13. Yes, Sir

13

Yes, Sir

“More presents?” Isobel asked dryly as her father sauntered into the Icon Cafe—this time with three assistants, all of them weighed down by heavy shopping bags. Isobel glanced at some of the labels with a frown. Gucci, Saint Laurent, Hermes, Armani.

“This is getting out of hand,” she said.

Braun ignored her, dismissing his assistants. He sat down with a heavy sigh, like he had carried all the bags himself.

“How are my boys doing?” he asked, resting for only a moment before he tipped forward and began to pour them coffee.

He meant the Alphas.

He kept referring to them as his boys .

Isobel barely managed to contain an eyeroll.

It all started with the suits, but then her father began to book in time with her at the Icon Cafe once a month. He tested her boundaries with small presents at first. A bracelet, a pair of earrings, a Birkin bag, another bracelet. She refused all of them. Four months later, he turned up the weekend after her birthday with nine designer scarves, one for each of the Alphas, minus Mikel, who he was pretending wasn’t part of the group. Their closets were abysmally empty, so this time, she accepted. Besides, she had been spoiled enough for her birthday and she really didn’t need anything else, especially not from Braun. The Alphas had all piled into her room for a movie night earlier in the week, and each of them had brought her an actual bouquet of flowers—not a drawing of one. She had kept up the tradition of drawing flowers with Oscar and Mikel’s birthdays. They had all been too busy to celebrate Oscar’s birthday—not that he was interested in any sort of event—but since her birthday was shared with Mikel, they all decided that it was as good a time as any to force the whole group to take a break.

It had been one of those rare nights she treasured, where everyone was relaxed and close, casually leaning on each other and touching each other for comfort while she soaked up their combined scents. They had gorged on snacks, laughed at the movies she wanted to watch the most, and eventually fell asleep splayed out in her bedroom. Even Mikel and Kalen stayed—the first time they had slept in her room since their voyeuristic night after Thanksgiving break.

Still, it annoyed her that her father was so busy trying to win her affection with gifts that he forgot her actual birthday, which was the one day she might have allowed him to give her one.

After accepting the scarves on behalf of the Alphas, Braun tried pushing his luck even more. In the three months after that, he came back with more and more presents, all of them for her mates, working his way up to his current display of excess.

She frowned over at him—he was currently leaning toward the curtain, trying to see what the Alphas were doing in their private rooms.

“Why don’t you just book time with them instead of me?” she asked cooly.

Braun Carter knew his daughter was exasperated with him. He also knew he wasn’t being subtle with his interest in her mates, but that was exactly his intention. His psychiatrist had told him to show interest in the things Isobel was interested in. The doctor had promised that this was his route to reconnecting with his daughter. He could have chosen dance, admittedly. But he didn’t care about dance. He could have chosen singing, but he himself had declared she had no talent in that particular department, and he really didn’t like being wrong.

What he did like was the fact that his daughter—his small, weak Sigma daughter—was bonded to ten Alphas.

Ten of them.

Alphas .

Tall, powerful, popular, charming, skilled, hardworking—and Mikel.

They were as good as his sons.

The eleven of them would win this game, and then they could be a family.

An entire family of Alphas .

But no … he wasn’t allowed to say that she was weak.

Sigmas were strong.

Caran Carter had been strong—the strongest person he had ever known. It always confused him, the concept of a strong Sigma. It was hard to admit it, but once he finished reading her journals, he finally realised it.

Caran Carter was a fucking fighter .

And now there was Isobel, and she … she was even stronger.

He wished Caran was still alive, still writing in those damn journals so that he could read her perspective on how Isobel had turned out. She always phrased things in ways Braun never would. Always saw things from a completely different perspective. It was like opening a whole other side of his brain that he couldn’t seem to reach on his own. And still couldn’t.

Braun had always believed they were hurting each other … but according to Caran, he was the only one causing pain.

His psychiatrist had said that just because he was feeling hurt didn’t necessarily mean that anyone was causing him pain. There was a distinction to be made. Frustratingly, without Caran’s journal spelling that distinction out for him, he couldn’t seem to see it on his own. He wanted to promise Isobel that he would be different, but the truth was, without that perspective, his brain closed back up again.

He was trying. He often wondered if he was doomed to fail, but he was trying.

