by Brook Wilder
Or maybe it was something less crazy. Like my car breaking down in the middle of nowhere, Mason pulling over on his bike and asking if everything was okay, me telling him no and him calling a tow company to help. Then Mason would give me a ride back to my house, where I’d offer to cook him dinner. He’d have accepted the offer gracefully. The night would have ended well with romance and love-making - sweet sex, not rough - on the couch. And then we’d have promised to see each other again soon…
Stupid fantasies! That is what got me in this situation to begin with.
But the sex was good. And the satisfying feeling of contentment that consumed me after the sex was something I hadn’t expected. And it was something I hadn’t actually realized at the time. At the clubhouse, I’d been angry about the way he’d made my body tremble and convulse the way it had. But I’d loved every bit of it, and he’d been right when he said I’d want it again. God, I wanted it again! I wanted him to touch me and rub me like he did before. I wanted to feel my thighs shake and tighten around him as my orgasm racked my body. I wanted him to tell me he liked it because it was with me and something that he’d fantasized about too.
The panty-wetting thoughts drove me mad until the excruciating throb of my nub frustrated me to the point where I passed out.
My body fell asleep, frustrated, craving the release Mason had given me earlier.
He is going to fuck me again! He has to! Will I get the chance to come, though? Will he give that? He would be selfish not too, surely. He was a bastard, most of the time, but he did feel good and seemed to like making me feel good. Yeah, he will make me come. He will.
I argued with myself for almost five minutes before at last finding the courage and willpower to drag myself from bed. I stood up and stretched out my stiffness. I felt a wetness between my legs, and looked down.
The panty-wetting thoughts had soaked everything, the bottom of the shirt I’d slept in and sheets on which I’d lain. Everything except my panties, because I wasn’t wearing any. Mason hadn’t had any panties to give me, so I’d rinsed out the ones I’d been wearing when we arrived and left them to dry overnight in the bathroom.
I looked at the damp patch on the sheets. A blush rose on my cheeks, but I pushed it back down with the realization that, if just thnking of Mason did that to me, he should be darn pleased. I pulled the blanket up and tiptoed to the bathroom.
I freshened up and changed into the clothes I’d worn yesterday. The underwear and socks I’d washed out were clean and dry, and I was happy with that. The thought of putting on day old underwear on didn’t sit well with me.
Shoes, I thought. Where are my shoes?
I looked around the practically bare bathroom, before going back into the bedroom to look.
Nothing. They were nowhere to be seen.
I had shoes, didn’t I?
I checked the bathroom again, before walking down the short hallway to find an empty kitchen and living space.
“Mason, have you seen…”
I let my voice trail off. Mason was not there.
I felt a rush of panic. I flung open the door next to the kitchen and found nothing but a very small and empty laundry room. I left the door open and ran to the front door. I pulled it open and ran out. I stopped and looked around for a minute, desperate to catch sight of Mason. I walked around the side of the house and saw that his bike was gone.
Panic, fear, and anger consumed me as I tried to figure out where he could be and why he’d have left me. What reason could he have for leaving me stranded here on my own in the middle of nowhere? I didn’t even have any shoes. Had he taken those too? I walked to where I could see down the driveway, but saw nothing. The gate wasn’t even in sight. This place really was well hidden. No wonder Mason called it a safe house.
Funny that, I don’t feel safe at all right now.
My shoulders slumped, and my mood deflated as I turned to walk back to the house. I was greeted by the sight of Mason out the back working on his bike. Or he had been working, because now he was staring at me curiously. He waved me over with a dirty grease-stained hand and, with no worry or hesitation, I moved quickly towards him.
The panic, fear and anger disappeared with every step I took toward him. When I stopped less than a meter from him, he looked up and grunted before going back to work on his bike.
“Hey, how long…?”
I stopped. How long he had been out there was none of my business, and asking the question would likely result in my being reminded of the fact.
I turned away when he looked up with raised eyebrows, expecting me to finish what I’d been about to say. I shook my head.
“It’s nothing. Sorry.”
“What were you doing on the driveway?”
“I was looking for you. I came out after getting dressed and couldn’t find you.”
“And you thought I’d be down the driveway.”
“No,” I said quickly. “I hoped you weren’t down the driveway.”
He stopped what he was doing, wiped his hands on an old blue t-shirt, and straightened up. Mason looked down at me and sighed.
