I didn’t even want the fucking blown-up photos, but I needed something to make the room seem… normal. Complete, even.
“We have a problem,” Charles finally says after I've hung up the phone.
I may be deceptive. Born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I come off as playful and charming. They don’t see me coming. And most of my clients never have a problem with me. The legal ones, anyway. It’s a handshake and a smile, an exchange of money and profit. Those are ninety percent of my interactions. But the other ten percent, well that’s where Charles comes in. I can’t get my hands dirty. My reputation is everything.
He doesn’t attend the social galas and business openings. He doesn’t give a fuck about rubbing elbows and being seen with the right people. He meets his clients in back alleys. As far as anyone’s concerned, he’s an associate.
Everyone in my life is just an associate. And that’s never going to change.
“And what’s that?” I ask him as my lips kick up into a charming smile. It’s always there. Even though it doesn’t affect Charles, I can’t help the false expression. I’ve learned to play this role. It pays me well.
“Brooks is a problem,” he states and leans forward in his seat, grabbing a paperweight off my desk. It’s a small slate cube, heavy with sharp edges. He runs his finger down one side.
Although he’s not a threat to me, I can only imagine what he’d do with a weapon like that. I roll my eyes at what he just said and stretch my neck to look out of the large windows again as the sun sets behind us, darkening the room. I can’t take another person telling me I’ve fucked up. I get it. I need someone to offer me a solution to fix it, not tell me the obvious.
“No shit,” I say, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. It only takes a moment, and his movements stop.
“Are we offing him?” he asks me.
My blood turns cold, sending a biting wave through every inch of my body. It takes its time, slowly coursing through my veins. I don’t take death lightly. Ending someone's life isn't as easy for me as it is for Charles. He grew up around it, made a career of it; killing is simply a way of life for him. They all have it coming and for good reason, but he’s quick to take it that far.
I break the hold his dark eyes have on mine and stare at the large clock on the left-hand wall. It’s simple and modern, so there aren’t any marks on it. It's just a large white circle with contrasting black hands. The second hand sweeps by, rhythmically and perfectly. There’s no sound, but I can only imagine the soft tick, tick, tick in sync with my own heartbeat.
I click my tongue, feeling the smile fade for a moment before turning my attention back to Charles.
“Who did he give it to?” I ask him. Brooks had the money in his account. I know for a fact what Danny Brooks was worth when I loaned him the investment. It should have been a good return, had he done what he was supposed to do.
“A bookie,” Charles answers in a rough deep voice, setting the slate paperweight back down at my desk.
A huff of a humorless laugh rumbles up my chest.
“I’m guessing he thinks the bookie breaking his legs is worse than what you would have done to him,” Charles adds and then cracks his neck and settles easily into his seat. He’s probably right. Most of these men who work with contracts think I’d settle a dispute using the legal systems.
I’m sure Brooks thinks I’ll sue him. But that takes so much time and sets a poor example. It would tarnish my spotless reputation as well. I don’t set foot into courtrooms. I’m not interested in a lawsuit or having anything in the paper.
When someone doesn’t pay me, I make sure I get more than my money’s worth of retribution. I think back to the dozens of men who have tried to get away from me and their debts in the past. They can’t run though. They can’t hide behind the law, or in the shadows; I own both.
“So, what are you going to do?” Charles asks me, pulling me back to the present.
I sit up in my seat and lean closer to him, feeling that slick smile on my face. My blood heats and the resulting adrenaline fuels me. I speak slowly but firmly, staring hard into Charles' unforgiving stare as I say, “I want to know everything about Danny Brooks.”
Chapter 2
Arianna
“They had rabbits, dildos and pulsators,” Natalie shamelessly continues as she sets down her paintbrush in the cup of now-dirty water that sits between us. She’s got an asymmetric grin on her face as she rises from her seat to step back and survey her handiwork. “It was awesome,” she says and the smile doesn’t fade as she stares at her canvas.
