“I have a couple questions, and one stipulation of my own….” I pause feeling slightly overwhelmed. Jarod’s eyes flicker with interest before he gives a small nod of his head, urging me to continue. “I need the money up front. There are some pressing matters that need to be dealt with and cannot be ignored any longer.”
“Mr. Marks prepared a check, just in case you decided this arrangement would work in his favor. He’s asked that you please bring a bag for tonight. I will see to it that the check is in your possession by the time you zip your suitcase.”
Bring a bag? It didn’t say anything in the contract about sleeping over. “The documents didn’t say how long my services would be needed or mention anything about staying the night,” I say, quickly.
“It’s not customary, but he’s eager to meet and learn more about you. We can always have the contract amended.”
“This all sounds a bit much. I might need more time before I sign it. I don’t know….” My sentence dies off. I guess a debt of twenty-five thousand dollars might take some time to pay, but I’d like to clarify before signing any binding documents.
“How about we go get a bag, you can come back to the estate, and then you discuss this with Mr. Marks?” His voice is low, controlled, but I can hear the pleading in his tone. He obviously wants to please his boss.
Standing up, Jarod straightens out his jacket and pushes in his chair. He holds his hand out to me like a gentleman. I sense that he is truly trustworthy. It doesn’t come easy in this world, so I’ll happily accept it from him. After all, I’ve been alone, fighting Grams’s battles and my own for some time now. It will be nice to have a friend to lean on, and Jarod is one of the first contenders that I’ve considered for the position.
My stomach coils as we walk outside. I climb into my car and watch out my window as Jarod climbs into his. “You have to do this for her, Cambree,” I say, the words hanging in the silence of my car as I exhale a deep groan, and then guide us back to my apartment.
WITH THE ABSENCE OF Gretchen’s touch, my mind starts to wander. I think about how I got into this mess in the first place as I sit in just my trousers with my white linen button-up dress shirt open in front. There is a soft breeze from the ceiling fan whirring above me. If memory serves, it was Jarod that suggested I hire a woman to feed my hunger. With my fake death looming over me, I knew I’d have no way of ever meeting anyone, so I sought out his help, and oh boy, did he deliver.
Gretchen was the first woman I had been with sexually after the attack. It was a learning curve, but it taught me a lot of self-control. As badly as my body ached to be with her wholeheartedly, I knew that I couldn’t. I was a monster; the scar across my face confirmed it, and I felt underserving of the attractive blonde, though she begged for my touch. Living in secret for so long, my body had been starved of anything but darkness. It felt so good, so I continued our relationship, on my terms. And when I no longer craved her, I moved on…and on and on.
The ticking of the clock hanging on the charcoal-colored wall brings me back from my trip down memory lane. How late is it? Eleven forty-six. Where is Jarod? It’s been a while since I’ve had someone new in my bed. Sticking to my regulars has been safe and easy. They know my rules, and they’ve helped protect my secrets, sometimes not of their own free will. They were paid for their silence, paid to please me, each benefiting and paining me at the same time. But they just didn’t do it for me anymore. I didn’t crave their flavors or their sounds as I made them come undone. So, as long as I was homebound, with no chance of meeting a new prospect by myself, I relied on Jarod, my personal liaison and matchmaker. Making a mental note to show my appreciation for this new one, I sit in front of the computer, my mouse hovering over a file folder. Double clicking, I open the one titled Bree.
Cambree Rae Evans
Age: Twenty-two
Orphaned at age sixteen
Only living relative—Joyce Evans
School—Seattle University—Leave of Absence
Employer—Stride Rite
The information was obtained only days ago, but I’ve already looked at it more times than I’ve looked at the company’s end-of-the-month reports. I’ve memorized it. Stared at her picture we retrieved online, committing her facial features to memory. To me, this is just as important. It’s a new business venture. One I paid a great deal to obtain—the real business, well that is the least of my worries. I know the board and Jarod can handle that. That’s what I pay them to do. For some odd reason, I feel as if this is a new start, and in reality, it is.
