When she served the meal, Bull studied the concoction. He frowned as he picked at the peas.
“Vegetables won’t kill you.”
“I don’t like peas.”
That explained why there had been so many leftover in the container.
She was tempted to tell him to suck it up, but her ass was still sore from the spanking. “Noted.”
He poked at one, lifting it on his fork. Then he put it in his mouth, and his frown turned thoughtful. “Not bad. I never thought to cook them in vegetable oil.”
Neither had Brandy, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She didn’t reply to his comment.
He tucked into the meal, eating with some gusto. When he finished, he sat back and watched Brandy pick at her food. Though it wasn’t bad, depression was setting in. Whenever he left the apartment, she searched it for something she could use to gather information on The Eye or get word to someone about where she was. But there was nothing—no Wi-Fi, no television, and no radio. This place was mind-numbingly boring. No wonder he worked out so much. There was nothing else to do.
“Firebrand, I’ve been watching you these past few days as closely as you’ve been watching me. I don’t know who you were on the outside, and honestly I don’t care. I can tell that you’re a stubborn and resourceful woman and you’re used to making your own decisions. I know you’re smarting under the changes in your life, particularly because you didn’t choose any of them.”
He had her attention. She put her spoon down and met his gaze.
“You’re trying to adjust, to survive, which is good. That’s what you need to do. Like it or not, you’re stuck here with me. The only way either of us is leaving is in a body bag. I made my peace with that long ago, and I’m going to do my best to help you accept what you cannot change.”
A million arguments rushed through her head. Brandy was sure he could get her out of there if he wanted. But he’d joined The Eye willingly. He’d almost turned down having her as a reward because he was a True Believer in The Cause. As reasonable as he sometimes seemed, he was a fundamentalist fanatic, and she needed to keep that in mind.
“Submission doesn’t come naturally to you, so you’re going to have to practice.”
Her gaze went to the rug a few feet away where he’d made her kneel.
“Kneeling is one way to show submission. You’ve embraced the cooking and cleaning—serving me—so I know you have it in you to learn the rest.”
Brandy thought about the agents under her who were in D/s relationships. She wasn’t part of that world, but she felt like she knew them all pretty well. Liam and Jed’s girlfriend, Tru, was a handful. She had a strong will and a wild streak, but Brandy hadn’t noticed Liam or Jed trying to change that about her. Just last month, Jed had gone skydiving with her. Jordan’s fiancée, Amy, was sweet and loving. Both Tru and Amy seemed to blossom whenever their Dom was around.
But they were all in love.
Between Bull and Brandy, there was nothing resembling a relationship. She was his captive, his slave, and if she didn’t serve him, then he would hand her over to Yoseff or Karter to be raped, tortured, and murdered.
A chill ran down her spine, and she rubbed her arms.
Bull noted her reaction, but he didn’t comment. “I’m leaving in an hour. I’ll be gone for a couple of days. While I’m gone, you are not to leave the apartment.”
She hadn’t been allowed to leave even when he was home.
“If you try to escape, you will be executed. While I didn’t exactly want you here, I don’t harbor ill will toward you. It would be unfortunate if you died needlessly.”
Brandy pushed the remainder of her meal away. Her appetite had vanished.
“While I’m gone, Yoseff or Karter—perhaps both—will visit you. They will be checking to see how I’m training you. They have been vocal about how much they disapprove of the training methods I’m using with you. They think I’ve been too lenient. It is their approval you’ll need before you’ll be allowed to leave this apartment under my supervision.”
This news chilled her almost as much as the threat of execution. Where Bull was reluctant to abuse her—he’d spanked her as a last resort—she knew the others wouldn’t hesitate.
“Firebrand, you’re a strong woman, and I’m warning you to be smart. Do not in any way challenge their authority. Show that you can be submissive and subservient. Keep your gaze lowered. Address them as Sir. Offer them something to drink. There’s beer in the fridge. When you serve it, kneel and offer it up. I’ll show you the proper position before I go. Practice it. You need to impress them.”
The gravity of his orders came through with crystal clarity. Brandy searched his somber eyes, and she realized he wasn’t confident that she would succeed in impressing his bosses. She also read a warning he hadn’t voiced—that Yoseff or Karter could remove her from there while he was gone. Once she was no longer Bull’s property, he didn’t expect her to live for very long.
“Bull—”
“Daddy.” He set his jaw firmly.
Brandy’s brows shot up. She’d heard Amy address Jordan by that title, and it had seemed utterly ridiculous to her. But it gave her a frame of reference, and it helped her understand Bull better. He identified as a Daddy Dom, and that explained why he seemed fixated on taking care of her.
She met his gaze with earnest intent. “Daddy, I will do my best.”
He rose. “Let’s practice serving on your knees.”
When he left, Brandy watched at the window to make sure he was gone before she tore the apartment apart. To cover her tracks, she set out cleaning supplies. From the state of his things, there was no way his love for a clean environment was a secret. She’d clean as she went, marking the areas she’d already examined with furniture polish and disinfectant.
