by Maisey Yates
He stepped up to the safe and assessed it, then touched the keypad, frowning slightly before putting in the numbers. Then he tested the handle and nothing happened. “Not his birthday,” he said.
“Your mother’s?”
He tried that, too. “No. And I’m afraid if we’re wrong too many times we’ll alert someone.” His frown deepened. “I wonder...” He typed in a series of numbers quickly, and this time, when he tested the handle, it gave.
“How did you guess that?” she asked.
“It is a date,” he said, the words leaden. “On that you were right. I hoped I was crazy but...I was right. I’m not sure you want to know it.”
Silence fell between them and he started to pull contents out of the safe and put them on the desk.
“It’s the day she died, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It is.”
“How did you know?”
“I guessed. I don’t like that I was right.”
“It’s pretty twisted,” she said.
“Like a serial killer keeping a memento of a victim. A piece of her. Of what he did to her. And I’m sure there’s more in here. That arrogance we talked about. That’s why I was able to guess the number. That’s why I think there will be evidence of some kind in here.”
He started to rifle through the documents that were in there and paused at a small white envelope. He opened it and took out a stack of pictures. He started to sort through them, and she could see a tremor in his fingers.
“Are they the same?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, his voice rough. “Oh...there are more of them.”
“More?”
“More girls. With different men. The men’s identities are protected.... The women...” He shook his head. “This is sick. He’s holding this over them, holding evidence because he knows in the end they’ll be the ones hurt by it and not him. Because he is that arrogant.”
He flipped through the pictures and paused, his hands trembling.
“Sarah?”
He nodded slowly. And then he held the photo out to her. It showed the profile of a man’s face, leaning down to whisper in the ear of a naked woman, whose head was facing the camera, her expression distressed.
Jason and Sarah.
It was from the same series of pictures. They were obviously engaged in intercourse. And while the man in the picture had only part of his face showing, he was recognizable as Jason Treffen.
Again, not enough evidence to get him locked up but...
“I think this is all my mother will need,” he said. “And in that sense, it serves my purposes.”
“Not mine,” she said, feeling pale, defeated and on the verge of passing out.
“It will in the end, Katy. Trust me.”
“I want him in jail, Austin. More than that, I want him destroyed. This won’t do it...this...”
“This is another stick of dynamite.” He turned and looked at the desk. “You need a lot of dynamite to bring down a fortress. We need as much as we can get.” He put the photo on a newspaper that was sitting on the otherwise pristine surface and snapped a picture with his phone. “For the date. To show when I found it. And...” He snapped another shot with his father’s nameplate in the background. Then he took photos of each and every picture.
“Put these back,” he said, handing them to her, while he continued to go through the papers he’d pulled out of the safe. “Nothing I can decode here. And it could all be nothing. His favorite fishing spots upstate, for all I know.” He put them all back in order and stuck them in the safe, locking it and putting everything as it was.
“We should go,” he said. “Quickly.”
“Agreed,” she said, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
He took her hand and squeezed it, leading her from the room and closing the door behind them, making sure he locked it.
They made their way through the halls of the office, deposited the key back where they’d gotten it and then headed toward the elevators. And they nearly bumped into Lenore Treffen.
“I thought you’d left,” she said, a smile brightening her face.
Katy looked at Austin, saw the color drain from his face. “Sorry. You know how it is,” he said, his voice tight. Stilted. “We were delayed.”
She arched a well-groomed brow. “I see. Well, you will come up for lunch next week?”
“Yes,” he said.
“To the house, not a café in Manhattan. I’m glad to have you back at the estate. It’s really been too long, Austin. Whatever happened between you and your father, I’m glad you’re setting it aside. So that we can be a family again. We’re so much stronger together. Maybe you can unite the law firms? Treffen and Treffen. That would be something. I would be so happy to see our name in the media with that attached to it. With both of you getting the credit you deserve for all the good work you do.”
She could feel the tension move through Austin’s body, could feel everything in him locking up.
“I look forward to it,” Katy said. “Lunch, I mean. It was very nice to meet you. Really. And I’m sorry to rush, only I’m not feeling well—” which made no sense since they were still lingering instead of already being gone, but who cared “—so we really do need to go. Come on, darling.” She tugged at Austin’s hand. It felt like ice.
She pushed the button on the elevator and shot his mother an awkward smile. She smiled back, seemingly unaware of just how strange it had gotten. Then waved as she headed toward the restrooms.
The elevator doors opened and she all but dragged Austin inside.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He leaned back against the elevator wall, his breathing ragged, his body shaking.
“That was really unfortunate timing, all things considered. But she didn’t know and...and I know it makes things really uncomfortable but—”
“Stop talking,” he said, his words rough.
It might have hurt her feelings if she hadn’t been able to see, very clearly, that he was having some sort of a breakdown. So, all things considered, she wasn’t going to take a little bit of grumpiness personally.