I’m just not sure what inviting Cambree Evans into the darkness will mean.
“Can you tell me what is taking so long?” There is no greeting or kindness in my voice as I speak to Jarod. Patience is not a quality that I learned a great deal about in my lifetime. Not from my mother, and certainly not by my father’s hand. He thought he was king of the castle, and I’m ashamed to admit that I may have inherited that trait.
For a split second, the line is silent, and I wonder what is taking him so long to reply. Surely he didn’t mess things up. He’s never failed me, but this Cambree—Bree as she likes to be addressed as per Jarod’s notes—is different. Maybe she decided to turn down his offer, or worse, go to the media. Fear is also not a feeling that I’m accustomed to experiencing. I was stripped bare of it the night I lay in a puddle of my own blood, left to perish.
“Sir, it’s only been a few hours,” Jarod says with quiet emphasis as he finally answers me. “We are on our way back to the estate now. Bree is with me.”
Relief washes over me, and I realize that I was holding my breath. “Did you go to her apartment with her to retrieve her bag?”
“Yes, as you instructed, everything has gone off without a hitch. However, she would like to discuss the contract with you.”
My hand holds the phone closer to my mouth, my voice, though deep, is crisp and clear. “Gretchen left hours ago, and I simply was not satisfied with her presence. She’s too affectionate these days. She wants more than I am able to give her. Bring me Bree,” I disconnect the line without another word.
Tilting my head back against the office chair, I bring my hand up and run it through my already disheveled, just fucked hair. Jarod didn’t mention how far away they were, but I know that with the arrival of my new “friend” drawing closer, I must wash off the remains of my former one.
Sliding my chair backward, I stand up and stretch. My legs carry me out of the main room, where my desk is located, and guide me into the en suite bathroom. Walking around the mirror, I do my best not to look at my reflection. Failing miserably, as if my shoes are filled with cement, I’m planted directly in front of the bronze-framed mirror, confronted with a foreign sight.
I’ve gone days, weeks, maybe even months without stopping to look at myself. There isn’t much to see, my body is just a shell, a mask of sorts. The man staring back at me resembles a beast hiding my true self underneath its scarred reflection. I’m not even truly living. The death certificate hidden away in my private safe is proof of that.
My lids slip down over my eyes as I remember the image I used to see when I came into this room–a man with russet hair that was a little longer on top and shorter around the ears and neck, dark eyes that were alluring and inviting, and a little stubble along the jawline. I was a businessman through and through, but I’d been told more than once that I had sex appeal, enough for women to want me, a man in a suit, a man who broke all the rules.
My confidence died with the old me. I’m not anything like I once was, broken as much on the inside as I am on the out. My eyes now darkened by the past, and my jawline has a raised line of pink, sensitive skin sprawled across it. My eyes dart to my exposed chest. Another scar grabs my attention, holds it in place, and reminds me that I’m damaged goods. On the left side of my chest, directly under my ribcage, is a second souvenir of the night I lost myself.
Those bastards took everything. It’s not as if I can walk into a plastic su
rgeon’s office with scars sketched into my skin and ask that they be removed. I’m supposed to be dead. Introducing myself as Louis Marks and offering up cash for a procedure would just look too suspicious. Like I said, I’m not big on taking chances, especially when my safety is in jeopardy.
Anger rages in my veins. It runs through them like scalding water through pipes. I can feel my ears getting red. Without warning, my hand bunches into a tight fist, my heart rate increases, and the beast comes out to play. In a split second, the mirror in front of me shatters from my knuckles’ impact. Tiny shards slice into my skin, carving yet another slit into my flesh. I welcome the pain. It’s a reminder that I can still feel something. Anything, even the tiniest bit of emotion is something.
A muscle clenches along my jaw. The scowl on my face remains visible in the remaining fragments of the mirror. Fuck it. Swinging my arm out in front of me, I connect with the mirror again and again. When Jarrod comes barreling through the door, a punching match is in full force—me against myself.