“Father?” Isobel prompted, arching a brow at him.

“I’d rather see you,” he said honestly, waving off her question.

She was finally starting to articulate the word “father” without spitting it out like it was something filthy.

“But how are they?” he prompted, because even though annoyance raced across her expression, within five minutes, she was smiling.

She loved talking about the Alphas, even though after seven months and seven visits, she still didn’t trust him enough to say anything personal. She only talked about their work and training.

“So the album is pretty much finished,” she surmised, after babbling on about Theodore Kane’s singing and Niko Hart’s dancing and Elijah Reed’s rapping and blah blah blah . It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested; it was just that he already knew.

While his daughter and sons-to-be were preparing their album, he was making moves of his own. He had wormed his way onto the board of directors for Orion Entertainment.

He couldn’t make any policy changes, but he knew everything. He knew that Kalen West and Mikel Easton—who he was a little less enthused about, as far as sons-in-law were concerned—had created magic with the human group. Hero’s album was going to be a success, but so was Eleven’s.

They were neck and neck.

Hero stole the show at Ironside Row every Friday night, but Eleven created their own content in their private training room and had a fiercely loyal following.

“So, there’s something we need to discuss.” Isobel suddenly switched topics, her hands folded nervously in her lap. “It’s about the album tour Hero is planning over summer break.”

He sat back, waiting for her to elaborate. He had informed her last month about the planned tour, which would be devastating for Eleven’s race to the finish line. A summer album tour out in the real world while the Alphas were stuck at home in the settlements? It would ruin them.

She cringed, wringing her fingers—an old habit he thought she had broken out of. “We can’t compete with that. You know we can’t.” Her eyes were strained, stress tightening her shoulders. “Kalen has been exploring our options—there’s absolutely no way the officials will let them leave the settlements, but a settlement tour may be an option.”

“They’re going to fund that?” Braun asked, faking the doubt in his tone.

He already knew about their little plan, of course. And he had a feeling he knew what she was about to ask him.

He tried not to preen, deepening the politely confused frown on his face.

This felt good.

He liked this—her needing his help.

“They’ll allow us to organise a settlement tour. They said we can organise fan meets and visit each of the Alpha’s settlements only. No concerts. And if we want Kalen and Mikel to join us, we have to agree to also take Cooper and Teak. But they won’t fund it,” she spat out. “And they won’t let us take commercial flights.”

Braun let out a low whistle. “You didn’t want the bracelet, but you want the private plane?”

Her expression flattened.

He whistled again, shaking his head in fake shock, trying to draw it out for as long as he could. “This is no small favour.”

“It won’t be a favour,” she said tightly. “I’m offering to make another deal with you. What do you want in return?”

He rubbed his fingers back and forth over his chin. “All right, I’ll fund the tour, but in exchange, I want full control. I’ll organise it myself.”

“You mean your team?” she quickly countered, her tone challenging.

She was becoming more like him every day. He used to despise it when she challenged him, because she only ever did it with her eyes.

Like a fucking Sigma coward.

No, he wasn’t allowed to say that.

Like a … pussy? No, that was sexist.

Like a … weak little gir?—

No, that was worse.

Sometimes, it felt like the list of things he needed to fix was endless. But he wasn’t a fucking quitter.

He wasn’t whatever Isobel used to be.

She used to cower in the face of a challenge. Now, she squared her shoulders and dared him to disagree with her, doing it with all the confidence in the world.

“Yes, my team—under my direction—will organise everything,” he said. “And I’ll accompany you. And Mikel Easton will behave himself,” he tacked on, unable to help himself. “None of those presents are for him, by the way.”

He was proud of his other sons-to-be, but Easton still got under his skin.

“They never are.” Isobel sipped her coffee, considering his offer. She was taking too long, and he dared a glance past the curtains, seeing several of the Alphas glance her way. She did this sometimes. Using their bond to communicate across the room, he assumed. The officials were under the impression that they didn’t have that particular ability, but the officials didn’t understand bonds the way the Gifted did. The darkness inside him swelled up, madness threatening to pull him under at the thought that he could have had this , but he laboured to push it down.

Sometimes, he had to drink himself into a stupor to push it down.

Sometimes, he found himself out on that balcony, contemplating the fall, just like his wife used to do because it was so hard to push down, to swallow, to choke on.

