I stare right back, and we stay that way for what seems like days and days. As if she’s trying to feel me. I shake off the feeling. Inviting fingers of steam rise from the hot water in the large tub. Her head bows for a second. She sighs, drops the towel, and lowers into the bath.
She systematically scrubs and scours every square inch of her body. She grimaces as she connects with each bruise before applying the loofah with renewed vigor. Ignoring the pain, she approaches her cleansing with determination.
She takes more care as she washes her torso. Small, pert breasts sit atop another plethora of contusions, and some of them are starting to turn purple and blue. The bastards really worked her over. She takes a great deal of care around plump nipples that beg for attention. A huge bruise surrounds her left areola. Bastards. They will pay for this.
The white porcelain tub sits beside a window wall facing a Japanese garden leading into a thick forest. Beside it stands a rectangular pool in a courtyard, surrounded by a riot of hostas and flowers in purples, greens, and whites spilling from pots and flower beds. Roses clamber up the walls. Ancient oaks and maples stand at attention. My favorite gargoyle keeps vigil over it all from his perch atop the pergola shading the seating area.
My infrequent guests find the view seductive and mesmerizing; Destiny barely gives it a glance. After a long soak, she rinses off in the shower, then examines each jar and bottle on the white marble counter. Every movement is systematic and precise. When she’s done, all bottles are lined up with labels facing outward. She opts for one of the plainer-looking commercial bottles and proceeds to slather herself with lotion.
She strolls into the dressing room and heads straight for the shelves with athletic wear. She pulls on underwear, a fitted black T-shirt, a black hoodie, and patterned pants. Interesting choices; I expected her to choose something dainty and frilly. I have no idea why, just a gut feeling. Underneath her tough layer of scales lies something distinctly feminine, submissive even. It calls to me. Fuck. Get a grip, man.
I fully expect her to try to get away or at the very least do some reconnaissance. Instead, she sits in one of the easy chairs facing a camera, folds her hands in her lap, and proceeds to stare directly at the lens—at me—with a “well, what now?” expression on her face. She’s such an odd mixture—graceful like a sleek cat one minute, twitchy the next. Over-the-top intense on the one hand then funny as hell on the other. A study in extremes. Now she shows me a great capacity for stillness. I stare. She stares back. A worm of something I can’t identify slides up my spine and makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. There is no conceivable way she can know I’m watching her, but she does a damned fine imitation of someone who does.
I break eye contact first and thank the powers that be she can’t see me. She smiles in triumph. As if she knows. I drag my hands through my hair, tempted to pull it out by the roots. I don’t know what the hell possessed me to bring this … this little dragon here, but now that I have, I’d better do something about her. I press the intercom button.
“Meet me in the hall.”
She crosses to the door and studies the intercom. She presses the button. “Why?” She sounds hesitant but belligerent. She stretches and squares her shoulders as if arranging the bravado she wears like armor.
I don’t respond.
“Fine.”
She walks into the hall and sizes me up.
“Follow me.”
She follows, padding silently behind me. We pass under an arch and step into the showpiece of my compound. My solarium. She gasps and moves to the windows.
“Oh my God. This is so beautiful. Is this yours? Is it on a mountain? I’ve never known anyone who lived in the nosebleed section. Don’t you get nervous when you get near the glass? Don’t—”
“Whoa, whoa. Jesus, you’re quite the chatterbox, aren’t you?”
She goes rigid and bows her head. “I’m sorry.”
Oh, Christ. I conjure up my most patient voice. “Destiny—”
She’s in front of me so fast I don’t see her move. “Let’s just get this over with now.”
She fiddles with my zipper. I grab her wrists. She cowers.
“What are you doing?”
She steps back, eyes down. “I’m giving you a blowjob. I hear all you masters want blowjobs.” She grips her thighs so hard I’m shocked the nails haven’t ripped her pants.
“Get up. Don’t demean yourself.” I don’t mean to come across harsh, but she’s not being authentic. Where the hell is she coming from? What happened to her feistiness? What kind of world does this woman live in? Despite myself, I’m intrigued. “I’m not your master.”
She stands there looking all confused and awkward and lovable. I gesture toward an armchair sitting in front of the fireplace. The pillars, chase, and cladding are all made of carved stone and reach from floor to ceiling. This room is one of my favorites; the panoramic view of the escarpment through the wall of windows and the majestic fireplace always bring me a feeling of peace.
I chose this room for our talk, hoping the serenity would help calm Destiny. She seems like such a volatile little thing. Hands in the pocket of her hoodie, she makes a wide berth around me as she heads for the armchair. She crosses her arms and legs, making herself the smallest package possible in the large leather chair. But instead of being at ease, as I’d hoped, she tenses and bites her bottom lip. As I settle on the couch facing the fireplace, I wish I’d lit it. She keeps her head still, sideways glancing at me through her raven curls. I clear my throat.
“Okay, let’s start with introductions. I’m Jaden Stone, a cybersecurity specialist and your rescuer.” I walk over to her and hold out my hand.
