Cards of Love: Justice

by Wilde, Amelia

  Something seethes in my blood. She’s different. She’s different from all the rest.

  Either that, or I’ve passed my limit for the day. I don’t allow myself to have feelings for or about the contracts. That’s what it means to be a neutral party. That’s why I am trusted among the richest families in the city—in the world. My name is making its way across the oceans. There is only more money, more quiet success, to come if I can keep my shit together.

  I’ve never had a problem with it before.

  There’s nothing for me to see out the window, so I stalk through the process of getting ready for bed.

  I’m still lying there, awake, thinking of her, when my assistant Jeannine raps lightly at the doorframe. It’s been hours. It’s been all night.

  “Good morning,” she says softly.

  I only have one thing to say.

  “Prepare her.”

  7

  Justice

  “It’s time to get up.”

  I push myself upright on the mattress, blinking into the light streaming in from the hallway. It’s not just light from the hallway, actually, but there’s light coming through the high, thin window, too.

  Shit.

  The woman stands framed in the doorway, the light from the hall equalizing the sunlight filtering in from the window. I swipe my hands over my eyes, trying to feel less…less trapped. It doesn’t work. No matter how well I can see, I’m still equally trapped. My heart speeds up.

  “Okay. Okay.” Whoever this woman is, she’s tall and gorgeous and looks completely impassive. “I’m awake.”

  “No,” she says with a hint of impatience in her voice. “It’s time to get up. We need to prepare you.”

  “Prepare me?”

  She cocks her head to the side. “Did you think you’d serve out your contract in some club dress and last night’s makeup?”

  “I—” I’m tangled up in the blanket, which is more the consistence of a sheet. Somehow, even though I woke up in the same position I fell asleep, it’s wrapped around my waist, pinning me to the bed. I have to twist around to free myself, conscious of the woman’s eyes on me every moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never been kidnapped before.”

  “You haven’t been kidnapped.” Her voice is low and melodic, and I half wonder if she could hypnotize me. Snap her fingers. Wake me up in my own bedroom. “You’re here under contract.”

  “Contract? What does that—” I interrupt myself with a final, vicious yank at the blanket, which finally frees me from its grasp. There’s no choice but to plant my bare feet on the cold floor and stand, which has the unfortunate effect of revealing to both of us that my skirt is also hiked up around my waist. The blanket probably tugged it there, the sick fuck. I try not to care as I pull it back down, but a strange heat lashes itself across my cheeks. Who am I? Last night, I was a woman who kicked and screamed and fought, and this morning I’m—

  They might have control over me. They might be able to…prepare me. And punish me. And kill me, though I try very hard not to entertain that idea. But they’re not going to shame me.

  I force myself to look into her eyes. She really is stunning, with huge dark eyes and dark hair twisted back into an elegant knot behind her head. Looking at her this way might be brave, but it also makes me painfully aware that I look like a complete wreck. I don’t have to touch my hair to know that it’s a mess, fought in and slept on and otherwise rumpled, and my skin has a nervous film coating it.

  Disgusting.

  “Wrists,” she says, and tips her head toward the door. Her tone is even but it’s an order if I’ve ever heard one.

  “What’s your name?”

  She takes in a little breath. “Mika. But you will never call me that.”

  In the end, I won’t be able to overpower her. I know from last night that she has a cadre of burly men at her fingertips. I lift my chin. There are small ways to defy someone. Tiny ways, like hesitating for a heartbeat too long. That’s what I do before I move across the room toward her, then present my wrists.

  I thought I was the one who was better at this game, but when I’ve taken the last steps, she’s still looking at me. Her gaze reminds me of Cassian Locke, which sends a mortifying warmth rocketing out from my core to my fingertips. Are they…related? Or has he just bestowed some power on her that makes me weak in the knees?

  “You can drag your feet if you want to,” she says coolly, “but everything you do will be reported to Mr. Locke.”

  “And?” I don’t feel brave, but I make myself sound like it. “What then? What’s the worst that could happen?” I laugh out loud at the absurdity of this warning. “You’ve already taken me off the streets. He’s already…spanked me.” I force the words out even though they taste like lust and shame. “I’m at rock bottom.”

  “Oh, no, Ms. Danes. You still have a long way to go.”

  * * *

  The cryptic warning hovers in the air above us while she fastens the cuffs to my wrists, then attaches a chain to some hidden loop in the cuffs. I have to bite my lip to keep from making a caustic comment about how it’s not good manners to treat a guest like a dog, but I remember last night’s punishment. I still feel it. And if I’m going to survive this, it’s probably best to choose my battles.

  I don’t even know if this is one of the battles I should be fighting.

  It takes her a solid tug on the chain to get me to walk behind her, and when she turns, all I can see in her eyes is that she’s put one more tally on her list. Part of me is proud. Part of me shivers. But all of me, in the end, follows her down the hall. She turns a corner into a narrower hallway, leading me down to a door on the right.