“I’ll make no promises for Mikel,” Isobel finally said, her attention sharpening on him again. “But I’ll agree to everything else.”

He glanced to the curtain again. Easton was standing at the bar, as usual. Nobody ever requested the ugly fucker, other than his ex-girlfriend, and that was only because Tilda was batshit crazy. Mikel was staring at Braun now, brows narrowed.

Braun felt a little spark of pleasure as he surveyed the younger man. If he were to raise his own Alpha, the boy would turn out just like Easton, he knew it. Hard and angry and ready to throw fists at the slightest disrespect.

He was still annoying, and Braun itched to wipe the arrogance from his face, but there was no denying that he was an admirable example of an Alpha. Braun could practically feel his dominance from across the room.

Yes, he was annoying, but he would do.

And besides, Braun didn’t need him to be perfect.

Not when he had Theodore Kane. The others could be whatever they wanted, just as long as Kane stayed as brilliantly sparkling and talented as he was. Still, it was nice to have spares.

“Fine,” he agreed, looking back to Isobel. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Isobel quickly downed another coffee at the table after her father left. She still had her second booking for the day to get through, but they didn’t always allow her to order, and she was going to need the extra kick after seeing Braun.

Mikel came to clear her table, and she stood up to help him.

“He looks at you guys like the sons he never had,” she breathed, annoyed.

“Not me,” Mikel returned, looking amused. “He looks at me like he has nightmares about the time he asked if I was trying to be your new daddy.”

Isobel winced, straightening away from the table to regather the high ponytail she had slung her hair into. It had grown longer, the heavy mass of waves always weighing down whatever style she tried to pull it into.

“You know,” she ventured, dropping her arms, her eyes on his broad back as he bent over the table, “if I was a customer, I would request you.” She had said the words without thinking, but now she was cursing herself internally.

The last thing he probably wanted was for her to point out that he was the least popular of the Alphas—even less popular than Oscar, who had made more girls cry at this point than she could even count. Tilda Anderson—the creative director—had booked Mikel a handful of times, but nobody else.

His lips twitched, pulling at his scarred skin. “Really.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I have a booking in a few minutes,” he added, stacking the plates.

Isobel’s stomach sank. The Alphas—just like every other Icon-in-training in the cafe—had cultivated a few regulars. She hated the ones who came back. It wasn’t that she couldn’t stand to see them forming friendships, whether they were real or not—it was that she knew some of their regulars fantasised about more.

The shy girl who had sat with Elijah on their first day came back once a month, just like he said she would, and she didn’t even live in Paris. She begged her father to fly her down with her friends every month, spending five hundred euros just for Elijah to ignore her.

“Tilda again?” Isobel guessed, watching as Mikel straightened, stretching his arms behind his back and cracking his neck to the side. His splotchy eyes settled on her, drifting briefly down her dress. Seven months of wearing it and they still couldn’t stop trailing their eyes over her body whenever she pulled it on.

“Tilda,” he confirmed, a sigh slipping out.

Usually, they didn’t talk about it. Their regulars. The Alphas weren’t affectionate with their guests, and they didn’t flirt—not in the way she knew they did in private with her. Some of them weren’t even polite, and some—like Oscar, Moses, and Niko—were downright nasty.

It was an awkward dance, especially since her relationships with some of them were undefined. Technically, her relationships with all of them were undefined, but she had sex with Theodore, Kilian, Cian, and Oscar regularly. She felt justified in claiming them as her own and would completely freak out if they ever stepped over a line with their guests.

The others were more of a grey area. She hated seeing Kalen requested. She hated when Tilda returned for Mikel. She hated the dark-haired woman with the pretty green eyes who kept returning for Moses. She hated the constant, revolving door of girls who swarmed inside for Niko and the petite, married woman who returned for Gabriel often enough to make Isobel’s stomach turn.

She hated it.

And yet …

Every Saturday night, after enduring hours of anxiety, she always had the best sex of her life with the four Alphas she was involved with, and it almost made the pain worth it.

She had begun to look forward to that awful, skin-crawling sensation of having to watch her mates entertain other men and women because she knew that as soon as they stumbled back to the dorm, she would be tossed to her bed, her clothes ripped away, her body marked and filled until the itching in her skin eased and her ragged soul was appeased.

