Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

C harlie

"We are going to another evening at the Embassy," Marcus tells me the next morning as we have breakfast together.

I stayed the night, sleeping in the pet bed in his office. He worked very late, and by the time I woke up, it was daylight again. I overheard a lot of things in his calls. Some of them were quite interesting. Some of them made me want to investigate more, but I was a very sleepy little pet.

"I want you to be on your best behavior."

"Are you going to tell me what happened there that was so bad? People kept referencing it, and I felt stupid not knowing what had happened."

He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing whether or not this is something I need to know.

"Relationships with a submissive can be complicated," he says. "Even more so when politics come into it."

"What kind of politics?"

"I played with a girl. I made her mine. I later found out she was a plant put in my path by one of my business rivals. She used her position with me to manipulate her way into some sensitive information. She cost me millions."

"Ouch."

"It wasn't the money that bothered me. I lose millions a day from time to time. It was the betrayal that hurt. I trusted her. There has to be trust to fully enter into power exchange. I'd given her as much of myself as she had given me. It meant nothing to her. She threw our connection to the wind."

She hurt him. I see that. And not only did she hurt him, but the other awful billionaires still needle him about it. That's rough.

"They're not very nice people," I point out, in between bites of croissant.

"No. They're not. That's why I decided my next pet would not come from my world. I chose you because you have no connections. You were curious about me, but you don't know enough to be any kind of a threat."

"Mmm," I say, taking a long sip of orange juice to hide my guilt, and the shame that's starting to well inside me. "Also, you've given me absolutely no choice, so that's nice too."

"Don't be sassy, Charlie," he says, his eyes flicking between me and whatever information is on his tablet. "I haven't given you much in the way of choice, because you've demonstrated you don't know what to do with yourself when you do have one."

He can rationalize any of his behavior away, clearly. I feel a little less guilty than I did before. Marcus has taken me prisoner. I don't owe him loyalty. He chose me specifically because taking me saved him from having to be vulnerable. He still hasn't asked me a single thing about myself. That means he's either not curious at all, or he's already found out everything he thinks he needs to know.

He's looking at his tablet, and I am looking at him. My eyes keep tracing the lines of his face, the shape of his mouth, chin, and jaw. Marcus Waterstone is the embodiment of good breeding, and hotness goes a long way in this world, even when it shouldn't. Maybe especially when it shouldn't.

"I believe Adeline is going to be in attendance tonight," he says.

"Adeline? That's the ex's name?" I tuck that away mentally.

"You'll be wearing clothing of my choice," he says.

"Of course."

He seems pleased by my immediate acquiescence, but I know that anything he chooses, and anything he has purchased, is going to be better than my meagre wardrobe.

The day passes quickly. I don't have anything specific to do, but like most animal pets, it's not hard to while away eight hours or so lying on various couches, snacking on treats, and generally having a very nice time not having to work for anything. It's scary how comfortable this is, and how quickly I could get used to a comfortable, captive existence.

When I see Marcus again, I've had plenty of time to think. Not just about my predicament, but about him, and why he is so obsessed with having a female mate as a pet. Most men like him want trophy wives, or unofficial harems. Marcus' predilections are more intimate, sweeter, but also a great deal darker.

I have the advantage of already knowing a great deal about him. Everybody does. The Waterstone family has been a cornerstone of American culture for generations. They have been beset by the sort of tragic bad luck that only follows incredibly powerful and important families.

Marcus was famously orphaned when he was just thirteen years old. An entire fortune fell to him. His mother and father were tabloid favorites, and there was a lot of speculation at the time that he would grow up rich and troubled, frittering the Waterstone fortune away.

That didn't happen. Marcus proved to have more self-discipline than people three times his age. He built the fortune up exponentially, and now his family's name is a global phenomenon.

"It's time to get ready, pet. There's a dress in the bedroom, and all the cosmetics you should need."

That's my cue to go and make myself pretty.

I do as I am told.

He's chosen a little black dress for me. It's simple, yet elegant, and when I put it on, I can instantly feel how good the tailoring is. This wasn't taken off a rack. This was made by someone who knows how to accent the female form. It hugs my breasts and cinches in at my waist. I think it has a little extra support there, making me feel held snugly.