I can’t quite read her expression—disbelief? Fear? Anger? All of the above? She slowly unfolds her legs and stands, grasping my hand. She has a surprisingly firm grip. “Why don’t you want a blowjob?”
I like how she cuts right to the chase. Clearly, she’s mystified.
“Because I don’t. Do I need a reason?”
“All men want blowjobs. It’s part of their DNA.”
I have to stamp down hard on the chuckle rising in my chest. She’s delivered that line as if she’s passing along a well-documented scientific fact that brooks no argument. She still holds my hand. And I hold hers.
“Well, not this one. Now it’s your turn. And you are?”
“I’m Des—”
I tighten my grip on her hand, just a little. It wouldn’t hurt, but it’s enough to stop her. I say nothing.
She sighs. “My name is Rayne Turner, and I’m a nobody, and now it would appear I’m your slave.”
I snort. Then I laugh for the first time in over three years. I can’t help myself. I’ve never heard anything so absurd.
4
Rayne
Pass all your sorrows to the stars …
Jaden snorts when I tell him I’m a nonentity and his slut. Playing stupid isn’t working very well for me. I delivered my sarcastic jab with as much bravado as I could muster. He stands there looking at me as if I’m a moron. And he blew off a
blowjob. Who does that? Why doesn’t anyone take me seriously? At least he hasn’t hit me … yet. But for some reason, I’m not afraid of this guy. I even feel kind of safe, at least so far.
One thing I’m learning quite quickly—this huge hunk of a man is proving to be as immovable as stone. But, oh my God, he is so cute. Even his imperfections add to make him the most attractive male I’ve ever seen. A small scar on his nose and in his eyebrow humanize his chiseled perfection. And those amber eyes watch me just like the wolf he reminds me of. Then there’s that hair—loads of long brown curls just calling out for me to run my fingers through them. I let my gaze wander down the length of his sculpted body. He’s muscular without being muscle-bound. Humor sparks from those startling eyes when my gaze makes its way back to his.
The thought of me across Jaden’s lap flies into my brain. My ears turn as crimson as the image of my spanked ass. How can I even think of something this perverted? Is there something in me I refuse to face? Sex is something I’ve learned to hate for everything it stands for. I knew, even when I was a kid, that men use sex for power and control. Two rapes, including one by my evil stepfather, and more sexual assaults than I care to count entrench this belief as deep as the Grand Canyon. Some women use sex to manipulate, but they’re usually pretty goddamned obvious about doing it. Everything I’ve learned confirms this hard-gained knowledge, including the weeks on the street. Men don’t seem to care and even relish the game. Except when it comes to this huge hunk of a man, presumably.
Bastard. Clearly, I have lost my mind. I blame the head injury Viper gave me. How else can I explain this sudden onslaught of random sexual thoughts? I look up into those bronze eyes. They glitter with humor and interest. He winks and flashes a smile that damn near knocks me out at the knees. A sudden burning starts between my legs. I have to stop myself from crossing them. His grin widens. He knows. Bastard.
Jaden crosses to the wall of windows with the view that makes me dizzy it’s so high up.
Just as I thought when I’d first laid eyes on this man—he will cause me nothing but grief. Quandary—do I continue to play stupid? Although I quickly learned that was the best plan of action in the sex slave world, I have a gut feeling this man is different. He turns his back to me, so I take full advantage and stare unashamedly at his butt. The sight of that tight ass makes something weird and warm wash over me. Something I haven’t felt before. Something that feels kind of good.
Besides detesting sex, I find most people, men and women, decidedly unattractive. Not that I’m a beauty queen myself. I’ve had more than enough guys point out my many deficits, starting with my small boobs. Big men make me head for the proverbial hills, and this Jaden isn’t exactly small. I almost smothered to death when a couple of them fell on me after their respective orgasms.
More than anything, I want this guy to like me. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. What the fuck do you care?
He turns around and quirks an eyebrow at me. I quickly drop my gaze back to the floor. The echo of his voice screams the word “well” through my brain. Two could play that game.
“Well, what?” Let’s see how stupid he is.
“I think you’ll have to be a little more forthcoming. And you’re most certainly not my slut.” He sits back on the couch, leans his forearms on his thighs, and steeples his hands. Poised energy and attention radiate from every cell in his body. A study in still motion. He has my attention.
“What do you mean I’m not your slut? You bought me.” And I bet I wasn’t cheap. Viper will have wanted to recoup the money he spent to buy me. ES loved to gamble and owed some guy a lot of money.
“I didn’t buy you, and all of my sluts, as you call them, are somebodies. I don’t do the nobody thing. Unlike your previous acquaintances, I don’t fuck anyone who isn’t willing to submit.”
He says the words deliberately. Anger flashes in his eyes, and the scrutiny he gives me as his gaze rakes over my body makes me squirm. No one ever cared what I had to say. This is a first.
“Lots of people have sex slaves. It’s a huge business. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Look, I’m not interested, okay.” He runs his hands through his golden brown hair. “Right now, I need to know everything you can tell me about Viper.”
“Why?”
