by L V Chase
"I have a job offer," she says. "It's not what you're thinking. A real one. But I have to stay away from you." Cin looks away. "You're name's bad for business these days. That's what they tell me."
I don't believe it. She's trading me away for a fucking job? It's so unbelievably stupid. Is she lying? I could give her all the money she could ever want. Why does she have to be so goddamn stubborn? Does she really think so little of me?
I shake my head. "Fine. Enjoy your fucking job."
I slam her door on the way out.
25
Cin
Brady’s car glides over the road without much noise.
His hand moves onto my thigh with a similar silence.
Don’t smack him, I remind myself. You need to convince him that he’s in control. If he thinks you’re under his thumb, he won’t feel compelled to scrutinize everything you do.
I need liquor. To soothe myself and to loosen his lips.
“So, for this to work, I should know what you like,” I say, trying to make my voice sultry. I just sound drunk. “What did Diana do for you? Was she good at it?”
“You don’t need to be like Diana,” he says.
“I know, but she must have done some things right. And some things wrong. It’d be good to know about those, so I can be better at this. I don’t know what I’m doing and—"
“You don’t need to be like Diana,” he repeats. “Stop talking about her.”
I look out the window. The moment I see the house, I know he’s going to pull into the driveway. It’s on the beach like he said. It’s a small, white house.
Brady parks. He turns to me. “Welcome home.”
He gets out. When the car door slams, the whole car seems to shudder. I jump out of the car, darting around a fountain shaped like Lady Justice to catch up to him. He stops at the front door—a thick piece of wood with the design of a lion worked into it. He unlocks it, a twist in the lion’s mane acting as a keyhole.
I linger at the front door, gaping at the foyer. The tiles covering it are iridescent, playing with the sunlight that pours through the large windows. The rest of the house appears to only be wood or glass, but this floor shimmers like the ocean under a tropical sun.
Brady turns, snapping his fingers at me. “Follow.”
It’s demeaning, but I swallow my pride. I expect that he’ll show me the house, but we pass by rooms until we get to a door at the corner of the house. A PIN electronic lock lights up as he taps on five numbers. 1909. He swings the door open.
Not a room. It’s a set of stairs heading downward. He flicks on the light switch, but it doesn’t reveal much more than the dark stairs.
“Walk,” he orders, pointing to the darkness. I take tentative steps but as he follows behind me, I walk faster.
I reach the bottom. Racks of wine cover a large portion of the walls, and it’s cold, but I wouldn’t call it a wine cellar. In the center of the room, a canopy bed conjures thoughts of jail cells. Three metal bars rise up from each of the corners and forming a star-shape above the middle of it. Bondage cuffs slither towards the edges of the bed from the metal bars. On the walls, various sex toys, blindfolds, bondage restraints, and whips are hung up. The leather on the whip closest to me is cracked, well-loved and ruined.
“This one is my favorite,” he says, taking one of the restraints off of the wall. He puts his hand through one of the loops. “This part goes around your neck, and these other two go around your wrists. One pull, and you’re completely at my mercy.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter.
“It took Diana some time to get used to,” he says. “But all of the best parts of life are uncomfortable until you’ve been repeatedly exposed to them.”
“So, you’d eventually enjoy being whipped?” I ask before I can bite my tongue.
The corner of his lips curls up, but his eyes are hard. “The best way to deal with disrespectful words is to give the speaker a hard pill to swallow. I’ll give your mouth something much bigger than that.” His hands cup the sides of my face. His thumb drags down my bottom lip. “In good time.”
He pivots away from me, snatching up a pile of restraints off of the bed.
“This is for you to change into,” he says.
I take it from him. It’s not restraints. It’s two pieces of lingerie. It’s the same lingerie that was mentioned in Damian’s article.
One of the women wore a small lingerie set that appeared to be only formed out of thin straps of leather that barely covered her intimate body parts.
I’m absolutely certain the article wasn’t true. It’s an anchor of lies, keeping all of us moored to the city’s ugly underbelly. But this part is true. Diana must have mentioned it to one of the DDD girls, and one of them offered the detail to Damian. It must have been Demi. She likely thought she was flirting. Dumb bitch.
“Let’s go,” Brady snaps. “Get undressed.”
I fumble, trying to get my clothes off while holding onto the lingerie. I drop the lingerie, tugging my shirt off. I rub my arms, the cold clinging to my skin.
“I could win a legal case faster than you’re changing,” he says. “Which is significant because I prefer to play with my food before I eat it. With criminals and women. Move faster.”
I rush to unbutton my jeans. Self-consciousness starts to hit me, but I know I need to stay on his good side to get information out of him about Diana. I step out of the jeans, kicking them back with my foot. I pull my socks off, stalling for my bra and underwear.
He grabs me, his grip tight enough to hurt my arm. He hurls me down to the floor. Pain ricochets up my knees and my elbow as I fall. I try to scramble back onto my feet, but he’s already on his knees, grabbing onto my jawline. His breath hits me, a mixture of stale coffee and morning breath.
“What did I tell you?” he demands. His teeth are bared, and the intensity in his eyes is inhuman.