I do my makeup as well as I know how. Fortunately for an outfit like this, simple cosmetics are effective. A smoky eye, a red lip, a little blush.

"Beautiful," he says when I present myself to him.

"Thank you," I smile.

He makes me feel beautiful. I know he would not choose just anybody to be with. I know he must have chosen me for a reason—maybe because I got under his skin in the interview?

It occurs to me on the way to the Embassy that Marcus hasn't actually asked me a single question about myself. There are two possible reasons for that. One, he is entirely self-obsessed, and I am quite literally nothing more than a possession to him, or two, he already knows all he needs to know. I don't know which one of those options is worse.

I don't have long to worry about it, because before I know it, we are at the Embassy, and I am once more in the swirl of rich, glamorous people, being introduced here and there to a crowd who weren't present the previous evening.

There are a lot of very good-looking men and women here, but through the crowd, I notice one particular woman who has the look of a late 90's supermodel. She is tall, graceful, and her features look like they've been carved from marble. How can they be so delicate and yet so strong at the same time?

"Wow," I breathe. "Who is that?"

Marcus follows my eyeline.

"Oh," he says. "That is Adeline."

"That's your ex? Holy… wow."

"She is superficially attractive in her own way," he admits.

I look from him to her, and back to him again. They must have been an absolutely gorgeous couple together. I don't have low self-esteem or anything like that, but I know when a woman who looks like she came out of a laboratory dedicated to refining pure hotness is more attractive than I am.

Marcus has downgraded, because he doesn't trust hot chicks anymore. I'm a twisted kinky billionaire's rebound.

She approaches us, gliding rather than walking. Modelesque girls must practice that gait. I don't believe it comes naturally to anybody. She smiles as she approaches, big, white teeth, shark-like. The smile diminishes the closer she gets, though. It becomes demure. She lowers long dark lashes over bright eyes.

"Hello, Adeline."

"Mast… Marcus," she says, pretending to correct herself. She follows with a coquettish little laugh. "Sorry. Old habits die hard. I do miss you."

This is the woman who betrayed his trust, and she is acting not only as though she never did anything wrong, but as though I am not there at all. I might be a captive held here against my will, but being ignored is just rude.

"Wow. I can't believe my quest is over."

She gives me a quick, flickering, up and down look. "What quest is that?" An unspoken nerd hangs at the end of her sentence.

"The noble quest to find the source of all audacity."

"She's funny," Adeline says. "The plain ones always are, aren't they?"

"She's rude. The bitchy ones aways are, aren't they?" I snap back.

"Alright, ladies, I think the introductions are concluded," Marcus says, clamping his fingers on the back of my neck and directing me away.

I glance up at him, trying to tell if he is angry at me. There's a slight smirk on his lips that makes me think he's not even a little mad. Maybe he's pleased with me.

It is a matter of seconds before we are accosted again, by the same guy we met the first time. I can't remember his name. I'm not entirely sure that I ever knew his name.

"Marcus! I didn't think we would see you here tonight," he says. "Not after the day you've had, becoming famous."

He's referring to the video, of course. I hide a smirk. Marcus does not.

This is a pit full of vipers, and I cannot help but notice that Marcus is not entirely immune to their poison. He moves through them with a certain amount of nobility that few of the others possess.

Is he really any better than them, though? Or am I projecting some need onto him, even as I start to identify with my captor, Stockholm style.

My brain tells me that Marcus is as big a predator as any of them. Probably the apex, truth be told. The others might be less like snakes, and more like hyenas nipping at the heels of a lion. Whatever the Animal Farm is going on here, I know that I am ultimately prey.

Our interlocutor keeps talking. "I wondered when you brought her here the first time if she'd survive your attentions, Marcus. You've always been so rough on the newbies. But I'd say this one has been rougher on you."

We are surrounded by rich, smug smirks. Everybody is listening to this little conversation. Poor Marcus has become, if not an actual laughingstock, an amusing figure in a world in which I am sure he was previously considered untouchable.

Or maybe not? There was that little note of scandal on the first night I was taken to the Embassy, and the woman at the center of it just tried to cause a little more.