Mikel flicked the curtains closed without warning, catching her chin and lifting her eyes to his. “Everything okay?” His voice was too stern to be soft, but his eyes were concerned as they dipped over her features.

He was so handsome with his dark hair, the barest wave sweeping his forehead, the strands shot through with a blend of blackened rust. He had sharp features, a strong nose, thin lips, and angular brows. His appearance had definitely frightened her in her first year, but now all of those scars were basically invisible to her, and the severity of his expression always eased when he looked at her.

“I’m just annoyed at myself,” she said when he pinched her chin a little tighter, silently demanding an answer. “I wish people would show you more appreciation, but if they did, I would hate them.”

His thumb stroked along the line of her chin softly, his head tilting to the side. “This is about Tilda.”

“No,” she lied. “Tilda who?”

“Are you not being claimed enough, Sigma?” was whispered tightly against her lips, though he didn’t kiss her. He just held her chin, tilting her face up to his, his eyes staring all the way through her. “I’ve been checking on the stone—it hasn’t changed colour. The bond is still as happy as we can make it.”

“This isn’t about the bond.” She was turning red. Mikel didn’t automatically become hers just because they had formed the bond. They did it to save her life, not because they loved her.

He wasn’t hers unless he decided he was, just like she wasn’t his unless she decided she was.

“Then what is it about?” he asked, taking a step back, his hand dropping from her face. “You’re still worried about what your father said?”

“I’m never not worried about it. I don’t know what happened to him, but what if people—what if Tilda starts asking to meet you alone? What if Yulia asks to meet Kalen alone? What if one of those girls out there spending their daddy’s money tries to arrange something with Theo, or Cian, or Kilian, Niko, or Moses? And that quiet girl who never talks to Elijah? She freaks me out. And that woman who is always coming back for Gabe? She already got him alone. And got his clothes off.”

Mikel shook his head, expression flattening in fury. “That’s never happening again.”

“I think it happened with my father. I think something worse happened with my father. If it can happen to Braun Carter, it can happen to you guys.”

“Braun didn’t have me and Kalen. Our boys have us. We won’t let anything happen.”

Again . The unspoken passed between them. Because, of course, it had already happened to Gabriel and Elijah.

“What if it happens to you ,” she spat, working to keep her tone low.

“Carter?” Ethan popped his head through the curtain. “Oh, good. Thought I heard you in there. Your next guest is waiting. Table number seven.”

Isobel gave him a stiff nod and he disappeared. She began to move past Mikel, but he caught her wrist when she reached for the curtain. He pulled her back around to face him, his grip light.

“I wish we could change the world,” he spoke lowly, “but the world doesn’t listen just because you want them to. You think a human woman can just decide one day that all violences against her will stop? You think she can just say so? That it’s over now, because she said so? No. She has to play the game. She has to wait for her moment and choose her words, or she will be laughed at, disregarded, or attacked. That’s our world.” He gently squeezed her wrist. “If they won’t even afford half of their own population the courtesy of demanding that acts of violence against them should stop, then you know we have no chance.”

“So if it happens, you’re just going to take it?” she asked, her heart falling into her stomach.

His hand drifted up her arm, fingers suddenly circling her neck. It wasn’t a tight hold, but it halted her breath all the same. He stood slightly back from her, bearing witness to the sudden hitch of her chest, the colour in her cheeks, the way her fingers twitched like she might suddenly try to grab his wrist. He carefully evaluated every single aspect of her response before speaking again.

“I never said we should just take it. I said we can’t control them . But if someone comes for my body, my Sigma, or my Alphas, they will regret it.”

He squeezed her neck lightly before releasing her and stepping through the curtain. She pulled in a deep breath and followed him out, her fingers playing across her neckline as she grabbed a menu and walked to her next table. Niko was stepping out of one of the rooms when she passed. He smelled like somebody else’s perfume.

She frowned, almost tripping over her own feet.

“Movie night?” he asked, eyes tracing her downturned lips.

It was something they did, occasionally. After their particularly difficult weekends. They all gathered in Isobel’s room, dragging in the cushions from all their chaise lounges and spreading them across her floor.

“Sounds good,” she said, some of the tension easing from her shoulders as she stepped into her next room.

“Carter,” a man greeted, his Swedish accent subtle. “It’s nice to put a face to the name.”