She stayed silent in the elevator, and all the way to the car. Then from the car, all the way back to the penthouse.
She could feel his tension growing, could feel it building in him like a raging beast. His hopelessness, his grief. His anger.
And when they got inside his penthouse, something broke inside of him, and it all poured out.
Chapter Eight
Austin hadn’t been able to breathe since they’d left his father’s office. Seeing his mother, hearing her talk about happy times, about a togetherness that would never, ever be, had left him feeling like he was breaking apart from the inside out.
Which, when he really thought about it, was about right.
When he’d found out about Sarah, about his father harassing her to the point of death and hopelessness, it had felt like a spanner had been inserted into his ribs. And since then, it had been spreading. Pulling him into pieces, and he had no control over it.
Everything was being torn, ripped to shreds. His family, his name, his very being.
In a few days, he was going to take his mother’s life, his sister’s life, and break them into shards so small nothing would ever be able to put them back together.
And there was no other course to take. The ball was rolling, the truth giving it weight, momentum. There was no stopping it now.
It was bigger than he was. He had no control over it; he had no say in its movements.
And when it came down to it, nothing in his life, nothing familiar, nothing his, would remain the same.
He was a Treffen. The destruction that would be left behind after the bomb was dropped would be his inheritance.
It would be his life.
A hovel where a palace had once stood.
He looked across the room, at Katy, standing there in that beautiful gown,
the heavy satin strips wrapped around her body like stark, black binding.
I’m about to take you home and screw you senseless, baby.
Her words echoed in his body, in his blood.
She was so perfect, so lovely. She was like a Christmas present. She could be his Christmas present.
His.
Something to hold on to. Something to control.
Something to have that would be his. All his. He didn’t share Katy with his father. He didn’t share her with the world. He didn’t share her with any other man.
She was his.
All his.
At least she had been, for a while one night a week ago.
But she could be his again. And why not? Everything in his life was coming undone. He could find something with which to anchor himself.
So maybe he could grab on to Katy’s hips and ride it out. Ride her hard. Pour it all out on her. Make her hold him to the earth.
“Come here,” he said, his voice demanding and raw, even to his own ears.
She obeyed, walking toward him, her blue eyes wide, her red lips parted slightly.
And for one moment, the man he wanted to be saw the man that he was, and despised him.
But just as quickly, he lost his perspective, lost it in her eyes.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice so sweet. So docile. So unlike Katy was during the day.
“I need you,” he said.
“What...?” She swallowed hard, looking down. “What is it you need?”
He reached out and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up, to meet his eyes. “You. I need you, all of you. I need you to do exactly as I say. I need you to be mine tonight. To do with as I please.”
“And what is it you want?”
He started to loosen his tie, to undo the buttons on his shirt. He shrugged the shirt and jacket to the floor, then started on his pants. She didn’t say anything. She just watched, until he was naked in front of her.
“I want you on your knees in that pretty dress. I want you to suck my cock like a good girl.”
For a moment, she held his gaze, and a spark flared in her eyes. He wondered if she would obey. It was like being in a free fall. Weightless, terrifying. If she said no, there was no amount of force that would ever satisfy. No coercion that would give him what he needed.
He had to have her willing submission, her complete and utter desire to give him what he needed, or it meant nothing. Less than nothing. If the submission wasn’t her choice, then it would never be true submission.
And his control would be nothing more than force. Nothing more than farce.
Then, with the lights of the city behind her, the windows open providing a view of the Christmas Eve snow that was falling, she obeyed.
She sank down to the hard floor, her dress flaring out around her like a dark cloud, her hair sliding forward, a glossy brown curtain that shielded her actions from him.
That wasn’t acceptable.
He reached back, wrapped her hair around his hand, as he’d done their first time together. He tugged it, pulled her head back. “Are you going to give me what I want?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He gave her a bit more range of motion, didn’t hold her so tightly, and watched as she leaned forward, the tip of her tongue sliding over the length of him before she took him into her mouth.
He swore and fought the urge to close his eyes, fought the urge to let his head fall back. He wanted to watch her. Wanted to enjoy the sight of her, giving to him as he’d instructed.
He hadn’t kissed her. He should feel guilty about that. About ordering her down on her knees and demanding she suck him off when he hadn’t even given her the smallest kiss on her mouth.
But he didn’t. Because this was his. She was his.
She would like it, because he’d told her to.
He flexed his hips in time with her movements, holding tighter to his as pleasure pooled in his gut, white-hot, threatening to boil over.
He pulled her away from him. “Not yet.”
She sat on the floor, still on her knees, her hands in her lap. He was breathing hard, his whole body tense.
He needed more than release. He needed control.
He moved back to her, bending down and forking his fingers through her hair, guiding her in to kiss her lips. He could taste salt on her tongue from his skin, evidence of what she’d just done for him. It sent a hot rush of need through him, one that left him trembling.