"My pet and I are going to enjoy one of the private suites," he says. "If you'll all excuse me."

"Shouldn't it be a public scene? Given she already made a public scene?"

The speaker is a man with glittering green eyes and a vicious expression. He is looking at me the way a wolf looks at a wounded rabbit. Everybody here reminds me of a beast one way or another. I can't help the comparisons.

"Maybe later," Marcus says.

I let Marcus escort me out of the main lobby, away from the eyes of those who want to see me whipped. I am suddenly thoroughly intimidated by the notion of being a public spectacle. I know how they treat their submissives here. They can be brutal and cruel and maybe even worse.

Again, we pass through the area I have come to mentally refer to as the antechamber of pain. There are three girls being punished, their wails and squeals suddenly audible as we open what must be a soundproof door.

One man stands over all three of them. They are lined up side-by-side on their hands and knees, their naked bottoms held up high for a lash that is being viciously applied across each of them.

"I wonder what they did?" I mutter the question under my breath even as I move away from them to the other side of Marcus.

"They could have done anything. Or nothing," he says. "It doesn't matter. It is their business."

"If it was their business, they'd be doing it privately. This is at least a little my business."

"Are you not in enough trouble?"

"I don't know. How much trouble am I in? Ow! "

I squeal as Marcus slaps my ass hard.

"A lot," he says. "I've tried to deal with you, but I have the feeling dealing with you is going to be a long-term commitment."

"Oh yeah?" I rub my butt, which is stinging like crazy. It doesn't take much to reignite the pain he seeded earlier. My rear is a hypersensitive place these days.

I'm feeling a little cocky, mostly because he hasn't hung me out to dry like the wolves and snakes wanted. He's taking me to a private room, to do private things. I'm sure he has other reasons to be here as well. This is a place where rich and corrupt people break the law and connect with one another.

Marcus leads me into one of the suites. As he does, he replies with what could be a throwaway comment.

"You're very much a high-maintenance pet," he says. "But I like a challenge."

Something in those words hits me deep in my gut. Of course, I've never been abducted by a billionaire before, but relationship dynamics are relationship dynamics. They don't actually change all that much between couplings—which seems counterintuitive.

I always thought if I was taken prisoner by a very rich man who chipped me and treated me like a fucktoy, the general vibe would be quite different from, say, my college boyfriend who I used to smoke weed with and bang when I was supposed to be in class. But there are some eerie similarities. Not between the men, of course, but inside of me.

I'm suddenly afraid that I'm going to be too much trouble for him—which makes no sense. I am literally his captive. I can't be too much.

Marcus' fingers slide beneath my chin. He tips my face up to his and gives me a quizzical look under those thick, dark brows.

"What is it? Why did your mood just change?"

"Nothing."

"Charlie, I will take the cane out of that stand, and I will give you twelve of the very best if you do not tell me what you are thinking this instant," he says. "I want to know your truth always."

His threat overcomes my resistance instantly because I know he'll do it.

"When you called me a challenge," I admit. "That's what they all say, until they realize it's not once or twice that they have to deal with me. I'm an ongoing problem."

"Yes," he says. "I can imagine you would be."

He doesn't seem nearly as put off as I'd imagined he would be. But I guess he's surprised me a few times now. Most very rich men have a lot of ego, and most men with ego hate looking like anything other than entirely in control.

"Don't worry, pet," he says. "As long as you're honest with me, you have nothing to worry about. Ever. I'll punish you, but I will forgive you. The only thing I won't forgive is dishonesty."

I gulp and nod. Unfortunately for me, a certain amount of dishonesty is unavoidable. I can't exactly tell him that I'm going to discover his dirtiest secrets and expose them. What I plan to do makes whatever Adeline did seem like nothing.

I change the subject quickly. "Are you angry at me because of what they were saying?"

"No. I knew they'd talk. They love to talk."

"Then why do you still hang out with them?"

He smiles at me indulgently. "At a certain level of society, it's no longer about hanging out, as you put it. It's about maintaining connections. My personal feelings about people, and their personal feelings about me, don't matter at all. What does matter are the bonds forged between us. Your misbehavior is a source of entertainment to many, not just to your little Internet friends."