All I want to do is fight back. It’s not in my nature to lie down and take someone trying to subjugate me. But I need him to believe I’m weak. I need him to see me as a non-threat.
I barely see his palm before he smacks me across the face. A warm tear breaks from the corner of my eye.
“What did I tell you?” he repeats.
“To get undressed,” I mumble.
“So, why aren’t you doing it?”
I close my eyes. “I’m trying—”
He strikes me again. “No. You’re not. Don’t lie to me.”
I open my eyes. His expression hardens. I try to wipe away the defiance in my face, but it’s too late. He yanks me up by my arm. I’m barely steady, but his fist slams into my abdomen. I stumble back, hitting against the bed. I grab one of the metal bars to hold myself up.
I try to dodge his fist, but his knuckles still collide against my cheek. I crumple to the floor. His foot lurches forward, slamming into my chest. Air expels out of my lungs. I barely breathe in before his foot slams into the same area.
He crouches down beside me. My lungs seem to quiver as I try to breathe.
“You want to know about Diana?” he asks. “I couldn’t hurt Diana too badly without worrying about people seeing the bruises. I don’t have to worry about that with you. But you signed up for this, didn’t you? You wanted this. You’re my masochist, relishing in the pain.
His pants are tented. He follows my gaze. He grabs his crotch.
“Be patient,” he says. “I’ll rip you apart soon. I need a little more fight from you before I turn you into my favorite sex toy. Because when you’re riding my cock, I need you to fuck me until you bleed, and you won’t do that until I’ve taken everything from you. With how much work and money this has cost me, I’m going to make sure that our first time is magical. And magic doesn’t happen without a lot of sweat, blood, and tears.”
He kisses the top of my forehead and pats my head. I look up at him. I give him a pitiful smile.
I’m going to enjoy ruining his life.
26
Grayson
I'm sitting in my car in the school parking lot. I should get out, head to the villa, and move on with school shit. But I can't. It's not the same here without Cin, which doesn't make any fucking sense, since I was doing perfectly fine before she came along.
Fuck.
I bang on the steering wheel, and a loud honk escapes from the front of my car. It's late in the afternoon, so there's only a few people walking around on the path in front of the parking lot. They barely glance in my direction at the noise. Then, I spot a stick-thin figure with messy red hair walking towards my car. At first, I'm not sure if she's just heading this way, but then I see her eyes, and she's definitely looking in my direction.
It looks like Ally McCulloch wants to talk. With all the shit that's been slinging around lately, it's not hard to imagine that the gossip queen would have business of her own. I'm tempted to start the car and pull out right when she gets here. I meet her eyes through the windshield as she gets closer. When she's right in front of my car, she purses her lips and crosses her arms.
I wait for half a minute, but Ally just stays right there waiting. She taps her fingers on her arms as she stares right back at me.
I finally crack my car door open and get out, leaning against the side of my car, with the door still open on my left.
"What do you want, McCulloch?" I ask. "You shoveling for shit? Because Damian seems to be the king of shit these days. I don't have anything left for you."
Ally makes a face. "What? No. I came here to ask about Cinnamon."
It's my turn to blanch. Cin? Despite the hollow pain in my chest that I want to carve out and throw away, I can't help but ask. "What happened to her?"
"Not her. Jay. He's a mess. He's torn up over winning the art competition by..." Ally shrugs.
Jay? That motherfucker. "By cheating? The sorry little shit's feeling guilty that he stole Cin's prize?" I scowl. "Fuck him."
Ally sighs. "Can you just ask Cinnamon to talk to Jay?" She pauses for a second. "Please?"
I can't believe this shit. Poor baby Jay's feeling sorry for himself? What a fucking tool. Cin's the one going through hell. Not him.
Ally sees the expression on my face. "Grayson?" she tries one more time.
I shake my head. "Even if Cin were still here, I'd say fuck you. But Cin's gone. It doesn't matter."
"Wait, what?" Ally forehead crunches in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"She's gone. She's not attending Roman fucking Academy anymore." I look away, annoyed that I had to say it out loud. I hate how things turned out.
"No." Ally slowly shakes her head. "That can't be right. I'd know if Cinnamon dropped out. She couldn't have left. Besides..." Ally hesitates to continue.
Oh, Jesus Christ. She doesn't want to give away information for free, or something. "Don't be such a bitch. Spit it out, McCulloch."
Ally glares at me for a second, then continues. "If Cinnamon left school, she'd have nowhere else to go. Her mother lost their apartment a couple weeks ago."
I stare past Ally, trying to make sense of what she just said. So, what if her mother lost their apartment? What the fuck does that have to do with leaving school?
"Whatever." I shut my car door and walk past Ally, ignoring her.
What if Cin's really in trouble? If she were desperate enough...damn it. The job. Brady's offer. Everything's cast in a different light. I hadn't really thought things through from her perspective. She could have just asked me for help, though.
I continue towards the school campus, in a darker mood than ever.
27
Cin
The screams from the speaker are loud enough to vibrate through the floor. I keep my eyes forward as Brady watches me. On the screen, the young woman is wearing a private school uniform. Her head dangles over the armrest of a couch while an older man rams his dick down her throat. When he pulls out, her spit dragging out between her mouth and his dick, the man on top of her slams his dick inside her. Every couple of minutes, one of the men smacks her across her breasts.