“What the hell’s going on? Niko!” he shouts as he grabs me from behind and holds my trembling body against him, tucking my arms underneath of his. “I don’t even want to know what caused this, but you need to pull it together. I don’t want you scaring her off before you’ve even met her. We both know you’ll regret that. Get in the shower, bandage your hand, and page me when you’re done. I’ll bring Bree to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee,” he demands.
Jarod’s arms tighten around my body for what seems like hours, but eventually he lets go and walks out the door, shutting it behind him. As I lean forward, blood drips out of my fresh wounds into the sink. I grip the counter and grind my teeth. It’s been a while since I’ve let my anger get the best of me. The fucked up part is, this is normally when I call in the women. When stressed, frustrated or madder than shit, I use them to unwind, to calm down, to gain back some form of normalcy. Now what am I going to do? Surely, Cambree isn’t going to just agree to screw me for money, come right in, and get on her knees. Past experiences with first-timers taught me that much. Maybe she’s different. Maybe she’s had a horrible day and needs to be fucked until she’s unconscious to the world. I know I do.
The only way for me to cool down is to please myself. Using the hand that doesn’t appear to be mangled, I unbutton my pants and slide them down my legs. A cool breeze from the bathroom’s overhead fan blows out. Cocking my head to the side, I slide off the sleeves of my button-up and allow the thin fabric to fall to the floor. I take a few steps toward the walk-in shower. A trail of clothes follows behind me. I twist the knob to the left, and hot water cascades down, hitting the stone tile with a sound that reminds me of rain. It’s soothing and pulls me in, silently capturing me in its warmth. Within minutes, the water relaxes me but does nothing for the hard-on that stands erect below my waistline.
I wrap my hand around my hard cock and lean back against the shower wall. Bracing myself, legs apart, I pump my erection, slowly at first, using the hot water as a lubricant. My movements increase as I think about the girl in the kitchen waiting for me.
Sitting in the kitchen of the man who is hiring me to fuck him, I feel emptier than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. My hands unconsciously twist together.
I have nothing left to lose, but everything to gain. I need his money, and it seems that he wants my body. What I don’t understand is why a man with such power and wealth needs to pay someone to have sex with him? Surely there were eligible bachelorettes beating down his door. Given the way Jarod explained him, it seems he could have his pick of the litter. So why am I here? As I glance around the room, I become oddly curious and suddenly wonder if my encounter with Jarod wasn’t an accident. Nervously, I lick my dry lips.
“I see you haven’t touched your coffee. That is how you like it, if memory serves.” Jarod’s deep voice cuts through the silence like glass, forcing my attention back to him. Almost as if I had just witnessed a car crash my eyes never leave his.
“Let me ask you something,” I pause, “why me?”
Chuckling erupts from Jarod’s mouth as if I just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Why not you?”
I’m perched on a stool directly in front of the kitchen’s island, and I feel like a sitting duck in an unfamiliar pond. I have no advantages here. Jarod slowly approaches me from across the kitchen. Silently, I pray that prying doesn’t get me into trouble. I don’t know this man. I don’t know anything other than I just deposited a fairly large check from Kincaid Enterprises into my withering bank account.
My body tenses as his hands brush against the exposed skin on my arm. He places them against the island on either side of me. Shyly, I glance down to where his fingers grip the marble counter. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I sense Jarod’s mouth hovering by my ear. I can smell his breath as his lips part, and the silence of the room allows me to hear his whispered words. “It was your innocence that attracted me.”
Exhaling a breath, I draw my eyebrows together in confusion. Feeling perplexed, I quietly ask, “Attracted you? I thought I was here for Mr. Marks?”
He utters, “You’re here because—”
“She’s here because I invited her. Now, please, escort my guest upstairs.” Jarod freezes at the interruption, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
I timidly tilt my head to the side, trying to get a glimpse of the man behind this unfamiliar, low voice. There is no one there. We’re all alone.