I stop my brush midstroke to look at her, arching a questioning eyebrow. Even dressed in pale blue overalls with old paint stains all over them, Natalie looks beautiful. She has the kind of natural beauty that comes equipped with confidence. Her dark brown hair cut in a short side bob sways as she crosses her arms and nods her head, and her large brown eyes widen as she steps forward and smudges a small spot on her canvas with her finger. The smile only fades for a moment until she’s satisfied with the adjustment.
She lets out an easy sigh and her eyes sparkle as she meets my stare. I force a small smile back but avoid her gaze as I take in my own canvas. I’ve been in a cruddy mood all day. I was hoping painting would cheer me up. But so far, all I’ve done is paint a weeping willow that’s truly crying because of how damn dark the picture is. A frown mars my face as I realize there’s no fixing this.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
“Pulsators, huh?” I ask halfheartedly. “That’s a new one.” I shake my head as I set my brush down into the cup, dismayed with my lack of progress.
I pull my hair over my shoulder and twirl the ends as she continues, “Yeah. It’s a little ball that goes into your cooch and vibrates.” I stare at Natalie, slowly processing what she’s saying. Thank fuck I have her as my roommate, sharing a two-bedroom apartment together in the middle of downtown. We split the rent to make costs bearable. But more than that, she’s been my friend for years. Even through the darker times when I pushed her away. We picked up everything right where we left off when we reconnected.
Right now, I just don’t give a shit about whatever sex toy party she went to last night.
I clear my throat trying to muster an ounce of her excitement as I say, “That sounds… fun.”
Natalie pouts, her eyes dimming with concern. “What’s wrong, Ari? Considering the stuff you’re into,” she says, eyeing me curiously, “I thought something like that would be right up your alley.”
I feel like shit, but I just want to be alone. “I feel off. I’m just tired.” I swirl the brush in the dirty cup to get some of the paint off the bristles. I speak without looking up, staring at the murky water, “I think I need some sun or something.” I didn’t expect her to come in here and join me, but I wasn’t going to tell her no. Natalie’s frown deepens and then she looks past me toward my bedroom door. “I’m sorry I’m being such a downer, Nat,” I say, flashing her a weak smile. “I just feel like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something.”
Nat stares at me for a long moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek before finally saying, “I’m a little worried about you, Ari.” Her voice is delicate and cautious, but she doesn’t need to be. I’m okay. I’m not where I was before.
I wave off her concern. “Don’t be. I’m good.” I nod at my canvas. “Just let me finish this up.” I stare at the painting for a minute before pursing my lips. I should probably just trash it or paint the whole damn thing white and start over.
Nat gazes at me with suspicion. “You sure?”
I nod, picking my paintbrush back up and pressing the bristles against the side of the cup to get rid of most of the water. “Yeah. Tell me more about the party,” I say, trying to change the subject back to her preference: sex. “It sounds like it was a lot of fun.”
Nat nods, but her enthusiasm from earlier is dimmed, which makes me feel like shit. I hate spreading negativity.
I avoid her
gaze entirely, shoving up my sleeves to add a bit of white paint to the background of the canvas. “It was. There’s a bonus right now-” Nat pauses, and reaches out for my arm, her fingers wrapping just below my elbow. Her grip is so strong she nearly pulls me backward. “What the hell happened to your arm?” Although it’s a question, there’s an accusation underlying her words as she stares at my arm in horror.
Shit. I pull away from her grasp, clenching my teeth and feeling a bit irritated. A bit ashamed. My heart is still lodged in my throat and I can’t respond for a moment. I'm feeling her judgment.
I part my lips to reply, to make up some lie, some defense, but then close them. Nat’s seen the bruises before. This is nothing new. She knows where they come from, and she knows that they’re there with my consent. That it’s just a kink.
I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. I hate how she does this to me. She makes me feel guilty.