She cleaned into the night, taking her time examining the floorboards and molding. She tore apart the bed and put the sheets in the washing machine. With the mattress up on one end, she inspected and polished the frame. Near midnight, the door to the apartment opened.
Karter, the Tattooed Businessman, stood in the opening. He’d exchanged his suit for jeans, and a flannel shirt poked out under the hem of his thick jacket. His hair stood up in the back, and he regarded her with fury emanating from every pore in his body.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Polish rag in hand and bandana holding back her hair, Brandy gestured to the mattress. “Cleaning, Sir.”
His gaze roamed over the mess she’d made of the apartment. All the furniture was moved. The cushions on the sofa leaned against the far wall, and their coverings were hanging on a makeshift clothesline she’d fashioned from Bull’s weight lifting bench.
Some of his anger dissipated. “It’s after curfew.”
Bull hadn’t said a word about a curfew, probably because he had expected her to stay in the apartment, which she had done. Apparently curfew marked a quiet time as well.
She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, Sir. Daddy didn’t mention a curfew.”
He started at her use of Bull’s title, but he didn’t otherwise react. “People in the apartment below you and next to you are trying to sleep. Everybody here works, and they need their rest. I’m ordering you to stop cleaning until curfew breaks in six hours. Get some rest. Bull will be gone another thirty-six hours. You’ll have plenty of time to make this place shine.”
Muttering and shaking his head, Karter left the way he’d come.
Brandy continued inspecting the headboard and bed frame. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but everybody had secrets. The more she knew about Bull, the more leverage she had in finding a way out. Also, there had to be more to this place. An organization like The Eye wanted complete control of its minions, and they weren’t going to take their loyalty on faith. They’d want proof.
They had to be watching.
Or the neighbors were reporting on each other.
Or both.
Yeah
, she was exhausted. She showered, taking her time and washing her hair three times before letting the conditioner soak in. Then she laid his mattress down on the floor, curled up in the comforter, and went to sleep.
The next morning, Karter and Yoseff came inside without knocking. Brandy knew that if Bull had been there, they wouldn’t have done that. She was a slave, beneath notice and not worthy of an expectation of privacy.
She set her mug of coffee on the table and jumped to her feet. Kneeling was not going to happen for these two douches. “Good morning, Sirs. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” Belatedly she remembered Bull’s order. “Or beer?”
Yoseff chuckled. “It’s a little early for beer.”
“I’m surprised to see you awake so bright and early,” Karter said as he closed the door behind them. “Considering how late you were up last night.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” Brandy forced her jaw to relax. She had a tendency to clench it when she was angry or stressed. “I hope there were no more complaints. And if you wish, I’m more than happy to apologize to anyone I disturbed.”
Yoseff rubbed his goatee. “Happy to apologize? How the fuck does he do it?”
The question was directed to Karter. Brandy remained still, her hands by her side and her gaze lowered. She’d seen Darcy stand like this when Malcolm was talking to her. Whatever they said was always private, but it was apparent to anyone watching that Mal was in charge.
Malcolm Legato had quit her team a few years ago after she’d written him up for not following protocol one time too many. She’d hated losing such a talented and dedicated agent, and she’d vowed to be more lenient with Liam, her tech genius who also liked to bend the rules so that he forced her to seek creative ways to explain the way they’d procured some of their leads. As much as he exasperated her, he also had a habit of coming through for her.
She wondered if Liam was hacking security footage right now in search of her or if Malcolm had enlisted SAFE Security, the private company for which he freelanced, to aid in the search for her. Some of Brandy’s close friends worked there. Jesse Foraker and Frankie Sikara wouldn’t think twice before tearing the world apart to find her.
All these thoughts winged through her brain as Karter and Yoseff exchanged a glance.
“He’s that good,” Karter said. “I told you he’d like her.”
“You were right,” Yoseff admitted. He motioned to her. “Get your shoes on, sweetheart. It’s time for that apology.”
Brandy glanced around the room. Her shoes had disappeared that first night. “I don’t have any shoes, Sir.”
Yoseff chuckled. “It looks like you weren’t nice enough to Bull.” He grabbed her arm and led her from the apartment.
She thought they would head to the next door down the hall, but he dragged her past it. They went down four flights of stairs, and she deduced they weren’t going to apologize to the downstairs neighbor either.
Maybe there was a central gathering place where she would have to apologize?
Outside, the ground was freezing cold. Wet snow soaked through her socks, and the sweatshirt Bull had given her was little help against the biting December wind. Everything in Brandy wanted to fight, to pull away and run, to take her chances in the elements.
People trailed behind them, flooding the narrow street with bodies and excited talk. Guards with automatic weapons patrolled the streets, nodding greetings to Karter and Yoseff as they passed.
The visual reminded Brandy of Bull’s warnings. She needed to be good. This apology was going to be great. Epic. Her best effort to date.
The cold clung to her sodden socks and seeped through her feet. A shiver ran through her body.
They entered a long room with a stage at one end and rows of folding chairs filling the rest of the space. People sat in many of them. As they passed the spectators, Brandy estimated over a hundred heads, and that didn’t include the small crowd that followed them into the building. There was no way her cleaning had disturbed that many people. This was a meeting for another purpose.