“He’s right. You’re here for him.” A low tremble lingers in his voice as Jarod swallows his pride and nods his head over to a large speaker in the wall. “Look, we didn’t get much time to review the rules, so please just remember what your agreement said.”
Confused, my expression stills and his suddenly turns serious. “No kissing or touching unless he instructs me to, and no speaking about him to anyone. How could I forget the words that were written in bold a hundred times?” I say, rolling my eyes, a defiant smile curving across my face.
“You have spunk. I like that about you. Maybe you’re not as innocent as you let on.”
With wobbly legs, I step down from the stool and back away from the island and Jarod. “Should we get this show on the road?” Surprisingly I want to meet the man that brought me here, the one that has women sign paperwork before he invites them into his home. I have no idea what to think or expect, my mind can’t quite grasp the journey I’m about to embark on.
We share a short-lived smile before he ushers me forward, guiding me through a large living space with vaulted ceilings, a huge fireplace, and drapes that are longer than any piece of fabric I’ve ever seen, hanging in front of giant windows. My eyes rake over the environment and its pristine furniture. I know without a shadow of a doubt, Mr. Marks is one wealthy man. To him, my monthly pay from the shoe store is probably pocket change.
We approach a large staircase; its banister lined with cast iron poles, and its wooden stairs covered with carpet. Placing my hand on the outer rail, I follow Jarod’s lead. At the top of the steps, I trail him down a long hallway. The walls are adorned with immaculate artwork, originals if I had to guess, but items I’ve only ever seen in history books or on television. Several doors line the large hallway. My heart rate picks up and I wonder if he’s leading me to my death. Why did I decide to trust a total stranger who was offering to pay me for sex? For all I know, I’m about to be ball-gagged and sold to a sex trafficker who will ship my trusting ass all the way to China.
My feet stop moving, planting firmly on the carpet. My mind races as a spark of something indefinable takes residence in my brain. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. “Jarod,” I cry out, my voice breaks as I try to form syllables. “I can’t do this. I’m too scared of what’s behind the door. I’ll pay you back, I promise. I don’t know when, but I swear I’ll make this right.” A lump builds in my throat, making it hard for me to swallow.
He raises his right hand and cups my chin tenderly. Using his
thumb to wipe away a lone tear rolling down my cheek, he tries to calm my nerves.
“No woman has ever been frightened to meet Louis. Most of them beg to see the fragile, yet fierce man behind the last door on the left. There’s nothing to be scared of behind that door, though. He’s my best friend. He’d never hurt you. He’s the one that’s hurt. Don’t you understand that? Why else would someone in his shoes have to hire women for pleasure? Go in there and give him what he wants, what he needs to stay sane. He wants you to stay, but if it’s too uncomfortable, I can take you back to your apartment. It’s as simple as that, Bree.”
“Okay, you’re right.” Deep breaths, I recite in my mind. I can do this.
The coolness of the metal handle shoots through my body like a jolt of adrenaline. I am in control here, even if I don’t truly believe it myself. As soon as the knob rotates, Jarod nods his head and backs away, leaving me alone and petrified. The room is pitch dark when I enter. The absence of any sound whatsoever has never been so alarming.
Louis’s voice calls out to me through the blackness that surrounds my body. “I see that Jarod has listened to my request very well,” he says, his voice sending chills down my spine.
The powerful, yet endearing voice, seeps out of the dark. Like a leech, it attaches to me and sucks me dry. There is no air left in my lungs as I fight with myself internally. Deep breaths.
My ears have never heard a voice quite like his, masculine, authoritative, yet inviting. When he used the kitchen’s internal microphone system to order me to come upstairs, I didn’t feel drawn to him, but for some peculiar reason, I do now. I’m here because of his needs, that much I remember.
Rubbing my hands down the sides of my jeans, my body trembles. Debating on turning around and running as fast as I can away from Louis Marks, I inhale deeply as an image pops into my mind of Grams lying in soiled linens that the rotten staff never changed. You have to do this for her.
Savaged Page 4