This is the third video like this that Brady has shown me. I feign shy interest, but even if it’s acted, the scenes are unnerving. My hand flings up to my mouth as she gasps while one of the men tries to penetrate her ass. Brady smiles, reaching forward to tug on the collar and leash he’s put on me.
Any semblance of a respectable Assistant DA has been dropped. He still hasn’t tried to fuck me, but I sense that the sand in the hourglass is running out. He’s been rubbing over his crotch throughout the movies as he watches me. He gets off on my fear, so I’ve tried to keep it down, but fear swells inside me. It’s difficult enough, knowing his tendency toward violence. Knowing he likely killed Diana makes it nearly impossible to be calm.
But now, I’m starting to wonder if Lawrence was willing to let me agree to this deal and investigate Brady because he fully expected Brady to kill me. Lawrence had been furious at me for turning his son against me, and this would be an easy way to get rid of me without getting his hands too dirty.
The video ends with the woman face covered in semen. I turn to Brady, putting on the best masochist smile I can.
“What did you think?” he asks, playing with the metal hook on the collar. The name tag jangles against the hook. It still says Diana.
“It was interesting,” I say. “Not as extreme as the last one.”
“Yes, knife play is always enjoyable, though,” he says. He reaches forward. His hand brushes against the bruise on my cheek. His hand falls down to the straps of the lingerie he forced me to wear. “Tell me about you and Grayson. How far did he take you?”
“I went to his house,” I say.
He forces a smile, but his upper lip twitches in annoyance. “I meant sexually. I’ll share first if it puts you at ease. Diana was easy to break. Quite a fragile girl. It was boring in the way I only had to give her some tough love a couple of times before she folded up. I fucked her in the ass and had her clean my cock, and she barely even flinched. It’s a shame. When there’s no challenge, there’s no sense of accomplishment. It’s like winning a case when the defendant has already confessed.”
“Diana and I are the same that way,” I say. “We don’t like to be an inconvenience to anyone.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he says. “I can read people quite well, and you might be acting like you’re accommodating, but I see that fire in you. You think you’re still in control, but you’ll see soon enough that I own all of you. Even your time before me. This reminds me that I have one more video for you to watch. Wait here.”
He lifts himself off the couch and leaves the room. I adjust one of my lingerie straps to cover myself better.
I may, in fact, die here.
The thought drills through my head. I grit my teeth together. I can’t crack like Diana. If he killed her, I need to find out for her. And for Grayson.
The black screen of the TV shows my reflection, sitting there in this nonsensical lingerie.
One day, I’m going to burn these leather straps, this collar, and this leash. I’ll burn Brady, too.
Brady walks back in, carrying a laptop. He pulls it open, setting it on my lap.
“Let’s watch my favorite video.”
He clicks on several folders before reaching the video.
It starts, showing the metal holes on the football field’s bleachers. A girl’s breasts take center stage. My breasts. And my face.
It’s the sex video of Grayson and me.
I watch as Grayson and I fuck on the bleachers. Grayson’s face is never fully visible, but anyone who knows him could deduce it from the glimpses.
It’s not only mortifying to watch now, but it also brings back the memories of the talent show. Humiliation on top of humiliation. And now I’m watching it with a madman, who somehow managed to obtain it.
I know better than to look away. He’s getting off on my embarrassment. If he believes he’s gotten me under his thumb, he might slip up.
Still, my eyes wander. It’s hard
to look at Grayson and know he thinks I’ve betrayed him.
My eyes land on a flash drive sticking out of the laptop. A Venus flytrap engraving glints under his lights. The Trapker logo. The same brand that Damian uses.
How else would Brady have gotten this video?
They recognized each other in the art room. Damian must have brought Brady’s attention back to me after Diana’s death. It must have been after I found out that Damian wanted to hurt me as deeply as possible. He was enraged that I discovered the truth before he got to torture me further. He found another way to do it.
“Damian told you about me,” I say as the video ends.
He raises an eyebrow. “Yes. How did you figure that out?
I shrug. “The flash drive.”
Brady looks down at it. “Yes, habitual behavior is the nail in the coffin for weaker men.”
“He’ll be interested to know you think that.”
He reaches forward, stroking my cheek. His fingers curl under my chin as his thumb presses against it. He applies more and more pressure, his thumbnail cutting into my skin.
“Rule number one,” he says. “You don’t talk unless you’re being addressed, and that’s only to answer the question. Otherwise, you keep your inane thoughts to yourself.”
I should see the smack coming, but it still knocks me to the floor, the laptop falling down beside me. The flash drive is knocked partially out of the USB port. I consider taking it out and hiding it, so that he doesn’t have it anymore.
But he picks the laptop up, walking around me as he heads back down the hallway.
I pull myself back up, massaging myself. The tattoo Grayson gave me is peeling away, the edges curling up and flaking off as I touch it. It’s a small loss, but it cuts deeper than any knife.
If I get out of this situation, I’ll have to repay Damian for his networking.
28