Nat places her hands on her hips and glowers at me when I offer no response. “Well? And don’t tell me it was just how you and Danny like to play,” she says but her voice cracks with pain. Her nostrils flare as she glares at my arm. “I don’t believe it. Not this time.” A part of me loves her for caring. Another part wants her to fuck off. We’ve gone around and around with this issue. It’s how I’ve dealt with it all. It’s the one thing that worked. Or used to work.
The very mention of his name sends a chill down my spine and causes my skin to prick with anxiety, although it never used to. If it weren’t for Danny, I wouldn't be here. He helped me when I was at my lowest point in my life, saving me from darkness that was on the verge of swallowing me whole. There’s no reason I should feel like this, but I do. I feel… afraid.
I pull my sleeve down, focusing on breathing and ignoring her. I need to talk to him. I’m not into this lifestyle like he is. It worked for a while, so he was right about giving it a shot. I’m just not sure I want to keep doing it.
But I owe him. And he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to stop. Even if there’s no sexual pleasure in it. He’s not my boyfriend. Only my Master. He gives me the release I need to get rid of this sadness through an outlet of pain. But it’s not working anymore. I don’t know what changed.
“It’s nothing,” I say hastily, quick to cut her off the path she’s heading down.
“Nothing?” Nat asks in disbelief. “That looked like a hell of a lot more than nothing.”
I give her a big fake smile in an attempt to put her at ease, trying to hide the anxiety that’s twisting my stomach. “It’s not though, trust me. Really, it’s nothing,” I lie as my throat closes and my chest feels hollow, “I enjoyed it actually.”
Natalie stares at me for a long time, her big brown eyes roving my face, searching for honesty.
Finally, she shakes her head and the moment she does, I feel a wave of relief. I can’t lose her. I have no one else. No one but Danny. Even though I don’t want him anymore. Not like that though. I never wanted him like that. “I know this is supposed to be,” Nat takes in a breath as she looks to the door again and waves her hand in the air, “the thing you guys have, but I’ll never be able to understand it. And quite frankly, it scares the shit out of me.”
I don’t blame her. Most people wouldn’t understand. In fact, no one I know does. I don’t even remember why I wanted this to begin with. He said it would heal me and in a way, it did. But it’s grown to be something different, and it doesn’t feel like healing anymore. It’s turned into something else. “But if it makes you happy and you’re getting laid, I guess that’s all that matters,” Natalie mutters, clearly upset, but at least she’s leaving it alone. I’m not getting laid, although she doesn’t have to know the specifics. I’ll fix this. I just need to tell Danny that I don’t want it anymore and that I’m fine without it. Although I really don’t know if I am fine. I will talk to him though... soon. I feel guilty for even thinking about it. Danny’s done so much for me; I owe him my life. I feel ungrateful for wanting to complain, but it’s time for me to move on.
“Maybe you should try it sometime,” I suggest playfully, trying to lighten the tone, but I immediately regret it.
Natalie shakes her head vigorously. “Hell no. I like my vanilla sex with pulsators just fine, thank you very much. I’ll leave that freaky shit to you. “I huff out a dry chuckle, but I can’t shake the feelings stirring in the pit of my stomach. I agreed to this M/s relationship, at at times I even wanted it. But now I don’t know how to get out.
“Ari?” Nat asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. I refocus my eyes on her face. “You sure you’re okay, Hun?” The words are on my lips. I could tell her everything about how I feel right now. Doing it would be like a weight lifted off my chest. I would finally have someone I could confide in about what’s really going on in my life. But that’s not what I do.
“Ari?” Nat presses when I don’t respond. I flash her a smile and reply, “I’m fine,” when deep down, I know I’m not.
Chapter 3
Zander
The Mercedes practically purrs as I park in the large, ten-story garage attached to the Parker business suite. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in here. I don’t own it, but I own plenty of men who sit behind the desks in this building.