  It opens into a light-soaked room that looks part locker room, part sterile salon. Two other women wait inside, wearing black uniforms. They size me up as I’m led into the room. Part of me wants them to see how unbroken I am. Part of me wants to crawl underneath what’s clearly a waxing table. My heart throws itself jaggedly against my rib cage. This could turn out to be a nasty scene, if they want, and here I am, being led around on a chain.

  Things happen fast after that.

  Under Mika’s cool guidance, the other two come forward. One brandishes a pair of scissors, and I can’t help it—I shrink back toward the door.

  The first woman pulls sharply on the chain. “None of that. Step forward and spread your legs.”

  The second one has scissors, so this time I don’t hesitate, though my stomach curls with embarrassment. And why? Why should I be embarrassed? They’re doing this to me. I’m just trying to stay alive.

  “Hold still.”

  I stare straight ahead until the woman gives another yank on the chain. “Yes, mistress,” she says.

  The words stick in my throat, but then again…scissors. “Yes, mistress.”

  “That’s a good girl.”

  Good girl. It sparks something dirty in the back of my mind, something that makes my mouth water. God. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  They cut my clothes off of my body.

  That’s what the scissors are for.

  It’s deliberate and dispassionate and it makes me feel smaller with every piece they shred. The dress goes first, then my bra, and then with a final snip they tug off the thong that’s underneath.

  The other three women appraise me. I’m trying desperately not to cover myself. I’m trying desperately to remember that I’m proud. But it’s like they cut off part of my resolve when they cut into that fabric.

  “Shower,” Mika commands, and I force myself to think of her that way as she leads me to a shower stall around one corner. They choose the water temperature, the water spraying down full force, and then she pulls my chain through a loop in the ceiling and forces my arms over my head.

  I am not even allowed to bathe myself. They do it. Roughly. The commands come one after the other. Spread your legs. Turn around. Face up. Bend forward. For this last bit, the chain loosens a couple of inches. They make me turn under the spray
, my body shuddering with goosebumps. One of them turns off the water abruptly, and then they towel me dry while my teeth chatter.

  Mika comes close when she takes the chain from the loop, and I summon my courage and look her in the eye. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice distorted by the chattering. “You don’t have to do this.” The last bit comes out as more of a plea than I wanted it to.

  For the first time, while she’s holding the chain that binds me, Mika shows a hint of pity. “Oh, you precious thing,” she says. “You’re not here to be ransomed. You’re here to be punished.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. Her words make a thousand questions bloom in my mind, but from the brisk way she leads me over to the waxing table, I can tell that the conversation is over.

  They make me get up onto the table, only I don’t have a shirt or a little paper sheet to give me the illusion of modesty. She lets a little slack into my chain so that I can tug my knees up to my chest. I don’t hesitate to do that, because I have never been so exposed, and if this is about punishment, then I’m not starting with this. He can punish me later, if he wants, but now? No. No…

  It’s not until they start spreading the wax that I realize this is all part of it. Every bit.

  “Hold still, precious thing,” she says. “Three, two, one.”

  8

  Cassian

  Mika presents her to me at noon so we can begin the first day of the contract. It seems that Justice has already learned at least one lesson from last night and the efforts of this morning, and I’m partly relieved and partly disappointed. I would have liked to wrestle her down into position. It’s one of my most shameful thoughts. This want is not something I can ever entertain, so the more submissive she is, the easier this will be…for both of us.

  She’s led into the room on the end of Mika’s chain, her eyes on the ground.

  I almost have to walk out.

  The words rise in my throat—stop this, I can’t do this, this is too dangerous for both of us—but, like every other emotion, I swallow them down.

  The fact is that Justice Danes was a masterpiece in that ridiculous sequined dress. She made me hard for her, twisting and turning and fighting against the ad-hoc recovery team. I spent all night willing myself not to take myself in my own hand—anything for release. I didn’t, because I can’t. Because I’m stronger than that.

  And maybe I could have been stronger than Justice Danes in her little club outfit. I could have contained myself if I had only seen her perfect ass exposed.

  But now she’s naked.

  Mika has followed the protocol down to the last detail. I can tell with a single sweep of my eyes. Justice’s nails have been buffed and polished. Her skin has been scrubbed to a soft sheen. Her hair has been carefully dried and styled in a low bun at the nape of her neck that won’t interfere with any of my plans.

  And her pussy is bare.

  It’s still a little pink from the waxing, and the sight of that cleft between her legs is like dynamite exploding into bedrock. An aftershock, then another—I didn’t get to see the rest of her body before. The lift of her breasts. The curve of her waist into her hips. Miles and miles of exquisite skin. A birthmark on her hip the color of hot chocolate. I want to lick it. I want to do more than that. Far more than that. And I want her on her knees. Oh, fuck me, I want—

  Mika tugs on the chain and Justice takes another step into the room. At that moment she raises her eyes from the floor and looks into mine, and the shock that goes through me is more than an earthquake. It’s fucking celestial.

  I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve never seen so much hate and so much need and so much confusion in one person’s eyes. It’s true that the people I see in this room are no more than their contracts—I don’t bother looking into their eyes to see their feelings, unless I need to know that they have adequately paid the price for their behavior.