“Because …”
Jaden stares at me for a few minutes, presumably deciding whether he has anything else to say. “Okay, Rayne, let’s make a deal. How about we exchange information. I’ll tell you something, then it’s your turn.”
I hug myself, unsure of how much I want to tell this very strange man. But what the hell do I have to lose?
“You first,” I say.
“Sasha and I think Viper is the key to finding out who is behind the local sex trade. His data is so encrypted he’s practically invisible.”
“A security onion.”
Jaden’s smile almost melts the skin right off my bones it’s so hot. I have to remember I don’t like him.
“You get it. So, I could use your help.”
“What’s in it for me?” This guy obviously has money, and I won’t be going far without it. The evil stepfather took what little I had when he sold me. I don’t even have ID. I desperately need money to rescue Summer.
“That depends on what you have to offer.”
I give him my wickedest grin. “You mean besides a blowjob?” I can’t help myself. I don’t know why … yet … but obviously, something about blowjobs makes this guy squirrely. Oh yeah, he looks oh so calm on the outside, but I can feel the emotions rolling around in his head. I love a mystery and am now hell-bent on finding out why. Then there’s the bitch goddess in me wanting to be just as crude as I can. I decide not to dwell on what the hell has gotten into me. I’m good at that.
Jaden frowns. “I mean what skills do you have?”
His unspoken “if any” screams in the silence. Gawd. The guy needs to get a sense of humor.
I assume he isn’t referencing my potty mouth. How do you tell a guy that the only thing you’re good at is typing? I could win a contest with the best of them thanks to the evil stepfather. He’d insisted I take business courses for my electives instead of something fun like music or drama.
“Well, the ES made sure I could type so I could always find work in an office.” I fish around in my brain for something else that doesn’t pertain to singing, dancing, reading, or writing poems about going insane. Nothing. Then it hits me. “I’m one of the best online researchers you’ll find. I bet you could use that if you’re a hacker. I bet I can find Viper for you.”
“And just how would you do that? And who is ES?”
I sigh heavily. I mean, really. Isn’t it obvious? “ES stands for evil stepfather. Give me a computer, and I’ll show you.” I try my best to look confident. Yeah right. “I’m going to be a social engineer.” Bam. Let’s see what he thinks about that.
“So, what you’re telling me is you’re a master manipulator or a cyber con artist?”
I give him my steeliest stare. “Nooooo, it means I’m very persuasive. You really are something, you know that? I’ve never met a hacker so full of himself.”
“Oh, and you’ve met a lot of hackers, have you? You really might try being just a little nicer to the guy who saved you from certain death at great personal risk and expense.”
Shit. There is no getting around this guy. He challenges me at every turn … and annoys me too.
“Yeah. Thanks. So why did you kidnap me anyway?” I stick my chin in the air. “I had Viper right where I wanted him. If it weren’t for you, he’d be dead right now.”
“Speaking of someone who’s full of themselves, take a look in the mirror. You were about to be trussed up, beaten, have your clit cut off, and bleed to death. Yes, indeed, you had Viper right where you wanted him.”
I want to wipe that cute little smirk right off his chiseled face.
“I would have figured something out, and it’s not like my stupid cl
it is any good to me anyway.”
Jaden leans back and props his feet on the coffee table. “Sorry to hear that.” He studies me. I manage to keep quiet. Several moments pass before he leans forward again. “What’s all this about you being a slut?”
Me and my big mouth. The last thing on earth I want to do is tell this Adonis my sad, sordid story. Hopefully, I’ll get away with just a little dribble here and there. Enough to get him off my back, but not enough to really let him know anything.
“Do you have any pot?” This story will be a lot easier if I have some MJ to ease things out.
“Oil or leaf?”
“Both?” A horrible screechy voice tumbles out of my mouth. That’s how excited I am.
Jaden gets up without another word and leaves the room. He’s back in a few minutes and hands me a metal box. Inside is every pothead’s dream—a couple of vaporizers, a grinder, and several bags of weed marked with numbers. He leans over my shoulder and points to one of the baggies. “I suggest starting with that one.”
Oh my God, I almost swoon. He smells so damned good. Like soap and clean and woods with a wee hint of a musky undertone. Divine. Most guys stink like raw sewage bathed in cheap cologne.
“What do the numbers mean?” I let the vaporizer warm up while I grind up a few buds.
“You’re most welcome.” This time, I can hear the sarcastic tone coming from him.
“Thank you,” I mumble, not even sure why I find it so hard to say thank you. Here’s someone being nice to me—finally—and all I can do is be a little bitch and think about what I can get out of him. But this guy changes all the rules, and I have no idea how to respond.
“The numbers show how much THC and CBD there is in each strain.”
“CBD?” I’ve never heard of it.
“Look, as fascinating as the world of marijuana is, we can explore that topic another time. Right now, you were about to tell me what kind of game you’re playing.”
I sigh and take a huge haul from the vaporizer. He’s like a dog with his new stuffed toy, ready to tear it apart. I lean back in the chair and let the pot buzz wash over me. This shit is good. How much should I tell him?
Rage (A Jaden Rayne Adventure Book 1) Page 3