“And why were you hoping I wouldn’t be down the driveway?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You do know, Cassie.”
“I didn’t see you inside. All your things were gone, including the shoes I was wearing last night. And when I came outside, your bike was gone too.”
“Aww, sweetheart!” he mocked. “Were you worried I’d run off and left you here?”
I glared at him.
“Yes, I was worried. Happy?”
“That you can admit to liking me? Yes, I’m happy.”
I huffed and rolled my eyes.
“I don’t like you.”
“You do. And you’ve been thinking about me too.”
His eyes trailed from my face down the length of my body, stopping when they reached my pussy.
“You’re such an ass!”
I turned and stomped towards the house.
Mason caught up to me, though, and spun me around to face him.
“What?” I said defiantly.
“What’s wrong?”
My face screwed up in confusion at the question.
“I don’t get it. Why are you asking?”
“It doesn’t matter…”
“Doesn’t matter why?” I snapped at him. “It does matter, Mason. It matters to me! And it matters because you are the only person I have right now. There is no one else, so I want to trust that you aren’t going to hurt me, or leave me in the middle of nowhere, or sell me to someone worse.”
“Someone worse?”
“You are not a good person. You sell women into prostitution for a living.”
Mason was quiet for what was probably the longest minute of my life, then he turned and walked away. I’d thought this man couldn’t get any worse. But I’d been wrong. He was a pig!
“We’re leaving in an hour,” he called back to me. “Go eat something.”
I was about to tell him I wasn’t hungry, but thought better of it, and went with a more neutral reply instead.
“Are you hungry? I can make you something.”
I knew how hopeful I sounded, but there was no other choice. I wasn’t going to try to escape him again because I knew I couldn’t. He would find me, there was no doubting that. And if he didn’t get to me first, then the Cartel would.
“Go and eat.”
What?
“Now, Cassie,” he quickly added.
He was such a hard ass, but I wasn’t going to let him keep pushing me around. I walked into the house and made my way into the kitchen.
The cupboards were pretty bare, aside from canned meat, vegetables, fruit, and soup. It was all boring and bland, but what choice did I have in the matter.
Fruit salad would have to do for breakfast, I decided, as I opened up cans of peaches, mango, and apple. I split the contents of each can into two bowls before grabbing some spoons and making
my way back out to Mason.
I might not be able to make him like me. But he did technically get himself shot last night because of me, so a morning snack was the least I could do. And I wanted to find out more about what his intentions for me were.
I didn’t say anything as I put the bowl and spoon down on the toolbox next to his bike, before walking to the table under the porch roof. It wasn’t much of a porch, but it did have a table, two chairs, and an empty cigarette bucket.
I started eating and pretended not to notice Mason put his tools down, grab his bowl and walk in my direction. I hid my smile behind the curtain of my messy hair. The other chair scraped on the cement.
“Oh, Mason?” I sarcastically feigned the same surprise my captor had used with me so many times. “What are you doing here?”
He glared at me, but I didn’t feel intimidated by that glare as much as I had done on previous occasions.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
He didn’t say anything else, but I couldn’t have been happier in that moment. How I could have been happy, though, I would never know. I was still his prisoner.
“You’re welcome. And thank you, as well.”
“What for?”
“For not leaving me behind when those people came.”
He stared at me for a moment, not saying anything. Then he turned back to his bowl.
“Mason?”
“Mmm?”
“Where are my shoes? I can’t find them anywhere, and I swear I’ve checked everywhere.”
“Pet,” he said without looking up. “You haven’t had shoes on since I told you to take your heels off at the auction house. If this is a hint about you wanting shoes, that’s fine. But just say so.”
“What?”
“If you want shoes, just say so instead of critically hinting at it.”
My brow creased as I thought about what Mason had just said.
“Oh, shit,” I slapped a hand to my forehead. “I didn’t have any shoes on last night.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I felt like an idiot. How could I not have remembered this? Why hadn’t I realized sooner?
“We’re going to a friend’s place today. The club is already there waiting for us, which means that when we arrive you are…”
“Not to talk to anyone, not to look at anyone, and only breath when necessary. I get it.”
I did get it, even though I couldn’t understand it. And I felt embarrassed knowing that everyone there would know that Mason had bought me. I heard his friend Diesel last night. Mason buying women was not a common occurrence, very unlike him in fact. So, what would everyone else say?