  They’re so blue. Blue like the sky. Blue like the sea. Shifting in color. I only let the murkiest daylight into this room, from windows high up on the wall to match the holding cell. They’re tinted, the light filtered. I want them to know this is all part of the contract from the light, and from the look on her face, Justice knows.

  I cannot hesitate.

  I can only pretend that these heartbeats I’ve spent drinking her in are a regular part of the process. Mika doesn’t let it show in her expression, but she must feel that something is off. It wouldn’t be so odd, in this moment, to discover that my heart is bleeding through my shirt.

  Ignore it.

  Ignore it.

  Mika clears her throat. “The contract, sir.”

  It snaps me back into reality with a tumble of anticipation that I never feel. All those things I want to do to Justice begin here. This way. With punishment. As long as I’m touching her, none of the rest matters. I make the compromise with myself knowing that it’s a deal with the devil.

  “Put her over the bench.”

  Two high, pink spots appear on Justice’s cheeks, but she bites her lip and says nothing as Mika leads her across the room and to the bench, with its spaces for arms and legs and cuffs and chains. Mika gives a yank to Justice’s chain. “Up.”

  I see the set of her jaw, the little lift of her chin. There’s a defiant spark in her eyes. Well. She might have a spark, but there’s an ice storm in my gut, ready to crush it.

  My breath must be colder than the air when I finally let it out. I can’t go into this session like that. I can’t. But the more I try to shove it down, the more the snow creeps upward, filling my torso.

  “Up,” Mika warns again.

  I double what I had planned for Justice. This is only the first day. And on the first day, our focus will be on punishment for past behavior. It helps that every moment she hesitates is ticking solidly into the past. My blood rushes through my veins like a freight train.

  Justice must be exploiting the self-doubt that Mika has worked so hard to excise from herself, and once again, the world shifts beneath my feet. There’s nothing on Mika’s face that gives this away, but I do feel it in the air.

  “Leave her to me.”

  Mika flashes me a look of pure relief, then gets herself under control. She drops the chain into my hand and floats out the door with her head held high, pulling it shut behind her. The soft click it makes when it shuts is barely audible, but Justice whips her head in that direction.

  “Obedience is your only option.” I pull the chain so that she has to move directly behind the paddling bench.

  The tension that comes through the chain isn’t metaphorical. It’s physical, and I feel it like it’s hooked into my own chest.

  I don’t let her see the way it makes me feel.

  I don’t let her see that it makes me feel at all.

  I only look at her like she’s a little brat, and I have all the power. Because, I remind myself, that is exactly our circumstance.

  “Obedience is your only option, and it also has the virtue of being your best option.”

  Justice looks at me from underneath her eyelashes. “If that’s what you think.”

  I clench my hand, the one hidden from her view, into a fist, then release it. “You’re so quick to forget the rules.”

  “If that’s what you think, sir.” Something adjacent to a smile plays over her mouth. It’s fucking unbelievable. The closer she gets to trouble, the more she seems to love it.

  Last night was only a taste. It was a shadow of what’s to come.

  “You’ll soon find that it’s the truth.”

  She lets out a breath that’s like a little sigh. “No, sir.”

  I stare at her until she looks up from the paddling bench and into my eyes. When she does, the brave facade slips a little bit. I consider her like she’s a science project. “Are you trying to make things worse for yourself?”

  Justice straightens her back, which has the intoxicating effect of putting her breasts on full display. “I don’t see how things could get any
worse for myself. I’m here to be punished for a crime—I assume it’s a crime—I didn’t commit. I’ve been stripped. I’ve been waxed. I’ve been—”

  “The only thing that matters now is what will happen to you.” I increase the tension on the chain, which forces her to lean back on her heels. She tries to hide it. It can’t be disguised. “So you can play your little games. You can resist. You can scream and shout and beg. But none of that will spare you.”

  “I’m not trying to be spared,” she says, a jagged edge in her voice. “I’m trying to fuck with you.” My chest goes tight and cold. “And it’s totally working. It might not show on your face, but I know. Deep inside, you—”

  I tie the chain off to a loop on the wall and leave it stretched tight.

  And then I reach for my tie.

  I tug it off in one smooth motion.

  It’s enough to get Justice’s attention. “Deep inside—”

  It takes me three steps to move behind her, and then she struggles. She pulls uselessly at the cuffs, but the chain is strong. It holds. And before she can fall to the floor, or tilt to the side, I wrap my arm around her and press her back to my chest as hard as I can.

  Justice sucks in a breath, which gives me the opportunity to gag her with the tie. Once it’s securely around the back of her head, I run my fingers across the sumptuous fabric, already hot from her ragged breath.

  There. Now she looks afraid.

  “Scream all you want,” I tell her, and then I lift her bodily up onto the paddling bench and strap her down. “You’ll need to.”

  9

  Justice

  I am bound and have no escape. His expensive tie tastes like sin in my mouth, and my blood rages against my veins as I fight against the bonds cutting into my wrists. It runs ice cold one moment, burning like fire the next. I’m overwhelmed by terror one moment and consumed by a sense of power in the next. I cannot get a handle on which feeling will overtake me next.