MARRIED TO MY MASTER: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance

by Fox, Nicole

  He opened her phone—she never bothered to lock it—and pulled up Edward's info. “It's ringing,” he said, as he put the phone next to her ear.

  It rang two more times as she tried to sit up a little. Then Edward answered. “Emily? What the hell's going on? Why aren't you at the conference? The organizers are frantic!”

  “Slow down, Edward,” Emily said, her voice automatically switching back into commanding bitch mode, even as she looked up and locked gazes with her overbearing captor, “I've just had a car accident overnight. I'm fine, but doctors say I'm not fit to travel or work for a while.”

  “Oh my God,” Edward said on the other line. “Are you okay?”

  “I'll live,” she said, truthfully. She hoped. “But, listen, I need you to book a flight ASAP and get out there to take over while I'm out of action. Can you do that for me?”

  “Can I do that?” Edward asked, his voice perking up at the opportunity to undercut her at such an important function. “Of course I can!”

  Emily lowered her eyes and stifled a groan of disgust at his blatant display of opportunism. “Thanks Edward. Let everyone know I'll be back as soon as I'm well.”

  “Will do, Emily,” Edward said, before hastily hanging up without a goodbye. Clearly, he was desperate to get the flight booked and the schedule rearranged so he could deliver his speech in the slot reserved for her.

  Her stomach dropped as she thought about how all she'd done with that call was to put Edward one step closer to cutting her out. She looked up at Dane and nodded. “See?” she asked, as she slumped back into the pillow. “That's all it took.”

  He took the phone away and turned off the screen.

  Now all she had to do was stay awake and keep resisting. Her staying awake as long as she wanted would wipe that look off Dane's face. He didn't deserve to have the satisfaction of breaking her.

  Too bad she wouldn't have a say in the matter.

  # # #

  Dane

  He pulled out another syringe full of the same sedative he'd found earlier in her purse. Whether she stayed away or went to sleep was no longer her choice to make. She needed to learn that, and the sooner she did, the faster this would go.

  Emily saw the syringe in his hand and reacted immediately, shaking her head and beginning to beg as she struggled against the nylon cords holding her in place. “Oh, please, Dane, no. I even helped you keep my company off your back. Don't inject me, please.”

  “Sorry, Emily,” he replied, “but it's not your choice.”

  She made a whining noise as he stabbed the sedative into her naked thigh and pressed down on the plunger. He withdrew the needle from her flesh and she groaned. “I fucking hate you,” she said, without fire or passion.

  Dane watched her as she drifted off to sleep. When she was finally unconscious, he left the room and headed back into the rest of the large house.

  He'd explored it a little bit after he'd tied her up the afternoon before, but having to keep her awake with the vibrator had required his focus, so he hadn't had a chance to complete his search. Now, though, he knew he'd have the time.

  As he walked around, bottle of bourbon in hand, he marveled at the luxury of the place. For someone who lived all alone, this place might as well have been a big, lonely castle. Benton had a pretty big house, Dane figured, with four bedrooms to just three people. But, even that seemed like a hovel next to Emily's home.

  He wandered into her office, bitterly musing about how some people just had too damned much. Some people had more than they needed, that was for sure. For instance, she had a backyard and a garden she couldn't even do anything with. Hell, he'd wandered into rooms here that looked like the only time someone had entered them was when they were decorated. It was a damn shame that someone like her had someplace like this.

  Emily's office was dominated by a large, messy desk constructed from some hard wood—maybe oak or walnut. Built-in bookshelves lined the walls, old encyclopedias and law books filling the shelves just for show. Dane sat down behind the desk, put his bottle of bourbon whiskey on the wood, and began to pull open drawers at random.

  Office supplies and stationary were in the top drawer. Nothing interesting there. The bottom left drawers only contained work documents that had been filed away. The one above that had a stack of old pictures stuffed into it—family stuff from the looks of it. He pulled out one and looked at the sad blonde girl, maybe eight or nine, center-stage. She must have been a young Emily. He kept going, hoping to catch a glimpse of her family—of her mother, maybe. But there were no pictures like that. There were only pictures of her with other adults who looked like nannies and tutors—all hired help.

  He frowned a little, feeling somehow dirtier for going through her personal belongings like this than he had about what he'd been doing over the last twenty-four hours. Feeling a little sorry for Emily, her upbringing, and the neglect she must have felt, he put the pictures back in the drawer and shut it. He took another drink, the liquid fire filling his belly and burning his throat.

  He switched to the other side of the desk and opened up the bottom drawer. More file folders hung neatly in place, labeled by year. He pulled out the current year's folder and opened it up. Bank statements were hole punched and attached by brads. He scanned through the documents like some sort of fiscal voyeur, taking it all in.

