Chapter 14

" I 'm glad to see you've come to your senses." Suppressed fury, teeth clenched.

The doors slide closed behind me, and as soon I hear the elevator whine and fade, I step forward. "You bastard ."

"Excuse me?" Disbelief, shock.

"Would you like to know where I was just now, Caleb?" I ask this in my sweetest, most innocent voice.

Dark eyes narrow in suspicion. "Where were you, X? Do enlighten me."

I am chest to chest, staring up. I seethe. "I was on the sixth floor."

"I see."

"In room three. I met a very interesting young woman who said her name was, strangely enough, Three. But then, you see, I was privileged to overhear a very... illuminating... assessment and promotion, in which she earned a real name."

"I don't know what you think you heard or saw, X, but it's not what you think."

"It isn't? That's strange, because it seemed very much as if what I heard was Three sucking your cock ." My blood boils at the memory, at the indignity of my own unstoppable arousal. I cannot temper my fury. "I'm pretty sure what I heard was you fucking her. Just like you fuck me . Which I must say, raises some very interesting questions, Caleb."

"You saw this, did you?" This is said calmly, quietly, in far too even a voice.

"Saw it? No. Heard is a more accurate term, I think. I was under the bed, you see. Hiding from you, and your thugs."

Jaw muscles work. "X, there are elements to all this that you don't—that you can't —understand."

"Then enlighten me, Caleb!" I shout. "Because it feels like I'm just another one of the girls on the sixth floor. Except, I don't get the future they have. I'm kept in the dark, alone, day after day, serving client after client. But I'm not allowed to form a friendship with any of them. I'm not allowed relationships of any kind. Except you, when you deign to visit me, in the middle of the night. Are you training me too? Like you're training girls Two through Eight? Teaching me to please a man, before you sell me to the highest bidder? Is that it? Or am I just your dirty little secret on the hidden thirteenth floor? The secret you sneak in to, late at night, to have sex in the dark with, after you've finished training all the other girls. Or am I—"

"You are mine !" comes the venomous hiss, cutting me off. Huge hard hands clutch my face, tilt my head up, brutal fingers holding tight, not allowing me to escape. "You are not like them, X. You're secret because you're special."

"I don't believe you."

"You think I'm selling those girls, X? Is that what you think?" An abrupt change of tactic. "That's not how it is, and if you'd really talked to Rachel, you'd understand that."

"You've got her brainwashed. Like you did me."

"I saved her life, like I did yours! I took her in off the streets and I sat by her as she went through meth withdrawals. I bathed her, and I held her as she shook so hard I thought she'd break a bone, and I fed her with my own hands. That's not something I'd sell like a bag of fucking potatoes! I'm giving her a future, and I'm not going to sit here and defend myself to someone who doesn't have the first fucking clue what I'm about!" I am abruptly released, and long legs begin pacing back and forth, impatient, angry. "You know nothing about me, X. Not the first thing."

"That's the point!" I shout. "What do you think I'm trying to—"

"And have you forgotten what I've done for you ? Who was there for you when you woke up, alone?"

"You were, but—"

"And when you couldn't talk, couldn't walk, who wheeled you around in a wheelchair and carried a notebook everywhere, so we could communicate? Who took you to MOMA? Who showed you the Madame X painting? Who held you when you cried at night, every night, for weeks? You had no name, no past. I couldn't return your past to you, but what did I give you, X?"

"An identity," I whisper.

"And a future! " Male scent, heat, fingers gripping my waist. "I built you a life, X. I gave you the best of everything. The best clothes, the best food. An education. Skills. A job, something to keep you from going crazy with boredom! I'm not keeping you prisoner, I'm keeping you safe! Have you forgotten all that?"

"No, I haven't forgotten."

"I don't often bring these things up. You know that. I focus on the now, on the immediate future. I move forward. I don't dwell on what was, X. I don't expect repayment or even thanks." Finger and thumb, pinching my chin, lifting my face. Wide, deep, dark eyes penetrate mine. I cannot look away. "What I do expect, X, is loyalty ."

"How dare you?" I pull away. "Loyalty? When you've got eight women just sitting around waiting to service you at your every whim? Hoping for a glimpse of you, hoping for the next... assessment ? Yet you expect loyalty from me ?"

"Do not speak of what you do not understand. And that is something you don't understand."