"So I'm helping by running away?"

"In a certain light."

He reaches down, takes the hem of the dress, and pulls it up and over my head in one smooth motion before he bends me over the bench and secures me in place, leather cuffs going around my wrists and ankles. They ensure I have less than no chance of escape until he is done with me.

"You have such a pretty ass and pussy," he says. "I could whip and fuck it for days on end. Which is fortunate, because that's clearly the kind of handling a pet like you requires."

Marcus

I knew they'd give me shit when I came in with Charlie. Everybody has seen that damn video. But what I am about to do to her isn't about punishment. It is actually a reward. I can feel the affection and connection growing between us.

She wasn't just jealous of Adaline. Most women are. She was prepared to defend herself, and our connection in front of her. A lot of women would have become sullen and quiet, or perhaps gotten angry at me, or maybe even become overly aggressive.

Charlie navigated the interaction with pitch perfect bitchiness that was not at all out of place. My sweet little pet is earning respect and her place among the members of the Embassy.

So I choose a flogger—a big, heavy, leather-tasseled implement. It looks fearsome and can be brutal if used harshly, but tonight there is nothing harsh on the agenda. There is only reward.

I let the tassels drape over the bare skin of her back and thighs. Her underwear snugs up into the crevice of her cheeks and sex, giving me a perfect canvas for a light whipping that I can tell she is enjoying.

The moment she realizes I am not trying to hurt her and that the implement can be used to lull her into a state of quite happy subspace, with soft draping motions followed by thuddier impacts that have no sting to them at all, she relaxes.

I take my time with my pet. I work the flogger up to her shoulders and back to her buttocks. I tease her thighs, making everything a soft, hot pink.

Her eyes are half-closed, her lips turned up in a semblance of a smile. I recognize that expression. She is absolutely flooded with endorphins and dopamine and oxytocin, a chemical cocktail that is even now bonding her to me as she accepts not only a flogging, but the very bondage she once panicked at. She didn't even notice it this time.

I am starting to think that my pet's submission is going to be a kind of perfection I have never experienced before. She is beautiful in this moment, absolutely transcendent, giving me her trust and her body to use as I like.

Charlie

I lose track of time underneath Marcus' flogger. It is obvious he has used this before. He knows exactly how to make it land so that my skin tingles and then settles into a lovely warm glow. I find myself starting to feel somewhat sleepy, almost drunk. It's a sensation I've never had before, and I find it quite a relief after the almost constant stress of recent events.

I trust him. I shouldn't. I know intellectually that he is one of the most effective criminals the world has ever seen, and all of his wealth and power are a testament to his refusal to play by the rules. But my body trusts him, and I am a captive of my flesh.

At some point, I feel him loosen the cuffs and free me. I half expected him to do something else to me, something that would take advantage of this soft and open state, but he seems to respect it for its own end. He could do anything to me. He could use me for his pleasure. He could turn my softness to sadness or to pain, but instead he picks me up, cradles me in his arms, and carries me out of the Embassy.

My legs are too schmoopy to walk. That's not really a word, but it perfectly describes how I feel right now. Everything he has done to me has combined to make me feel absolutely high. I'm not feeling any of the pain he inflicted anymore. I feel like I am literally made of clouds. If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd drugged me. I'm as sober as I have ever been, chemically speaking. But I am high as a fucking kite.

They all look at us as we leave. I see Adeline's haughty gaze upon us, and of course I cannot resist giving her the finger over Marcus' shoulder. Maybe it's a little trashy. Maybe it's precisely what she deserves.

I snuggle up against him, my head on his broad shoulder, my nose and mouth up against his neck. I breathe his scent in with every single breath. He smells like safety. He smells like home.

He has broken me, and being broken feels like the best thing in the world. I would willingly shatter for him a thousand times over if it meant that there was this much connection and this much comfort.

"You were such an incredibly good pet this evening," he says. "I think I will spare you the cage. In fact, I think I will spare you the apartment. You are coming home with me again."

I am so glad and relieved to hear him say that. I did not want to be left by myself, locked up in a cage and left to the supervision of strangers I don't even get to know or see.