  He looked at the balance for the current month, and his eyes widened. “Wow,” he said aloud to the room. “Thirty million fucking dollars?” He closed the folder and slapped it down on the desk. “Holy shit,” he said, barely believing the number.

  He closed his eyes and tried to think about what that would look like in cold, hard cash. He realized he couldn't picture something accurate and just shook his head. Maybe he hadn't read it right, he considered. Dane picked up the folder and looked the number over again, staring at it as he counted the digits. “Yep,” he said. “Thirty mill.”

  What he could do with that much money. Hell, he could hire the best legal defense possible for his brother. The real question was whether there was anything he couldn’t do, with that much money.

  All he had to do was get the money.

  He scratched his bristly chin and considered his options. He could hold her for ransom. The difficult part—kidnapping her—was already done. All he had to do was put out a demand, maybe to Edward, the guy she'd already communicated with. Dane grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took another drink as options ran through his mind.

  That's a bad idea, Dane, and you know it , the voice of his brother Benton seemed to whisper to him in the emptiness of the silent room. You can't pay for my law counsel with illegal money. You know that .

  Dane ignored the thoughts, though, and took another drink.

  You've already taken things too far, as it is, little bro . Benton was only a minute older than Dane, but he took that role as big brother seriously. It takes a broken person to break a person, and you're still not there, despite everything you've done. You still know right from wrong, which is why you couldn't even look through the pictures in that drawer .

  He knew Benton was right. Or, the memory of Benton was, at least. Dane pictured him continuing, If you want to get what you need, she has to get what she needs. You see all the signs. You need to give her what she needs, not what she wants .

  Dane took another drink of whiskey and nodded as he followed the memory of his brother's train of thought.

  She needed to be put in her place.

  Chapter Seven

  Dane

  Emily didn't wake till mid-afternoon. Dane had spent the time since his epiphany in her office deliberating about what needed to be done to give her what she needed.

  “Still here?” she said, her voice thick and sluggish with the effect of the drugs. Her fear wasn't as prevalent as earlier, but he figured the lingering after-effects of the drugs had something to do with that.

  “Of course,” Dane replied gruffly. “Think I was just going to leave? I figured you'd have begun t
o realize what kind of man I am, by now.”

  She eyed him up and down, still putting on as defiant a face as she could muster while naked and tied to her own bed. “No,” she said, after a while, “I guess you're right.”

  “I'm going to untie you now,” he said. “And, when I'm finished, I'm going to lay out the rules. All right?”

  She gave a little shrug of her shoulders and even nodded a little.

  He bent down and went to untying her bonds. They were simple knots by any standards, but difficult for someone in her position to untie on her own.

  Soon, she was sitting upright in bed, idly rubbing her reddened and puffy wrists and ankles. She sat there, still somehow daring to defy him. “So, what kind of . . . what kind of rules do you have, now?”

  He looked at her levelly, then began to pace as he listed them off. “First,” he began, “you will address me as 'sir.' Do you understand?”

  She nodded, but didn't say anything.

  Defiance, already? This wouldn't stand. Far from it. He needed to assert his authority as early as possible. It was what she needed, after all. Dane stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “I asked if you understood,” he said, in a cold voice.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Close enough. It was a start. He went back to pacing. “Second, you will not speak unless spoken to and only when you are given permission. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said again, her eyes and the turned-up corner of her mouth saying exactly the opposite.

  “Third,” Dane began, forgetting the pacing, “You will do the chores, including cooking and tending to my needs.” He watched her face to gauge her reaction as he prepared to lay out her punishment for any infractions.

  She raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for him to continue.

  “The first time you disobey me on anything, you'll be put in timeout. I think you've already experienced that, haven't you? It means more sleepless nights, like last night.”

  She didn't say anything. Instead, her eyes just narrowed as he plowed onto the next.

  “The second time, you will receive a spanking.”

  Her eyes widened a little at that, and he watched as her jaw worked a little, her throat bobbing as she swallowed.

  “Third time,” he said, as he swept his eyes over her petite frame, soft skin, and flawless body, “you'll be punished . . . more severely.” He turned back to pacing.

  He switched his voice back to normal, dropping the sternness from it. “If you obey me, of course, we'll get along just fine. I'll be nice to you, and you won't have any problems as we work our way through this.” He stopped and turned to her, his face near hers. “Do you understand?” he asked.

  She turned her head slightly away, a look of concern on her face.

  He knew she'd be hard to change. But the way you changed anyone was through persistence. Besides, he was just awakening her to what she needed. Still, though, it was frustrating. He leaned in closer, repeating himself. “Do you understand?”

  Emily turned her face to his and moved forward, the spitting sound so unmistakable that Dane knew what was coming before it even his face. The wad landed right on his nose, cheek, and upper lip, and it began to ran down his firm, square jaw.