“No, that’s not what I was going to say. Please, don’t interrupt me like that, especially in front of my men.”
I nodded.
“I was going to say that you need to be respectful, especially towards me. If you want to yell, scream and hit me, then do it when we’re alone behind closed doors.”
“Okay.”
“I’m telling you this because, if you cross the line in front of someone, I’ll have to reprimand you. Understand.”
“What does that mean? Reprimand me?” I screeched.
“It means that I will put you back on the block. And, until I do that, you’ll be locked up in isolation.”
I nodded again.
“I don’t want you to hate me, alright?” he added.
I was almost tempted to tell him it was too late for that, because I already did hate him. But I didn’t. I didn’t hate Mason. In fact, I was starting to like him. Not something I wanted to do, but I couldn’t help it. And I couldn’t lie to him by saying I hated him when I didn’t.
“Okay, I’ll do as you say. But there is one thing.”
“What’s that?” Mason mumbled.
“Could I please have some more clothes, and a pair of shoes? I don’t want much, just another set I can wear and one to wash.”
Mason flashed a look of anger.
“If you’re being smart, I’m not laughing.” Then he relented a little. “I’ll get you clothes today.”
I wasn’t being smart, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
Maybe he did care… a little?
Chapter 15
Mason
We got to Khloe’s a little after lunchtime. Cassie was overwhelmed by the location of the house and the kind of place it was.
“Oh, my God,” she muttered as we walked through the door of the brothel.
“You’re fine,” I told her.
“This place, is it…?” her voice trailed off for a second and she cleared her throat. “What is this place?”
I smirked, hiding a laugh from her as I closed the door behind us.
“Why don’t you tell me what kind of place you think this is.”
She knew the answer. I just wanted to hear her say it.
“Is this where men come for sex?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “As in, paying for sex?”
“Yes,” I whispered back in her ear.
She shivered.
“And it is a high-class establishment too. The owner is a good friend of mine.”
I saw Cassie’s eyes widen and look at me as if to say, ‘you’re disgusting’. I shut the look down though with a glare.
“Something to say?” I asked her.
“Nope.” She popped the ‘P’. “I wasn’t saying or thinking anything.”
“Good. Now, remember what I said about being on your best behavior, because I won’t be telling you again. Got it?”
She nodded, rolled her eyes, and sighed.
“Uh-huh, yeah, I got it. You have been understood loud and clear.”
I rolled my eyes and headed up the stairs with her trailing close to my heels.
“And don’t sound so fucking robotic. It’s irritating,” I told her.
“And half the things you do and say aren’t?” she retorted.
I stopped walking, making her run straight into my back.
“Cassie, what did I say?”
“Jeez, alright. I’m sorry, okay?”
Her reply was harsher than I’d expected, and I was about to ask what was wrong with her when she continued.
“I’m tired, sore, and hungry. And I’d really like some clean clothes. When this happens, I swear I’ll be nicer. I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
“I want you to stop being so dramatic. You’ll be comfortable soon.”
Barbie!
We made the rest of the way up the stairs and into the private area. Khloe hove into view.
“About time you arrived.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“How’s she doing?” Khloe nodded toward Cassie.
“She’s fine,” I shrugged. “Anywhere I can leave her for now? I need to see the boys and get everyone updated.”
“Yeah. I’ve put the boys in the guest house downstairs. It’s not much, and it’s pretty cramped, but that’s all I have for now. I don’t think most of the boys are staying here, but there is a room that’s been left for you and your woman.”
I gave Khloe a hard look.
“She’s not my woman.”
“Go see the club now, because you and I have business to talk.”
Khloe walked off quickly, not bothering to wait for a response or to spare a glance in Cassie’s direction. I didn’t take her coldness to heart. She was clearly stressed out over this whole thing with the Cartel, and no one was blaming her for that. I’d talk to her later and see what she wanted, even though I already had a feeling about what she was going to ask, to which the answer would be no.
“Who was that?” Cassie asked as we made our way to the back stairs.
The house was a large, renovated old-style mansion. It was dark, sleek and modern throughout, boasting three stories and a basement level. Upstairs were ten large suites, three larger ones on the ground floor, and a large bar/sitting area with private viewing rooms, also on the ground floor. The entire third floor was Khloe’s p
rivate apartments, and no one went up there aside from her and her girls. The basement was a private area for her top clientele. I had never been down there.