She perked up. Any insight into The Eye was a welcome change. She’d been counting the whole time, noting distances between buildings and the placement of guards. Once she got out of there, she planned to storm the facility. Or if she had the chance to get a message to one of her agents, she wanted to make sure to give them accurate intel.
They led her up five steps to the stage. Once up there, Karter bound her wrists together with thick leather cuffs. Then he attached them to a chain hanging from the rafters above the stage.
Dread pooled low in Brandy’s stomach, and her freezing feet ceased to be her biggest concern.
Yoseff called the meeting to order. They began by praising The Cause and pledging their undying loyalty to The Eye. Then Yoseff talked for a while about how they were one big community, and they looked out for one another to make sure everyone was doing all they could to further The Cause.
It was standard cult leader fare. Brandy had suspected they functioned this way, and now she knew for certain. It was an effective brainwashing tool. They preyed upon people who felt victimized by something in society or the government. Then they fed them a steady diet of disinformation.
The compound limited access to ideas that didn’t mesh with those they wanted to promote, which was why they didn’t have television or internet widely available. In the distance, she’d spied a cell tower, so she knew they did have the ability to use the internet and cell phones. The privilege was likely restricted to a few with high-level clearance. It was used as a treat or incentive.
It was likely nobody knew that Bull had a newspaper. He didn’t have a subscription, so he must pick one up whenever he left the compound.
She watched rapt faces in the audience. They basked in Yoseff’s speech. Brandy had to give him props. He was a passionate, talented orator. His voice had a mesmerizing cadence and a quality that made every listener his confidant.
Then he mentioned Bull.
“Everybody knows Bull, right?”
A shout went up.
“He’s a dedicated servant of The Cause.”
“The Cause,” they echoed.
“He’s out there right now, risking his life to make this world a better place.”
“For The Cause,” came the refrain.
Yoseff let them rejoice in Bull’s service for a bit, and then he motioned for them to listen closely. As one, the entire audience quieted and leaned forward. “Bull has been rewarded with a slave of his own. He’s been training her to serve him the way he serves The Cause—with loyalty and devotion.”
At this, he smiled in Brandy’s direction. “He’s named her Firebrand.”
The crowd cheered again, and Brandy forced her expression to remain blank. At this point, she felt like they would cheer anal seepage if Yoseff wanted them to.
“Last night, Firebrand was so intent on proving her loyalty and devotion that she broke quiet hours.”
This time, the reaction was mixed. Some cheered, and some booed. All of them looked at her more closely.
“We know how much Bull likes things to be clean, don’t we?”
Laughter mingled with the cheers.
“Karter responded to several noise complaints last night. When he went inside, he found that she’d tore apart the whole apartment to clean it. The covers were off the sofa cushions. I never knew they came off.” Here he chuckled. “I bet Bull does, though.”
The crowd joined in his mirth.
“Firebrand washed those covers. She got down on her knees and scrubbed that floor. She even took the mattress off the bed to polish the slats underneath.”
The murmurs sounded impressed by her thoroughness.
Yoseff didn’t seem pleased by that development. “All this would have been great if she’d done it during work time. But she didn’t. She broke the quiet hours. What happens to slaves who break the rules?”
“Death,” they thundered. Most of them jumped to their feet and shook their fists
in her direction.
Brandy wanted to point out that they were proposing a death sentence for the crime of deep cleaning. Only a minute ago, they’d been impressed by the level of her loyalty and devotion to Bull’s need for a clean apartment.
Yoseff grinned and held up a hand. “Now, now. That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? Bull has earned this slave, and she was trying her best to serve him. She messed up, though. Let’s not kill her just yet.”
Laughter rippled through the place, but they all sat back down.
Mob mentality—and they were all in Yoseff’s thrall.
Brandy’s heart thundered. Bull hadn’t been kidding when he’d warned her that he was all that stood between her and death.
“Instead of death, I’ll invite the neighbors who complained of noise to flog her.”
Karter emerged from the wings with a flogger. There weren’t many falls, but the ones it had were long and braided. He turned her back to the crowd, and then he lifted her shirt over her head. Because it was morning and she hadn’t expected company, she wasn’t wearing a bra.
She inhaled sharply, and then she bit the insides of her cheeks. Begging wouldn’t stop them. This was a way to placate the minions and build camaraderie. It was also a way of beating her into their club, a common practice in gangs. She understood the psychology of it and what she would gain from it, but she was not looking forward to the beating.
Footsteps echoed hollowly on the stage and reverberated through the soles of her feet. They didn’t mess around with preamble. The first hit from the flogger seared her skin. It felt like streaks of fire cut into her flesh. The second person wasn’t as enthusiastic, but the third was definitely a sadist. He or she laid into her without mercy. Unable to contain the pain, she cried out. The two who came after didn’t matter because her senses were overloaded, and she was still reeling from that third hit. At least each of those she’d disturbed were only allowed one hit. Brandy couldn’t take much more.
Re/Deemed (Doms of the FBI Book 8) Page 4