Marcus snuggles me all the way home, absolutely showering me with the sweetest aftercare. He brushes little kisses across my temple and lips and murmurs words of praise that make me feel as though I am being lit up from the inside out.

I don't have to come out of my haze. He keeps me very comfortable and makes sure I don't have to do anything that would shock me out of the sensation of being all loved up. He cuddles and carries me all the way to bed, stripping me out of what remains of my clothing and putting me into his bed.

It smells like him, it is warm, the sheets are luxurious, the bedding has just the right weight atop me, and the mattress has just the right amount of give. I reach out for a pillow and grip it close. Of course it is larger than most pillows, and it makes me feel small and safe.

Morning comes before I expect it. I open my eyes, feeling deliciously sore and incredibly well rested. I've just had a very good, long sleep, and that sleep has left me feeling rejuvenated. It's a rare feeling, and I bask in it.

"Hello, pet."

"Holy!"

I roll over to see Marcus in bed next to me, entirely naked. His big, muscular arms are up, his hands folded behind his head. The sheets have been pushed down to his waist, so I can see every inch of his torso. There's dark hair across his chest and under his arms, and in a tantalizing trail that runs down from his bellybutton and beneath the sheets.

Seeing him like this in the clear light of day makes me feel immediately shy and exposed. I am very aware that I am not wearing anything. Even though he's fucked me before, it's different when it happens in some twisted, kinky context.

This is something else. This is almost innocent.

"Good morning," he smiles.

"Morning," I mumble, sinking down in the bed and pulling the sheet up to my face.

"What's wrong, pet?"

I shake my head in response, instead of saying nothing , which would be a lie.

Marcus chuckles and reaches for me, his hand encircling my upper arm as he pulls me close for a cuddle. There is a bit of trapped sheet between us, but other than that, I find myself in full contact with his body. His naked body. I feel his hot skin against mine. I feel how firm his muscles are, and how strong he is. The slightest movement of his body makes all of him flex.

"This is the quietest I have ever seen you," he comments. "What happened to my sassy little pet?"

"I don't know." I practically whisper the response.

He pulls me up further, directly on top of him. My body is much smaller than his, and he makes for a very sensual bed. My breasts are pressed against his pecs. I feel the roughness of his chest hair tickling my nipples in a way that surely should not be as sensual as it is. Everything about this man turns me on.

He runs his fingers through my hair and pulls me down for a kiss, before snuggling me tight again, his big muscular arms wrapping around me.

There is more going on down below. My thighs spread naturally around his waist, which puts the sensitive anatomy between my legs right at the tip of his incredible morning erection.

He pushes inside me with a flexing motion of his hips.

This isn't twisted kinky play. He is making love to me. He is holding me in a way that makes me feel incredibly cherished and cared for. The pleasure is almost secondary to the emotional connection I feel as he keeps me where he wants me, gazes into my eyes, and fucks me the way I so desperately needed to be fucked the moment I felt his cock press against my inner thigh.

"You are such a good girl," he praises me. "You were a perfect little pet last night. You did everything I asked of you, and more. And now look at you. Flushed and filled with my cock, wanting more of my come. Isn't that right, Charlie?"

"Yes," I admit in a soft moan.

This is all I want. This is all I think I will ever be capable of wanting. This feels like all of my desires being fulfilled at once. This is proper, wholesome, romantic love.

"I need to go out today," I tell him once we've rearranged our clothes and brains and I feel more normal.

"Why?" He gives me a sharp look, as if I might be up to something.

"My friends are worried about me. I can't just fall off the face of the planet."

"True," he says. "And I have my own business to attend to. Very well, pet. You may go out for the evening."

There's a sassy part of me that makes me want to thank him with more attitude than he would appreciate, but I manage not to.

"I want you back here no later than eight," he says. "You can call Peter when you want a ride, okay?"

"Does that mean I get my phone back?" He took my phone when he took my jacket off at the Embassy, and he never gave it back.

"Yes," he says. "Well. Sort of. I got you a new one. All the contacts and messages have been transferred over."

