The Count

by corwin, monica

“Should I be?”

  I didn’t answer her. Not if she held up her side of the deal. I took good care of what belonged to me.

  The car pulled away and we rode in silence. She stared out the window on her side as if all the answer to her situation would come to her in a flash of street lights. She owed her problems to good old-fashioned greed. It took days to dismantle her empire and replace it with my own. Almost too easy. She’d grown complacent over the years, thinking her crews stayed with her out of some kind of loyalty and devotion.

  But these kinds of people only responded to cash and opportunities to get more.

  It was a silent drive, as I preferred. But I couldn’t help catching glimpses of her from the corner of my eye. Her long black hair hung straight to her lower back. And her outfit clung to well-honed curves and muscles. She looked like she did when we were kids. A few more lines here and there but generally the same. Would she taste the same too?

  Before I could tumble too far down her rabbit hole we pulled up outside my building. I climbed out and extended my hand to help her exit from my side. She ignored it and clamored out of the car in a heap.

  As we entered the building, I could feel her taking everything in. Soaking up the details and filing them away for analysis later. Hunting for my weak spots. She could look, but she'd fail. I worked very hard to ensure I didn't have a single vulnerability.

  We stepped onto the elevator and rode thirty stories in silence to the top floor. The elevator opened to my apartment and she exited first. I let her take her time looking around. Nothing to use against me here either...unless she counted the kitchen knives.

  She picked up and replaced trinkets, inspecting my home as I did her office. Once she finished she stopped and waited, staring at me again with her secret-filled eyes. I wanted to know every single one, and I wouldn't let her go until she whispered them all to me willingly.

  "Where am I sleeping? Chained to your bed naked, I assume."

  I rolled my eyes. "Dramatic was never something anyone ever said about you."

  She shrugged.

  I pointed toward a door past her shoulder. "You'll sleep through there."

  She marched straight in like she owned the place. A quality I usually found attractive in a woman. If that female weren't evil incarnate.

  I followed her into the room after she had a moment to look around. I was decorated in shades of blood red and black.

  She ran her hands over a curtain panel. "It's a pretty prison."

  I clenched my jaw and met her eyes. "Unless I'm mistaken, a price was named and paid. This isn't a prison and I'll thank you not to act like you didn't have a choice."

  "And what was my choice? Let you takeover everything, and kill everyone, including me? A choice between living and dying is never really a choice." An edge to her tone now. Indifference a long-lost memory.

  I waited until she finished and turned back to the room. "It might not be a choice but it's the one you've made so get fucking used to it."

  The only answer she gave me was a clenching of her arms around her waist.

  I turned to leave. "Dinner is at six. I expect you at the table by then. The cook will make changes if you don't eat certain foods."

  "You have a cook?"

  I paused in exiting not looking back. "Did you picture me at the stove, slaving away to make sure you're fed?"

  "I didn't picture you at all. Let alone in the kitchen."

  I slipped out and closed the door before I said something she would regret.

  Bringing her into my house was a risk, but I'd rather deal with any revolutions she might try to start before they got off the ground.

  I stripped out of my jacket and undid the top buttons of my dress shirt. I'd rather be in a t-shirt and jeans. But I learned early, when sending a message, looking the part made a difference.

  I heard her careful footsteps behind me before she spoke. "The closet is filled with clothes."

  Turning to face her, I let her look at the ink on display through the stark white of my shirt. "So is the dresser."

  "Why?"

  "During our arrangement I will be attending events. You'll be with me when I do."

  She took another tentative step toward me, "why?"

  I held my breath against the subtle scent of her perfume. "So I can keep an eye on you at all times."

  Some indescribable emotion crossed and cleared her features in seconds.

  "For tonight it's dinner and settling in."

  "What about my home, my things there?" It was the first time I heard the trickle of something softer in her tone.

  "You'll be provided everything you need. And until the time comes when I trust you, and your word, they will all be waiting for you."

  The clench in her jaw grated on me. I already knew she was a woman who spoke her mind, a woman accustomed to being obeyed. "If you have something to say, then get it out."

  Those soft brown eyes flashed to mine, looking more amber in the overhead lighting. "Are you expecting me to fuck you?"

  There was the direct woman I spent months researching.

  I shuffled forward until a few inches separated us. “I could force you,” I said while I ran my hand up her pale silk-covered bicep. “It wouldn’t take much effort.”

  When she didn’t respond I traced a thumb down her cheek causing her to jut her chin up. I’d seen her do that hundreds of times. Usually before she might throw a solid right hook. It seemed in the years we’d been apart she’d learned constraint.

  “As I said before, you can do what you want, but you can’t make me like it.”

  I tipped my thumb down to her bottom lip and watched something else bloom through the anger in her eyes. Then she stepped back and it was a battle won, at least on this field.

  “You can go settle in and I’ll see you at dinner.” I passed her toward my office and closed the door behind me. I’d won that battle of wills by my body didn’t know it. Blood coursed into parts of me I’d ignored for far too long.