"You show up in my room late at night, and you fuck me. That's all it is. Just like them. All of them. None of it means anything to you, does it? Not me, not them. We're just... receptacles for your... male urges , prettied up with fancy excuses." I fight a sob. "And you always leave and I just... want it to mean something. But you never give me anything of yourself. It feels good, sure, but when that's over, what am I left with? You said it yourself... I don't know the first thing about you. How could I? I don't even know the first thing about myself . But why should that matter, right? I'm just there to satisfy you when you feel like picking me."

There is a silence then, and it is a silence more full of tension and volatility than any I've ever felt.

"How can you not see, X?" This, so quiet I have to strain to hear it.

"See what, Caleb?"

"See that you're special, to me. I keep you apart. I keep you for—for myself. Those girls, Rachel and the others, I've got to give them away. They're all fucking damaged, and I'm trying to make them whole. I know you don't get it, but that's what I'm trying to do. I don't sell them, I match them. All of them, each one, they'll all get matched with someone who will appreciate them, even love them. It works. I've seen it work. But in order for them to go out and be the wives they need to be, they have to feel beautiful. They need to feel their own self-worth. And when they come to me, when they enter the program, they don't."

A few paced steps brings a body I cannot ignore to stand beside me. A long index finger touches my cheekbone, traces its curve. "But you, X. You're special. I always knew you would be. When I first found you, I just knew I had to help you. And yes, I was eventually going to put you in the program. But I couldn't. I can't ."

There is a flaw in this logic, somewhere, but I'm dizzy, lost. Heat overwhelms my senses, the sudden and unexpected rush of truth drowns out my logic. Hands span my waist, gripping with fierce need. Lips touch my earlobe. There is tenderness, here, and it is so alien and so welcome.

"Why?" I whisper it. "Why can't you?"

"I can't give you away to someone else, because you're mine . You belong to me. I can't share you. I won't . You're..." Adam's apple bobs with a hard swallow. "You mean something to me, X." Behind me now.

I've never heard such things from this mouth. Never seen such intensity or openness. I am flooded with doubt.

Lips touch my throat, and sorcery subsumes me, weaves into the dark thrall of its warp and weft.

"Don't you feel it?" Broad, powerful hands on my belly. "Don't you feel... us ?"

Oh, that word. Us. It means belonging. I want it. I want to believe.

"Do you feel it, X?"

"I feel it, Caleb." And I do. I do.

I shouldn't, but I do. I am weak. So weak.

I am falling under the spell.

My thighs tremble, my belly quivers and tightens. Need pulses in me. The hard body behind me is huge and powerful and incites something hungry within me. I cannot help but lean my head back, baring my throat. One huge hand slides up my body, cups my breast, and then curls around my throat, gentle, but insistent. The other skates down my body, over my belly, down between my thighs. Cups me, there. Fingers curl and gather the edge of my dress, lift it. Inch by inch, my thighs are bared. Then my hips. Then the black sheer mesh over my privates, the skinny string around my waist.

One hand at my throat, the other at my core. One cupping, the other clutching. One clamped with enough pressure to render me tremulous with a hint of fear, the other digging under silk to find flesh, stealing my breath.

"You're mine , X."

I can only moan in response. Fingers curl, slip in, find me sensitive and needy, press just so to set me shaking, knees weak.

I come, quickly and hard.

But I'm not done. Oh no. While I gather my strength to stand up on my own, the fingers slip out of me and unzip trousers. My dress is up around my hips, hot breath on my ear, and now my underwear has vanished, leaving me bare from the waist down, the air cool and my damp core hot. I hear shoes kicked off, pants and belt thud on the floor. Feet nudge mine apart, and a hand pushes me forward. My bottom is bared, exposed. I drip with need. I ache. God, I ache.

The hand on my throat has not slackened its grip, and now, bent forward, that grip is all that keeps me from falling over.

A deep-throated groan, and I am filled. Deep, slow, and hard.

"You feel it, X? You feel us?"

I don't know how to fathom this. Words have never entered this equation, have never been a part of this act. "Yes, Caleb."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I feel it."

But it's the same, still. Despite the words, despite the palpable emotion, it's the same. I see only the floor. Feel only what I'm allowed to feel.

But then something changes. A thrust, another. I moan, stumble, shake, only the hand on my throat keeping me upright. I'm dizzy with lack of breath. I'm not being choked, but it is still limiting my oxygen.

Control.

I want more.

"Let me see you, Caleb." I say it, out loud, and I am amazed at my own daring.

The presence within me vanishes, and I am hauled upright by a sharp tug on my hair. Hands turn me. Eyes fiery, blazing, burning, dark and unknowable. "You want to see me?"