It doesn't take a genius to work out that this phone is obviously as tapped as a phone can get. There's not a word on this thing that won't be transmitted directly to him. Fine. And obviously he'll be able to track me, but he can already do that.

"Thank you?" I try not to put the question mark at the end of the comment, but I can't help myself.

"You're welcome," he says, ignoring my inflection.

"I'm going to need casual clothes, though. Is there any chance some of them made it here, or…"

"I'll send someone out for some clothing for you. It won't be long. Anything you want in particular?"

"Oh. Uhm."

"Put the order through on your phone. There's an app."

I look at the phone and see that there is an app there with a little collar on it. When I tap the pink icon, it opens to a list, basically, where you can share links and other things.

"You want something? Need something? You share it there," Marcus says.

"Really? I can order anything I want?"

"Yes, pet," he smiles. "Anything you want."

Hours later, I am looking hot. I am wearing newer, pricier clothes than I've ever worn before. I am meeting my friends at Sasha's place, and I am bringing the drinks. Top shelf stuff. And I'm bringing fresh sushi from the best restaurant in the city. And my friends have stopped looking at me like I'm borderline mentally ill and someone to be pitied.

As I step in the door, they greet me with a chorus of questions and exclamations.

"Charlie!"

"Are you really dating Marcus fucking Waterstone?"

"Is that sushi?"

It's a good night. It's the best night. I get to hang out with my friends, tell them very little really, but spoil them with everything Marcus has given me. When they want dessert, I order tiramisu and have it delivered from an upscale restaurant. It's the best sushi and tiramisu any of us have ever had, we all agree.

It's nice to have one evening of normality, to see my friends and to remind myself who I really am when I'm not a collared animal being fucked for a billionaire's pleasure.

Time gets away from me a bit, and I'm a little late going back to Marcus' place, but I assume he's busy. As I leave Sasha's place, it's 8:05 p.m., which means I'm probably going to be back by 8:30 p.m. or so.

I have a certain level of nervousness at knowing I have broken one of his rules. He won't be happy. He'll probably punish me. I shouldn't feel this much excitement at that prospect…

" Char! "

I get a block or two away from Sasha's place before I am grabbed by the waist and swung around like a ragdoll.

It's been months since this happened to me, but my nervous system reacts as if it has only been a couple of hours. I freeze. My stomach churns. I feel myself start to sweat and feel sick at the same time.

"Put me down, please, Trent," I say, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

The face of the last man I was stupid enough to find handsome leers down at me. This is Trent. My ex.

"Where have you been, Char? I went by the old place and didn't see you."

He's not talking about the apartment Marcus moved me out of. He's talking about the place he and I used to share. The one he smashed the fuck out of before he left me for another girl who he'd knocked up.

"I had to move out after they saw the damage."

He laughs as if what happened was a joke. It cost me my security deposit and the last vestiges of my sanity.

"We had fun, didn't we, Char?" He grins.

Trent is attractive. He's tall, kind of lanky, and brooding with greasy dark hair and even greasier eyes. They don't so much look at you as slide off you.

When I first met him, I thought he was deep. Now I know he's a toddler in a man's body, with less emotional control than your average coked-out bear. He's dangerous, though he doesn't know it. He thinks he's charming. I used to think he was charming too.

"Let go of me, Trent," I repeat myself, trying not to trigger him. I know he'll lose his shit if he feels rejected, but I don't want him touching me. He makes my skin crawl.

"You're looking good, Charlie," he says, releasing his grip. He smiles at me again. He has one of those broad smiles that feels like the top of his head could unhinge. I used to think it was part of his charm. Now I feel like he could swallow me whole.

"Thanks. I've got to go. I'm late…"

He puts his hand out in front of me, resting it on the wall, blocking my way with his body.

"Nice clothes," he says. "Who is buying you them?"

"I have a job."

"No, you don't. You have a weird obsession and a blog nobody reads because it's not 2004 anymore," he smirks. "You don't do anything, Charlie."

I do not fucking miss this guy. He never believed in me. He never even pretended to believe in me. To Trent, I was just another girl, indistinguishable from any other girl—which was why he so often got someone else's vagina confused with mine.