And one of these fuckers is Danny Brooks.
The car door clicks shut and the alarm beeps as I walk across the concrete ground toward the entrance.
A smile creeps casually onto my lips as the greeter nods his head toward me, the automatic doors opening behind him. “Good evening, sir,” he says in a raspy voice that’s more comforting than anything else. His grey hair is barely noticeable under the tweed cap that matches his vest. As he smiles broadly at me, the wrinkles gather around his pale blue eyes.
“Good evening,” I respond politely, heading straight into the building with a casual pep in my steps. The polished marble floors and stark white walls with gleaming steel framed ceilings make the interior seem so much brighter. Every bit of light is reflected off every surface. The sounds of heels clicking, people chattering and the large fountain in the center of the room spilling water over the edge immediately flood my senses.
It’s almost five o’clock, close to quitting time and for a Friday, the main lobby is fairly empty already. But I know Brooks is still here. Charles knows his routine. He’s useful for that, and damn good at what he does.
I head straight to the far wall, my hands in my pockets and the hint of happiness on my face. Always smile. Make them wonder what you’re up to. I remember the words my mother told me once. Back when I thought it was playful… when I thought she was happy. I didn’t learn the darkness behind her words until much later. Until it was too late.
The elevator doors open and a man in a crisp grey suit exits, all the while loosening the black tie around his neck and holding his briefcase in his other hand. Two women exit behind him, walking closely and speaking in hushed voices. As I enter the empty cart, I hear them laugh in unison, although it dims as the doors close, leaving me alone and in silence.
I push the button for the twenty-sixth floor, lighting up the ring around the number to bright green and instantly I’m ushered upward. My heart starts to race. It’s not every day that I do this; in fact, it’s a rarity. I hardly ever have to put pressure on my business associates. Let alone make them fully aware that they can’t fuck with me and my money.
I don’t enjoy this aspect, but it’s a necessity. If you let one man push you around, the others will know they can push you, too. And that can’t happen. Ever.
It only takes one time to fall. One chance for them to knock you down and tear you apart. Like what happened with my mother. She let them see behind the cracks, and she never recovered.
I shove my hands back into my pockets. I'm still wearing thin leather gloves. It’s not so uncommon for them to be worn this early in March. But inside the building, it’s warm. And I don’t need to be seen wearing them and drawing any suspicion.
Ding.
&nb
sp; The twenty-sixth floor comes faster than I anticipated. Showtime.
My dress shoes slap on the hard slate floor as I walk past the two office spaces on my right. My shoulders are straight as I walk with ease past the large glass fronts of the offices. They’re all nearly identical in appearance, neatly lined up rows of glass boxes. Each one houses some sort of profession. I stop abruptly and turn on my heels as I spot 2614.
Although my blood’s heating, my heart’s hammering and I’m certain everyone can see the fire in my eyes, on the surface I’m the same man I always am. Nonthreatening, happy. Not a care in the world.
I keep my hands in my pockets and rock on my heels as I smile down at the receptionist. Forcing the charm to stay in place.
“Mr. Payne,” the young woman at the front of the office behind a small white desk greets as she rises to her feet, finally feeling my eyes on her. “May I take your coat?” she asks politely, already holding out her hand. I’ve been in here several times before, but this is the first time she’s remembered who I am.
“No, thank you,” I say easily. “I don’t have an appointment. I was just hoping to catch Mr. Brooks before he left.” I think the woman’s name is Delores. I’m almost certain of it. My eyes flicker to the name on her desk plate and I see it there, in thick bold letters. “I appreciate it though, Delores.” She brightens at the use of her name. “Do you know if he’s in?” I ask the question as I turn from her slightly, angling my body so she knows I’m headed that way.
“He is,” she nods happily and takes a seat, scooting her chair back in.
“Have a wonderful weekend,” I tell her, dipping my head and walking off as she calls out, “You too, Mr. Payne!”
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