God, that body is dizzyingly perfect. All hard angles and huge muscles. Carved, cut, and perfect. I reach, and for a split second I am allowed to touch firm flesh, but only for a moment.

Hands strip the dress off me, make short work of the strapless bra, and then I'm naked.

I am pushed backward, and I trip over something.

So focused on the man in front of me, am I, that I've noticed nothing of the space around me. That does not change now. A couch, I think. I fall backward over the arm of a couch, and male heat and hardness follows me over. On my back, my legs dangle over the edge, hang into space. A broad wedge of male flesh and muscle fills that space, parting my legs. Hands grip my thighs, pull me, and then grip my hips and lift me. I can see the sharp angles and dark stubble, wild, angry eyes, thin slash of a mouth. I have a moment of breath, a moment to look, to see slablike pectorals and grooved abdomen, and then one sharp thrust drives the thick shaft into me.

I let out a gasp of surprise. It scrapes within me, fills me in a strange angle, fullness but different. Hands gripping my hips, I am lifted and pulled backward into the next thrust, which is hard and rough.

"Oh—oh God." It hurts, these hard thrusts, but they feel good as well.

"You're mine , X. You fucking belong to me ."

Hips slam in between my thighs, and I am rocked forward, but strong hands keep me hauled taut for the next powerful drive.

Dark eyes do not leave mine. I cannot look away, not even to close my eyes as orgasmic tremors blow through me. Cannot look away, do not.

"Mine." A rocking thrust, sending me over the edge. "Say it, X. Fucking say it! Say you're mine."

I need the next thrust, need it to stay here on the far side of bliss, where everything is nothing, and nothing matters but the heat and fullness and the slight ache and burn and twinge and the grip of hands on my hips and the slam of body against body. Right now, that's all that matters. I am conditioned to need that, this moment, this now. It's all I am.

"I'm yours, Caleb." I say on a whimper, a sob.

As soon as those three words leave my lips, I feel the hot wet rush of release within me, feel that heavy body collapse forward, and I accept the weight, feel hard muscle under my hands. Stubble on my face, cheek against cheek. A moment of mutual breathing, harsh and ragged.

"X." My name, said thus, with such... not vulnerability, but something like it—I want to believe everything I've heard over the last few minutes.

I should say something, but what?

Abruptly, the weight is gone, and the cold statue-blank expression is in place. "I have to go."

I lie on the couch, naked and sated, confused, emotionally demolished. I watch the naked body as it is covered inch by inch with expensive clothes. Shoes, last, slipped on, tied quickly.

"Stay." I say it, hoping.

A pause. Hesitation. All I can see is a broad back, trim waist, strong legs. I cannot see the expression on that handsome, too-beautiful face. "I can't. I'll be back, though. You stay here. Don't put on clothes." A rumble, deep-chested, of some deep emotion too thick and male and tumultuous to express in mere words. "Just... stay. I'll be back. And X?"

"Yes, Caleb?"

"You are special to me."

I feel something in me twist and expand and bloom with hope.

Silver key, twisted. Elevators doors open, easy strides into the car, turn, and I can see a hint of the storm of emotions. There is much kept hidden, I'm realizing.

Still waters run deep, I believe the saying goes.

The elevator doors close, and I am alone.

Glance away, huge windows letting in the sunlight. Perhaps thirty minutes have passed since I entered this penthouse.

The space is mammoth. Exploring, I realize the entire uppermost floor of the building comprises this penthouse, more square feet than I can count. Most of it is open space, divided here and there with half walls and paper panels, or sectioned off with long couches to create informal nooks of space. A kitchen, way off in the distance, all gleaming marble and stainless steel. A balcony, the walls themselves sliding apart and the ceiling sloping back and away out of sight to bare an outdoor area cut out of the structure of the building itself.

There, a set of elaborately painted paper panels inspired by Japanese culture, sectioning off the bedroom. Cleverly layered, three sets form a barrier so that the bedroom cannot be seen from without. A wide, low bed with a white comforter, neatly made. A nightstand on either side, empty of any effects. An actual wall forms the left side of the bedroom, and in it a doorway, leading to the bathroom.

I need a shower, I suddenly realize. I've not had one in a long time.

But when I get into the interior of the bathroom, there is a deep claw-foot tub, and I smile to myself.

I run the water hot, fill the tub. Climb in, skin scorched by the delicious heat, splashing water onto the floor. Sink down, submerged gradually until I'm immersed to my nose.