I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from arguing back. I don't want to justify myself to Trent. I just want to get the hell away from him.

"I've got to go," I say. "I'm late for a meeting."

"Who are you meeting at eight o'clock on a Tuesday?"

"None of your business, Trent."

I see the clouds rolling over his face, the storm building in his eyes.

"Now why do you have to take that tone with me, Char?"

His fists clench. I take a step back, but he follows me and turns me so my back is against the wall. Cars are passing by on the street in front of us, and there's a pedestrian here and there, but I might as well be invisible for all anybody seems to care.

"You know I don't like your snotty attitude," he says, looming over me with menace.

"What happened to the girl who had your baby?"

Maybe not the best question, but I am genuinely curious, and I'll do anything to get the attention off me. Redirecting his ire to the woman unfortunate enough to be impregnated by him should do the trick.

"Bitch won't let me see the kid."

"Shocking," I deadpan. "I can't believe that."

I can absolutely believe that, and one hundred percent support it. Trent is an asshole, and a dangerous one.

"It's been so good to see you," I lie through my teeth, "But I really need to get to my interview."

"Blow it off," he says. "You and I have some catching up to do. Let's go to the diner. You can tell me how you got your fancy clothes."

With every minute that passes, I realize that I am going to get in very fucking serious trouble with Marcus. Fear of that is very much starting to outweigh any fear of Trent I have.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"I'm not letting you go," he says. "You've been hiding from me, Char, and now I've found you, I think we should talk. I've missed you, baby. What we had was special."

My stomach churns as he leans in, his lips wet. I had almost erased the memory of his kisses, and now they've come back to me. Bile rises in my throat. I put my hands up reflexively, making contact with his chest to push him back. I don't like touching him. I don't like him being in the same damn city as me.

A hand takes Trent by the shoulder from behind. He is spun around, and a slap echoes through the street—one so loud that it sounds like a gunshot.

" Fuck! " Trent screams like the bitch he called his poor ex.

The slap is followed up with a blow to the gut. A solid strike from a clenched fist.

Trent folds over and drops to the ground in a slow fall, ending up on his knees between me and Marcus.

"Peter, take this gentleman away," Marcus says. His eyes never leave mine. He doesn't even glance at Trent, who is being helped into the back of the car by Marcus' driver.

"I wasn't… I didn't… I mean, this…"

Marcus steps forward, and the light from the street signs flashes across his face in a way that makes him look even more handsome than he already is. Red flashes over his dark eyes and makes them look amber. Almost entirely devilish. A thrill, or maybe a chill, zips through me.

"It's alright," he says. "You're safe now. Tell me about the boy."

Compared to Marcus, Trent is a boy. Marcus is thirty-eight, and every inch a fucking man.

"I used to date him, but I tried to get away from him. I thought I was clear, but he found me by accident, maybe? Or, I don't know. He can be a stalker sometimes. We lived together, but he… anyway."

"Tell me everything," he says again. There is cool steel in his voice. I start telling him everything immediately.

"I met him about two years ago. We dated for a year and moved in together. He didn't have a job, so I paid the rent. And he had a temper. He used to break stuff…"

"Did he ever hit you?"

"Once," I admit. "He was drunk. It was toward the end. I didn't know it at the time, but he'd gotten someone else pregnant. He was angry. He called me a whore, accused me of cheating, and broke every bit of furniture in the apartment. Plus he put holes in every wall and door. I lost my security deposit and had to move. We got evicted. That's why I had that rough apartment. Was all I could get after… that."

"I see," Marcus says. His voice is still calm, but there's something about him that makes me quiver. I'm mentally replaying the moment he hit Trent, and how Trent just crumpled.

It was a beautiful thing, but it was also a frightening thing. Marcus was swiftly, and decisively, violent. He didn't hesitate. He didn't do it out of anger—or at least out of temper. He might be angry. He might still be angry.

"I was coming back. I really was. I didn't want him to talk to me. If I'd known he was anywhere near here, I would have… I don't know."

"Called me," Marcus says. "You can always call me, pet."

"He wouldn't have let me use my phone. I was afraid he'd steal it or break it. Every time I talk to that guy, it feels like a hostage negotiation, but I'm the hostage."