What? She smiled at him politely, holding out the menu to him with both hands, bowing slightly. Yulia had stopped by a few times to lecture them on proper cafe etiquette, and that included how to hand over a menu.

“Lovely to meet you, sir.”

He took the menu from her. “Sit.”

She perched on the edge of one of the armchairs as he also reseated himself, flicking out his jacket. He was a large man with light hair, the strands peppered with silver streaks.

“Do you not watch the show, sir?” she ventured, a little confused at his “putting a face to the name” comment.

He snorted, his accent thickening. “Reality television isn’t within my umbrella of interests, pet.”

Pet . Only Mikel called her that, and only on special occasions. She didn’t like it out of this man’s mouth. Oddly, he seemed to notice, his dark blue eyes sharpening, his moustache twitching in amusement.

“What brings you here today, then?” she asked, trying to wrestle her expression back into polite interest.

He tossed the menu to the table. “I’ll have an Americano. What do you drink, lovely girl?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said with forced sweetness, snatching up the menu and standing.

His moustache twitched again, like he knew it was all for show.

“And something sweet,” he said. “I’m in the mood for it.”

“As you wish, sir.”

She stalked out of the room and could have sworn she heard him utter something like brat beneath his breath, his low chuckle following her all the way to the bar.

She placed his order and returned, perching on her chair again.

“I came because I was interested,” he said, answering her earlier question. “It is rare for Kalen and Mikki to show an extended interest in anyone, let alone the same someone.”

She blinked at him, forgetting her politeness. “Who are you?”

“A friend.” He smiled, and there was something sharp in the edges of it. “I’ve known the boys a long time.”

“How?” she pressed, all pretences dropped.

He chuckled, delighted. “They always did like the rebellious ones. I organised a … club … of sorts in the Mojave Settlement. It was the first of its kind in a Gifted space, bringing a little spice to an otherwise bleak and oppressive nightlife.”

Her mind raced, trying to put all the pieces together. “You mean you taught them the … like the … s-shibari and stuff?” She almost choked over the words.

What was happening?

“Yes.” He smirked. “Shibari and stuff. I have a private club in Los Angeles. The settlement club was actually Kalen’s idea—he somehow found my contact details and reached out to me by email, saying he had a business proposition. He wanted a safe place to practise kink but was worried about it being used for trafficking if it were to be managed by the settlement officials. That’s where I came in.”

“So you … own it?” she asked, her forehead creasing. “A privately owned business? Inside a Gifted settlement?”

“Money talks, my dear.” He paused as Kalen flicked open the curtain, standing aside for one of the servers to place a tray on the table.

Everyone was silent until the server left, and then Kalen let the curtain fall again.

“Ivan,” he greeted, his lips twitching slightly. “I thought I heard your voice. What the fuck are you doing?”

Ivan stood, and they shook hands. Isobel watched them with her brows inching up. They had been strictly instructed not to interrupt each other’s bookings after Niko stormed into a room and threatened a girl for touching Gabriel.

Kalen moved to stand by Isobel’s chair, a possessive hand falling onto her shoulder.

“Just satisfying my curiosity.” Ivan watched him with a glitter of amusement. “I was telling Miss Carter about our shared business venture.”

“It’s not shared anymore,” Kalen responded tightly.

“Yes, yes.” Ivan waved him off, uncaring. “Nasty business, losing that delectable girlfriend of yours. She was the only thing keeping your name clean back in Mojave. Of course, I understand you can’t be mixed up with me now. She misses you, by the way. I’ve seen her in the club both of the times I visited. The last time, she begged me to use her.”

“And did you?” Kalen asked blandly.

“What do you think?” He sighed, shaking his head. “She’s far too meek for me, but I put her in contact with an associate of mine. He promised to visit.”

“Good for her.” Kalen was like a stone wall, his hand heavy on her shoulder. He wasn’t moving.

“Well.” Ivan chuckled, eyeing them. “So, she’s yours, then?”

“Yes,” Kalen snipped tightly. “Is your curiosity satisfied?”

Ivan held up both hands. “You can’t blame me. I saw one of your shows.” He switched his attention to Isobel. “You did beautifully.”

“Don’t thank him,” Kalen growled. “Just look at your lap.”

Isobel blinked down at her thighs in shock.