Immediately, I am assaulted by the chaos in my mind, the furious onslaught of everything I've refused to think about.

I ache between my thighs, and now that the source of that ache is gone, I feel shame, embarrassment, revulsion. Hatred. I fell for the sorcery yet again. Caleb has some way of weaving a spell over me, of making me forget all my objections and all my thoughts and everything that is logical or rational.

Caleb is a god, and gods are meddlesome... or so read the ancient myths. As a god, Caleb meddles with my rationality. Manipulates my body and my mind. Drowns my senses with masculine perfection, blinds me with beauty. Now, alone, I can only see the distinct parts that compose the whole, and the effect is not the same. The eyes, the mouth, the jawline; the arms, the hands, the massive musculature... these are Caleb. The anger, the coldness, the body heat and skillful touch, the way I can be melted down to nothing. These too. But all together, it is more.

And I fall for it every time.

I let Caleb spin a web of words and touch, and I let—I allowed myself to be fucked , only a few short minutes after Rachel.

I am repulsed . . .

Yet also turned on.

The hatred is for myself.

And for Caleb. For twisting me around, for making me feel like I meant something. How can all my thoughts and protestations and objections be swept away so easily?

Did Caleb even shower after Rachel and before me? I doubt it. I didn't smell evidence of a shower. I lift up and twist, look behind me at the shower stall; it is dry, unused.

Do I have the mixed essences of Rachel and Caleb and me, all smeared together?

Disgust, and deeper than that, shame.

I fell for lies. Believed neat explanations and trite claims that I am special.

And yet, here I am, in this penthouse, in Caleb's tub, bathing, waiting.

The hot water pulls me under, makes me sweat, makes my eyes heavy;

Self-hatred is exhausting.

A noise jerks me awake, upright. I sit, splashing cool water everywhere, the ends of my hair sticking to my back. I wait, tensed, sure I heard something.

Footsteps.

"Caleb?" I sound fearful. Naked, vulnerable, disoriented from accidentally falling asleep in hot water, dizzy from overheating, I am in no shape to fend off Caleb's sorcery.

The footsteps are not Caleb's, however. Shuffled, strange. I look around for a towel, see nothing. Crossing my arms over my breasts, I crouch in the now-cool water, waiting for whoever it is to show themselves.

Shiny black shoes, first. Pants leg, waist, suit coat. It is Len, edging forward while leaning backward, walking strangely.

Ah. An arm around his throat, shiny barrel of a handgun to a temple. I recognize the hand clutching the gun, and the golden forearm wedged under Len's throat.

"X?" I hear his smooth familiar voice, first, and then he and Len are in the bathroom, Logan not quite visible behind Len.

"Logan? What—what are you doing?"

"I came to get you." The gun nudges Len's temple. "He didn't want to let me, and he lost."

I am absolutely speechless, hunched over in the tub, cowering, dripping wet, cold, shivering.

"On your knees, fucker." Logan taps Len on the back of the head with the gun barrel.

Len hesitates.

Logan presses harder, draws back the hammer. "Don't make this messy, man."

My heart stops. Len blinks, squeezes eyes shut, shoulders lift... and then Len slowly kneels, a heavy, lumbering motion. Logan is visible now: distressed blue jeans, scuffed black combat boots, a gray V-neck T-shirt tucked behind the buckle of his belt with the rest left untucked, sleeves stretched taut around his arms. Black hat, brim tugged low to hide his face.

"Take off your belt, shoes, and socks," Logan instructs.

Len complies, unbuckling a thin, shiny leather black dress belt, sweeping it off, then sensible black dress shoes and argyle socks.

"Lie down on your side and put your hands by your ankles."

Once again, Len complies, slowly rolling and extending wrists together. Logan, the gun still in one hand pointed at Len, shoves the end of the belt between Len's ankles and the floor, draws the tip of it over Len's ankles and wrists, feeds it deftly through the buckle, all one-handed. Tugs it taut, and then harder, until Len grunts in pain. Only then does Logan stuff the pistol in the back of his jeans. A few quick motions, and the belt is tied in a knot. One sock gets balled up and shoved in Len's mouth, the other stretched around to form what looks to be a painfully tight gag.

The whole process of tying up and gagging Len takes Logan less than thirty seconds.

"You okay?" Logan takes two quick steps to me, kneels in front of me.

His eyes are on mine, and they are the indigo of the deepest ocean blue, calm, concerned.

I nod. "Yes." But then I glance at Len, and I start shaking. "No."

"You hurt?"