  He had to suppress his grin at her blatant disregard for their agreement. She was feisty, that was for sure. Feistier than any woman he'd ever met, and twice as resilient. Most women her size would have cowered in fear from what Dane might do, especially after what he'd already done. They definitely wouldn't be provoking him to keep his promises. He wiped his hand down his face and looked down at the spittle collected in the palm of his hand. When he looked back up at her, Emily was grinning back at him, a smug, defiant look on her face.

  This was how it always was. When given new restrictions and rules, people would test them to see what they could get away with. A good enforcer of the rules would make every single one count, and would never be arbitrary. He would keep his word about punishment, especially if he wanted to maintain order. After a little storming, things would settle down. That was all Emily needed. A good enforcer.

  She smiled again, waggled her eyebrows, and nearly laughed. There was fear in her eyes, though. She was afraid and uncertain that she had made the right choice.

  He had to show her that she hadn't. He shot out his hand and grabbed hold of her wrist. He yanked her up from the bed before she even had time to protest. “Warning number one,” he said, his voice full and clear, like he was barely exerting himself. He grabbed the roll of duct tape and dragged her to the chair as she kicked and screamed, forcing her down into it.

  She tried to fight him, but he stopped her. “No,” he said, sternly. “I told you what was coming, and you chose to try and fucking piss me off. Now, don't make this into a spanking, or worse.”

  Putting the fear of God into her quieted her down, at least for the time being.

  “I told you, Emily,” he said, as he wrapped the tape around her arm and secured it. “I don't know why you didn't believe me,” he continued, as he moved onto the other arm. “Now I have to give you time out again.” Finished with her arms, he moved on to her legs, putting her back in the stress position she'd been in the night before.

  It broke his heart to have to do this to her a second time. He didn't particularly enjoy doing this to her. But, he'd come to realize it was for her own good, as well as his and Benton's. It was a necessary evil, he reasoned, as he taped her ankles down to the chair legs.

  “You don't have to—”

  “Rule two,” Dane barked, cutting her off. “No speaking unless spoken to.”

  He blindfolded her again with his tie and grabbed the headphones and mp3 player from the nightstand, where he'd left it before.

  She shook her head, suddenly worried about the coming punishment. “Please, Dane—I mean, sir— please not the headphones. Anything you want, just not the headphones.”

  He went behind her, sighing loud enough for her to clearly him over the music already pumping out. “You did this to yourself, Emily. Just remember that.”

  She continued to shake her head and began screaming as he grabbed the chair's backrest and tipped her backwards. He pulled her to the door of the large walk-in closet he'd found earlier, while snooping around. He dragged her into it and left her there. He didn't have the heart to watch her suffer the way he had the last time. He wouldn't have been able to bear it this second time.

  Her protests followed him out of the closet and down the hall. They even followed him as went into the kitchen and took stock of her groceries. He could still hear them as he shook his head at the sad state of affairs in her pantry and refrigerator. Clearly, she didn't eat at home a lot, despite the number of cookbooks she owned.

  Dane reminded himself that he was the one who had to take control of the situation. This was his responsibility now. If there was no food in the house, he was going to have to remedy that. Still keenly aware of the torment he was putting her through, he grabbed the car keys and went to the grocery story.

  There, he shopped for the next weeks’ worth of groceries, loading the cart up with plenty of fresh fruits, vegetables, and meats for the two of them. They both needed to keep their strength up for the trying times ahead. No one at the store gave him a second glance as he shopped, and the cashier didn't even comment on how many rolls of duct tape he was buying.

  He made it back to Emily's house a couple of hours later. After putting up the groceries where he thought they should go, he munched on a granola bar and settled in for the long wait. She'd disobeyed him and disrespected him. Her discipline would have to be a long, drawn out one, if he wanted to impress on her the importance of order and following the rules.

  For dinner, he got up and pulled down the blender he'd seen in his earlier rummaging. It was dusty and seldom used, so he washed it and went to work fixing her something nutritious and filling. The whirring of the electric motor, as it liquified the ingredients within, reminded Dane of the jet engine turbi
nes that had propelled him through the air over the Middle East.

  Things had been simpler back then, he realized. You only had the decisions right in front of you to make. There was us, and there was them. And there were the mission objectives. Everything else in between didn't matter.

  Here, back in civilian life, the way forward was unclear—foggy at best. If you wanted to find happiness, it sometimes seemed you had to do things that didn't make sense even to yourself.

  He poured the fruit smoothie, with added protein, into two glasses and drank one down in big, starving gulps, not realizing how hungry he'd been up until then. He grabbed a bendy straw from the packet he'd bought and stuck it in the other glass. With another granola bar stuffed in his back pocket, he went back into Emily's master bedroom and closet.