  I sat behind my desk, willing my body and my brain to agreement. Memory and fantasy swirled together and I couldn’t separate the two. The sadistic part of me wished she recognized me, knew who I was. But it would come too soon and, I needed more time.

  When I finally pushed the thoughts of her laid over various flat surfaces from my mind, I turned to matters still needing dealt with. Which included the destruction of the entire Mondego family—her family—for what they did to me.

  Cinder block and steel bars threatened to close around me until I took a deep breath. A cleansing breath and shoved them out of my head. The priest taught me to master my thoughts, my body, and my mind. I wasn’t going to fail him now that I’d finally reached my end game.

  I opened an old leather journal, the only thing on the huge onyx expanse of my desk, and flipped to the last weathered page. I stared down at the numbered list written in a neat scrawl I practiced for years, and crossed off the first name.

  1,.Mercedes

  More important people followed her and she’d be the key to ripping apart their lives one by one.

  I checked the clock and then stared down at the line through Mercedes’ name. It might be premature, she hasn’t put up much of a fight yet, but I had no doubt it would come. And I’d been prepared for this game board for years.

  Somewhere in the house a clock chimed. I pushed off my desk to standing and went to find my prisoner of war.

  She stood close to where I’d left her except now her hair was pulled up in a messy knot and she’d removed her blouse to reveal a tan tank top underneath, almost matching her dark olive skin tone.

  I gestured toward the dining room where dinner lay neatly on the far end of the table. I pulled a chair out for her but she passed it by and sat herself before the other place setting.

  Instead of arguing I sat in the chair I pulled out as if I’d done it on purpose. I pulled the lid off the plate and set it aside. The scent of pasta, herbs, and oil wafted in a wave of steam across my
face. I started eating, not sparing her a glance, until the chime of her own cover being set aside alerted me she wasn’t about to go on a hunger strike. She tucked in energetically and I wondered when she last ate.

  No. Caring wasn’t part of this arrangement. I focused on my own and meal and poured a glass of red wine. It was what I missed most in prison. When I got out I made it a point to stock up every single one of my houses.

  She cleared her throat and asked, “can I have some of that?”

  I gave her a questioning look and she pointed at the wine. I poured a few inches and waited while she tasted it.

  “So, you’re not a complete savage then.”

  She started eating again, and I watched the look of satisfaction spread across her features with every sip.

  “Do you like the food as well?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “But…”

  “But…any food eaten in captivity tastes like cardboard.”

  I sat back, needing distance, as my anger flashed through me heating my bones and igniting my nerves. “No, I find food in captivity tastes better than on the outside. There are so few things to look forward to when locked away.”

  She realized her error, her eyes going wide.

  I took the wine bottle, and my glass, and stood up. “I’ll leave you to your meal.”

  I headed toward the door and stopped, turning back. “Oh, we have an engagement tomorrow night. I’ll send your outfit before it’s time to get ready. And before you ask, yes you have to wear it. Or go naked.”

  I made sure she could see the anger in my face, the hard set of my jaw as I stared her down. “See…you do have choices here.”

  Three

  Mercy

  Waking up in someone else’s home felt strange to me. But, overall it was what I’d gotten used to. I slept at my office on a cot, or with friends, more often than home. A least my provided bed wasn’t half bad.

  I reached out to the night stand and remembered my phone wasn’t there. He’d taken it off my desk, and I had no computer with me. I needed to figure out how to contact my people, or else what was the point of sacrificing myself?

  I rolled over in the bedding and fluffed up a pillow to readjust. If I didn’t have anything to do I might as well stay in bed.

  Someone knocked on my door. I locked it the second I came to bed the night before. Part of me expected to hear the rattle of keys. But no, simply another knock.

  I lumbered out of my makeshift cocoon and opened the door. “If it’s not coffee I don’t want it.”

  He dropped his eyes from my messy bun to my thin cami and down to my panties and bare feet. Then he blinked once and looked me straight in the eye a little to determinately.

  As I thought, he wasn’t a man capable of rape. I’d met men who were, I’d had men killed who were. He’d do a great many terrible things but rape wasn’t one of them.

  He handed me a white bag, from a high-end department store. “I brought the stuff I mentioned for the event tonight.”

  I waited. “Anything else?”

  “There’s breakfast in the kitchen and coffee if you want it.”

  He didn’t need to tell me twice. I followed him out and straight through to the kitchen. I poured the coffee and turned to leave. He started to speak but I didn’t stop, simply walked back to my room. My door hit some part of him as he followed me. Once I settled on the edge of my bed, I took a sip of that sweet nectar of the gods and sighed.

  “Was there something else?” I asked as he stood near me, seething.

  He mastered his emotions and stared me down. “As I mentioned we have event tonight. You’ll dress, and I expect you to be on you best behavior.”

  “And what exactly constitutes best behavior? Do you expect me to suck you off in front of the assembly, or will smiling sweetly suffice?” I smiled a smile most men cringed away from.

  He growled. An actual low rumble from his chest. “If you want to get on your knees for me I won’t object. But standing close and not conspiring to put a knife in my back will be fine.”