Ivan laughed even harder. “I’ve been nothing but polite, Kalen.”

The big fingers gripping her shoulder loosened slightly. “Of course,” Kalen said, deliberately casual. “I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Isobel is owned. Privately. She is not to be shared.”

“But she is being shared,” Ivan shot back. “I watched her dance last night. Mikel also watched her. He looked at her like she was his.”

Kalen made a rough noise in the back of his throat. “She’s off limits.”

“For the right price, nothing is off limits.” Ivan smiled at them both. “Of course, consent comes first, and I can see that she is happy with her arrangement.” He lifted his hips, digging out his wallet. After extracting a business card, he dropped it onto the table. “Give me a call if your situation changes, hm?” He stood. “A pleasure, as always, Kalen.”

Kalen didn’t respond. He snatched up the other man’s card as soon as Ivan left, shoving the piece of cardboard into his pocket.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“He watched you perform and thought we would let you fuck him.” Kalen fell into the seat opposite her, taking Ivan’s spot … and then stealing his coffee.

“ Let me?” she asked, because he looked comfortable and not at all like he was about to get up and punish her for challenging him.

He smiled behind the rim of the coffee cup, a sharp, cutting sort of smile. He seemed more relaxed now that Ivan was gone, but Isobel could feel the shiver of his influence in the air. He wasn’t relaxed at all. He was just hiding it … and he hadn’t left the room yet because he was trying to get control of himself.

“I seem to remember forcing you to take my cock, Isobel,” he rumbled so low, she almost didn’t catch the words. “From that moment, you were mine.”

“I don’t remember that.” She wiped all the emotion from her face and tucked her hands beneath her thighs. “Do you have any proof?”

His golden-brown eyes dipped to her thighs, his tongue running across his lower lip as he digested her reaction. It was like he was tasting her nervousness, and maybe he was. She could only scent herself when she was really close to one of them, and their scents were tangled together.

“Do you need proof?” Kalen asked, almost a whisper.

She wished she was brave enough to tilt up her chin and dare him to claim her, to do whatever he wanted with her. She wished she was brave enough to push the others, too, because she knew that was what they were waiting for—except Gabriel. They were waiting for her to push, because they didn’t think she could handle them.

But she couldn’t push, because sometimes, she wondered if they were right.

She had major trust issues, and even if she didn’t, trying to manage sleeping with more than four people at once just didn’t seem like something she could pull off without one of those people ending up in the medical centre and the other one in serious trouble for trying to kill one of their best friends.

She had no idea how she was currently pulling off the four of them with no violence.

Well, minimal violence.

Oscar had punched Theodore the other week when they both came to her door at the same time.

“It’s not your problem.” Kalen set down his coffee, responding to something in her expression or something he was feeling through the bond. “We made an agreement, didn’t we? Your body, your choice.”

“What if I choose Ivan?” She bit down on her lip, pulling her hands free from where they were trapped beneath her thighs. She crossed her legs, and Kalen’s eyes immediately dipped to the short hem of her dress, a grunt releasing from his throat.

This was their game.

It had been since he took those pictures of her.

He pressed forward, and she quickly danced away. Out of respect for her, he backed off. And she teased him. Pushed him. Wondered if she could break him.

It was fucked up.

She couldn’t help it.

“I can see your panties, princess.”

Her body tingled. She kicked her leg in the air lightly, carelessly. “Can you?”

His breathing turned rough, and he opened his mouth to speak, before seeming to change his mind. He cast a quick look at the curtains and then returned his stare to her, heavy with command.

Take them off, he snapped through the bond. Now . Then walk over to me and stand between my legs like a good girl.

She uncrossed her legs, unable to hide the tremble in them as she, too, glanced at the curtain. She slipped her hands beneath the hem of her dress, her thumbs hooking into the waistband of her panties. She slid them down her legs and quickly bunched them into her fist, moving to stand between his strong thighs.

He held out his palm and she dropped them into his hand.

He stood, his body brushing along her front, and then he bent, putting his lips by her ear.

“Next time you tease me, I’ll make you turn around and bend over while you’re taking them off, and then … if they’re as soaked as they are right now, I’ll make you jack me off with them until they’re fucking ruined. Understood?”

“Y-yes,” she squeaked out.

“Sir,” he corrected.

“Yes, Sir.”