Marcus allows himself a small smirk. "Pet, you are never going to be in this kind of danger again."

Marcus

I came looking for her, thinking she was being a brat, testing my rules and limits. When I saw her cowering before that man, I felt a pure kind of rage I have rarely experienced in my life.

"It's just him, though," she says. "Nobody else is a problem."

I wish that were true, but the world is full of predators. She happens to know the name of one of them, but that does not mean the rest are safe. This city swallows people whole.

I have only owned my pet for a matter of days, but what good owner does not become inordinately attached to their pet immediately? Who picks up a puppy and does not care what happens to it only because the animal has been in their possession a short time? Attachment does not follow time.

It does seem that Charlie is incapable of going anywhere and doing anything without courting trouble.

"You're not in trouble," I tell her. "You probably should be, but you're not."

I pull her into a hug, and when that doesn't feel like it is enough, I pick her up in my arms. This girl is mine.

"Thank you," she whimpers against my neck as she squirms into the position that is fast becoming very familiar to us. She presses herself against me as if she is trying to bury herself in me. I know the idiot frightened her. I can feel her trembling ever so slightly.

"He's never going to hurt you again," I promise her.

She gives a little nod. She doesn't understand that I mean precisely what I say. He will never hurt her again. He will never have the chance to hurt anybody ever again.

"I mean it, pet. Nobody is going to hurt you."

"Okay," she says in a small voice.

I had intended to take care of him privately, without her knowing what happened. I deplore exposing sensitive young women to brute violence. But sometimes, if you want your pet to know what happened to their old playmate, you have to show them the body.

Another car is already pulling up. I settle Charlie into it, and accompany her back to my place. I spent so much time setting up her little apartment, but it seems as though that abode is not going to get much, if any, use.

"Get cleaned up. Anatole will prepare whatever you want, just put it in the app," I remind her. "I have some further business to attend to tonight."

She nods and does as she is told. She can be a good girl sometimes. And I can be an absolute beast of a man.

Trent is being kept in the basement, in a space custom designed for this sort of business. Every single surface is wipeable, and there are no corners in which things like blood and brain matter can get trapped.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He curses the question at me as I step into the room with him. He is tied to a chair in the very middle of it all, and apparently captivity does not agree with him.

I can see what she might have seen in him at the outset. He's a handsome boy in some ways. He has a vicious temperament that shows through his features, hard and hawkish. A bad boy. Charlie isn't the first to fall for this sort of asshole, and she won't be the last.

What I do like is the fact that he's not going to have the brains to hide anything from me.

"How do you know Charlie?"

He looks at me and snorts. "She's just a stupid slut, you know?"

Interesting choice of words, given this young man is possibly one of the most stupid people I have ever met. Killing him almost feels unfair. It's like killing an animal too dumb to understand the consequences of his actions.

"The two of you used to live together."

"Yeah. She was my girlfriend."

"Why did you break up?"

"She was a bitch."

I restrain the urge to beat the hell out of him. "In what way?"

"She was always nagging and talking about boring things. She was obsessed with rich guys."

"She was obsessed with rich men? You mean she was wanting to date them?" I play dumb to draw him out, hoping he tells me something I don't already know.

"Not date them. She wanted to know all about them. She was obsessed. Had all these theories. Kept talking about them all the time. Never talked about anything else. Said they were all corrupt. Said she was going to expose them. Guess she just ended up exposing herself."

That play on words is entirely accidental, a bitter comment from an angry man.

"So I got over it, you know? I wanted a woman who was going to be with me, not go through trash from rich dudes."

"She went through trash?"

Trent laughs. "She went through everything. She followed some of them around. Got a job as a waitress in one of those fancy restaurants and used to pretend to forget her pen and then it would record their conversations."

The hair on the back of my neck is starting to slowly stand erect. I knew Charlie was a passionate, smart, and intense young woman who decided to target me for her little investigation. I did not realize that her interests had been pursued so deeply prior to being brought into my little trap. We really are a perfect pair, she and I.

"She was so weird," he continues. "Sucked a mean cock, though. Have you fucked her mouth yet?"

This time I don't restrain myself.