"No, I'm not hurt."

He glances around, as I did, looking for a towel. He sees what I didn't, however: a cabinet hidden in the wall. He moves like liquid, retrieves a thick white towel, holds it up for me. "Come on. Easy now."

I stand up, step out. Logan's eyes remain on mine, and though I am naked in front of him, I don't feel as vulnerable as I should. He wraps the towel around my shoulders, cocooning me in it.

"Can you walk?" he asks, his voice soothing and warm in my ear.

"Yes." I take two steps, but then my knees make me a liar. I am still dizzy, disoriented. I feel sapped of strength, and thirsty. Logan's arms are around me, catching me easily. "I'm sorry. I fell asleep in the tub."

"That'll do it. You're overheated." He moves with me, twists sideways out of the door, carries me across the room in easy strides. "I need to set you down. I won't let you fall, though."

I find my feet, lean against him. I feel stronger now, but his proximity is calming, and I'm confused, tired. I never take naps, and I feel as if I've fallen through a hole in the ground into some other place. Like Alice down the rabbit hole. Nothing is right. I shouldn't be in Caleb's penthouse, and Logan shouldn't be here either.

And I certainly shouldn't feel safe in the arms of a man who just bound and gagged someone at gunpoint, using his captive's own belt and socks.

But I do.

Logan produces a key—Len's, I assume—from his pocket. Inserts and twists it to activate the elevator, which takes a moment to arrive, and then the doors open.

Logan nudges me on. "That won't hold him for long. We gotta move, if we want to pull this off."

He brings us to my floor, his arm around my waist, holding me up, helping me walk, swiftly, but carefully.

At my door, he reaches behind himself, withdraws the gun, a black piece of metal that looks small in his hand, held naturally, as if an extension of his arm. He throws my door open, an arm around me, his body in front of mine. The barrel sweeps the opening, quickly and professionally. He sits me on the couch, waves at me in a gesture to stay, and then disappears into my bedroom.

Moments later he's back, a stack of clothing in his hands, shoved at me. "You have literally no practical clothes, X. You don't even have practical underwear."

He's chosen a set of black Agent Provocateur lingerie, shelf bra, boy short panties. A pale blue sundress, sleeveless knee-length, red flowers printed around the hem. Strappy silver sandals, the smallest heel in my closet.

I shrug, take the clothes. "I don't purchase my clothing."

Logan's eyes narrow, but he doesn't remark on that comment. "Get dressed," he says, brusque but with a note of kindness. "We don't have a lot of time." He turns away, shoves his hands in his back pockets, the gun barrel stuffed diagonally in his waistband at his back.

I dress quickly. It's strange how having clothes on can change one's mind-set.

Logan turns, peeks at me to make sure I'm decent, and then turns around completely. He takes my arms in his hands, eyes sincere, warm. "All right, X. I'm only going ask you this one time, and you need to think hard about your answer." His hand goes to my cheek, brushes a lock of damp hair off my cheekbone. "I can take you away from here, if that's what you want. But I'm not going to carry you out of here over my shoulder like some barbarian. You can come with me, or not. It's your choice."

I swallow hard.

This is all I know. Caleb, Len, this condo. I glance to the left: my library, the door open, all my books waiting. My window, my view.

But upstairs, that scene. Bent over, a hard hand on my throat. The sorcery of Caleb's touch, as if my will is somehow subject to such easy manipulation. So easily left alone, no explanation, just an expectation that I'd be there, waiting, ready to do as Caleb instructs.

I don't know what I want.

I don't know Logan. The unknown is scary, and when you have no past, no identity, when you've but rarely ventured out of the small realm of the familiar, everything is unknown and scary.

But Logan is giving me a choice .

That, in itself, is enough to sway me.

The unknown is terrifying.

An eternity of the same few things I do know... that's scarier yet.

"Take me with you, Logan." I strive to sound confident, when I am anything but.

A very small smile cross his lips. "I hoped you'd say that." His palm lifts, cups my cheek.

That touch, so gentle, so kind, hinting at strength held at bay; I nuzzle my cheek into his palm, and my eyes flutter, close. A moment, only, but it quiets the turmoil in my soul, if only for one fleeting moment.

As my eyes are closed, I feel his breath, his lips touching mine. Sweetly, softly,

He kisses me,

and kisses me,

and kisses me.

All in a moment.

I gasp as his lips leave mine, and then his hand tangles in mine, fingers twined, and he tugs me into motion. "Come on, honey. Time to go."

And he takes me away from everything I know.