Put him closer to the edge than he’d already been.
“Now I’m going to take this dress off of you,” he said.
She rose slowly to her feet, and he allowed it, his fingers still woven through her hair.
He reached around with his other hand and gripped the zipper tab on the back of the dress, drawing it down slowly, letting it fall away from her curves. Revealing her slowly for him.
She didn’t have a bra on. Her breasts, plump and perfect, sank slightly, as the structure of the bodice gave.
Then the dress slipped down past her hips and she stepped away from it, a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. Wearing nothing but a black thong.
“Go upstairs,” he said.
She nodded slowly, and he watched her walk. As he’d done in the lobby of his father’s building a week ago. Watched the way her hips swayed. Watched her perfect ass as she walked up the stairs, her eyes straight ahead.
“That’s right,” he said. “Keep looking ahead.” He started to follow her. “Don’t look at me.”
His eyes drifted upward, the line of her spine, to her hair, dark against her pale back.
She turned her face to the side, lifted her gaze, her eyes locking with his just for a moment before she turned away again.
Something tightened in his gut. Not anger. Excitement. Because she was daring him. Challenging him. Asking what would happen if she didn’t obey.
“I forgot,” he said. “You like the idea of being a bad girl.”
He could see her slight nod as she looked ahead, walking down the hall and into his bedroom.
“Stop,” he said.
She did and he walked past her, going to sit on the edge of the bed. “Now come here.”
She did, keeping her eyes on his the whole time.
“What should I do now?” she asked.
“Sit with me.”
She sat next to him, her lashes fluttering as she looked down and bit her lower lip. Her teeth stark white against the red.
He cupped her face with one hand, holding her, and kissed her. Hard. Delving deep, sliding his tongue against hers. He was starving for her. Making up for the lack of kiss earlier.
“Now I want you to bend over this way.” He guided her so that she was over his lap, her knees on her side, her head on the other. “Lay down.”
She did, her hair spilling over the blankets, over the edge of the bed. She wasn’t nervous. She was like a cat, her body heavy and warm over his, at complete ease. As though she were waiting for him to pet her.
But that wasn’t quite what he had in mind.
He put his palm flat on her ass, smoothing it over her rounded flesh, before lifting it and bringing it down hard on her, the sound loud in the silent room.
A small sound escaped her lips. Pleasure and pain in one.
“You shouldn’t disobey.”
He brought his hand down on her again, eliciting another sound that echoed in him, fueling him, amping up his arousal.
She was his. She had submitted to him entirely, was enjoying everything he gave to her. Allowing him to open up a part of himself and beg for control.
In that moment, he fully realized how much control she held. On her knees or over his, she was the master of the game. Because it was her allowance that gave him power, her pleasure that let him release this part of himself.
Her willingness that let him feel that, even for a moment, she belonged to him.
But he needed more. He needed to be
in her. Suddenly he needed it more than he needed air. To be surrounded by her. To be able to watch her face when she came. To feel it around his shaft.
He bent down and kissed her back, between her shoulder blades, grabbing hold of her hair, pulling her head back and kissing her neck.
“I want you,” he said. “I need you. Do you know how much? Do you know what you do to me?”
“Yes,” she said.
He released his hold on her hair and moved his hands over her curves, bending again to kiss the red mark he’d left behind on her skin.
He shifted his hand, felt the wetness between her thighs, pushed one finger deep inside of her. “You need me, too,” he said. “Say it.”
“I need you, too.”
“Say my name.”
“Austin. I need you, Austin Treffen.”
She’d known, somehow, that he’d needed to hear all of it. In that moment, on her lips, his name felt like his own. Because she felt like his own.
He slipped away from her. “Lie on your back and put your head on the pillows. Spread your legs for me and wait. No touching yourself.”
He went into the bathroom and got a box of condoms, took a strip out and tore a packet open, rolling the protection onto himself quickly. When he walked back into the bedroom, she was there, ready for him.
He joined her on the bed, gripping her thigh and tugging it up over his hip as he sank into her. He watched her face as she took him in, sliding in slowly, making sure she felt every inch. Making sure he felt it, too.
“Austin,” she said, his name on her lips better than any alcohol.
He could have drunk it all away. But losing himself in her was so much better.
He thrust in deep, taking her hard, swallowing the little gasp of shock she made. He kissed her as he drove into her, the thrust of his tongue matching his movements inside of her.
She was perfect. So tight and hot. It was better than anything he could have imagined. She was more than he’d imagined. Her scent was around him, her body around him. And he felt driven by a deep, primitive need to make her his. To brand her. So that she would never forget that she belonged to him and no one else.
He slid his hands down and cupped her butt, pulled her up to meet his every thrust. She wrapped her legs around his waist, opening her to him, letting him deepen his thrusts.