  Why did the idea fill me with equal parts desire and dread? I had no right to feel anything but loathing for this monster. Or rather this fucking monster had no right to any of my feelings apart from hate.

  I took another sip to hide the confusion in my head. “Anything else I should know?”

  “As far as the world knows you belong to me. I won’t tolerate you speaking or acting contrary.”

  “Or else?” I mocked.

  “There is no ‘or else’ I’ll simply demand the ownership I’ve bought. In every way.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I never heard you were a rapist as well as a monster.”

  It was his turn to narrow his eyes, “and what makes the two separate? Are there other actions you will tolerate in a villain? But you draw the line at rape? Isn’t murder worse?”

  “Are you a murderer too?”

  He waited for me to answer his question. I drew it out. “Only a someone who has never been raped would think murder is worse.”

  A chill crawled up my spine and settled into my shoulders as he closed the distance between us. His tone was low, dark, deadly. “Have you been raped?”

  I sipped my coffee and squeezed from between him and the bed. “Not yet, but something to look forward to if I don’t behave in the way you like.”

  Glass shattering made me turn back to face him. Patches of glittering crystals were now imbedded in the wall on the other side of the room. More on the floor scattered in rough and tumble shards.

  “Did I touch a nerve?” I asked, surveying him for another looming outburst of violence.

  He glared. A look meant to spear, flay, and bring me to heel.

  It didn’t.

  I’d faced worse men in my life, and learned something as he stormed out and slammed the door so hard the walls shook. My monster had a moral compass of some kind. Which is where he’d falter. The men in this world didn’t.

  And neither did the women.

  I spotted the overturned bag near the door frame and swiped it up. With the last sip of my coffee I freed my hands and dumped the contents of the bag onto my bed. A glob of tissue paper poured out which I had to untangle to reach a scrap of silk in a deep crimson. I lifted the material and inspected the front and back of it. Then laid it across the rumpled bedding. I was a small slim woman but at 41 I didn’t want to put this much on display. Hell, even at 20 I wouldn’t have worn anything this skimpy.

  I went out to confront my gratuitous benefactor, the dress clutched in one hand. “What the hell is this?”

  He sat, composed now, pulling a piece of toast away from his lips. An action juxtaposed with the size of him. “A dress.”

  “No shit. Where’s the rest of it?”

  A crooked smile sparked at the corner of his mouth, barely there then gone. He didn’t answer only stared at me.

  I tried a different tactic. “Ok, what the fuck is it for? I assume you have a reason for wanting to stuff this forty-year-old body into a stripper dress.”

  The laugh he let loose sent another chill through me. “Coming from the woman standing in my kitchen in her underwear.”

  “As the woman standing in her underwear I know every action has a purpose. So, what is the purpose of this?” I shook the silk at him.

  He watched me seriously now. No doubt wondering how I’d mess up his plans if he told me the truth. I seemed to win since he swiveled on his stool to face me. “Distraction. Not just to show them you’re my property now, but also the distraction the display of your body will provide.”

  I threw the dress at his face. “You’re a fucking idiot. How was I taken down by someone who knows so little about the psychology of how these idiots work?”

  He surged up, the stool fell back to clatter against the countertop. He gripped my upper arms in his rough hands. God, I should have been terrified. He could crush me between his palms, but he barely applied pressure as he walked me back to the neares
t wall. When my bare skin met the cold surface, he lowered his face level with mine. My heart took up a snare beat, but not in fear. Thankfully he didn’t acknowledge what must have been written across my face.

  “Call me an idiot again and I’ll just lock you in the basement until I’ve finished demolishing your life’s work.”

  We stared each other down, him only a few seconds in realizing I stood trapped mostly naked in his arms. To his credit, he didn’t look down, or lean in, only stared straight into my eyes. Somehow making me feel even more naked. A pang hit me, a jolt in my chest I hadn’t gotten since I was a teenager. I pushed at his shoulders and he let me go.

  I faced the wall, unable to look at him while my chest felt spread open for anyone to see. “If your goal is distraction let me dress myself.”

  “You’re not leaving this apartment without me.”

  “Fine, go with me then.” I stalked back to my room and slammed the door needing distance between myself and this feeling. Trying to shut it out, I grabbed my bag and jammed my legs into the first pair of pants my hands met. The blouse received the same treatment.

  I quickly brushed my teeth, washed my face, and exited my room to find him sitting on a stool waiting for me. “I could send you with one of my men.”

  “And yet, you’re sitting here.”

  He rubbed his hands down his thighs and tightened his gaze. “Maybe I don’t trust you.”

  “Maybe? We both know you don’t. And I don’t trust you either.” I gestured at the door. “Shall we go?”

  He glared one last time, stood, and jammed the elevator button. The ride down was painful. My body had yet to give up the awareness he instilled there. And my brain was fighting it every second of the way.

  On the bottom floor, a scowling undertaker of a man led me to a black car on the curb. He didn’t say a word as he opened the door. I climbed in while —I realized I had no idea what to call him. My captor seemed silly, and I wasn’t going to call him The Count. That was an ego driven name if I ever heard one.

  Once in the car I faced him. “What the hell am I supposed to call you?”