by Sophia Reed
Before coffee?
I didn't ask that. I didn't say anything. His eyes bore into mine. I swallowed the reflex to say Yes, sir and he let it slide. I didn't think he always would.
"That routine will be followed by massage, shower, and a healthy, balanced breakfast. At breakfast you'll take the first of your day's supplements."
The cure. I breathed out. Yes.
For the first time it occurred to me to wonder how long the cure would take. I started to ask if I could ask him a question, quickly determined that would result in trouble if the answer was no, since asking was a question. Instead, I said, "Sir."
He smiled at that. It was disturbing how kind he could look when he smiled. At least when I was riding with Jesse I never lost track of who and what he was. He never looked kind. His gentlest smile held malice and danger.
"Do you have a question?"
"Yes. Sir." It was going to take a while to get used to that.
He nodded at me to go ahead.
"How long does the cure take?"
It was a serious question and he gave it attention. There was something about him that struck me a lot of the time as both malignant and somehow young. Like a small boy capable of really mean pranks. I didn't think he was a psychopath. The fact that I was having so much trouble identifying just what he was probably meant he truly was a sadist.
I'd had zero experience with that. Until my life had made this weird detour, I'm not sure I actually believed in such a thing.
But when it came to the pharmaceuticals, he was serious. "Are you asking about the cure and the addiction? Or are you asking about the length of the contract." He stood at the end of the bed, one shoulder against the poster there, his legs crossed causally at the ankle, his arms crossed over his chest. Physically he was beautiful. I just wasn't too sure what he was like inside.
I found myself blushing at his perception. Before signing away your right to being an autonomous human, perhaps reading the contract was a good idea.
"I'm actually asking both, if that's allowed."
He arched an eyebrow. "If that's allowed, sir. And I won't always allow this sort of hedging and feeling your way in. If you're trying to avoid being punished for infractions by sneaking in a back way, be aware that eventually the pussyfooting itself will be punishable."
Of course it would. I disliked the flare of excitement that sped through me. My ass still hurt. Even sitting on the bed was painful and I was sure he knew it.
"Yes, sir."
"I'll answer, though. The workouts will help, as will the diet and getting plenty of sleep. The cure itself hasn't been determined yet. There will be medical tests and study as you go through taking it."
That startled me clear out of my senses. "I'm already taking it, aren't I? Sir?"
"One dose, and it was small, just to make certain you had no ill effects. It was in the milkshake you had your first morning."
That explained the chalky under taste.
"As for the length of the contract? As in many archaic and somewhat ritualistic contracts, it is for a year and a day."
I was on my feet before I thought about it. "I can't be gone a year and a day! I'll get kicked off the force! It's the only thing I've ever wanted! I can't lose it!"
He didn't seem to move but suddenly he was in my face. "Sit. Down!"
I did so out of sheer surprise, then sat looking up at him.
"I have unbelievably good contacts in very high places," he said. "But you're right. They won't wait for a year. You have a limit of two more months before you'll have to either resign or be back on assignment. Fortunately for you I can continue to keep you under the contract while allowing you to work."
My head spun. There were protests I wanted to make and fear was crawling up my back and through my belly. I couldn't be sold to this man to begin with but somehow he accepted that I was and I seemed to also. And I couldn't possibly be his property for a year. I couldn't bear it.
But that was how it was looking and the rest of my life was worth it, especially if I'd be back on the job in a couple months. Once there it wouldn't take much for me to just disappear one day and –
Again he moved without seeming to. This time he grabbed my chin in one hand and wrenched my head around to his. "If you think you'll get lucky, slip away? Read this." He tossed a tablet into my lap.
"What is it?"
The slap came out of nowhere. "Do. What. I. Tell. You."
There was nothing erotic about that, nothing BDSM, nothing more than the ownership he seemed to claim.
My life felt weird and fragile and more so when I started reading what he'd thrown at me. Because it was a list my actions, pretty much all of them, from the time I'd left to the time I'd been returned.
I thought I was good at surveillance. Though I thought there were ways he'd been watching me I had no idea the extent to which he knew my every move.
He took the tablet back. "Lay face down on the bed," he said. "Lower your panties to your knees."
I wanted to beg. I couldn't stand the idea of him hitting me again. But I lowered my eyes and complied with his request, standing to lower my panties with my back to him, still feeling the burn of humiliation on my cheeks. I lay face down on the bed, my underwear bunched just below my ass.
My entire body hummed with tension.
"I'm not going to punish you," he said, and I heard the snap of rubber gloves and tensed, imagining something even worse, even harder to take.
But instead he touched me gently, only running his fingers over the welts and bruises and the few places the skin had been broken.
While I lay there unable to move, just being touched in this somehow both hot and degrading manner, I felt like he was making me a child again. Unable to take care of myself, I'd be subject to his rules and punished at his whim.
I almost turned and protested but memories of the slap and memories of the crop kept me from doing so.
Then too, his threat that eventually he would fuck me. There was nothing childish about that, nothing that made me young instead of – his.
From somewhere he produced a jar of salve which he applied to the parts of my ass where the skin had broken. "You took care of this last night."
"Yes," I said. I was face down and I could feel him still, as if waiting for me to tack on the requisite Sir, but he didn't say anything.
"Good. There will be times that I take care of you afterwards. You're familiar with aftercare?"
"Yes, sir." He knew about my forays into the dungeons. He'd know I had some knowledge.
"Good," he said again. He finished with his ministrations and slapped me once on the ass, hard enough to make me cry out in both surprise and pain. "There's a beautiful desert day dawning and it's only going to get hotter. Get up, get dressed. Jog bra, tights. No underwear. You'll find a range of running shoes and socks in your size. I suggest you put your hair up. We'll be going for our first run and starting your new morning routine."
There was a pause then, while I hoped fervently that he'd leave the room before I had to stand. He didn't say anything about that. Instead he said, "I hope you're in good shape."
Then he stood without another word and left the room. I didn't stall, afraid I'd fall back to sleep. I'd tossed and turned the first half of the night, too uncomfortable to sleep. My body had hurt all over, the muscles from fighting the pain of what he did to me and my ass and thighs from the beating.
Just as painful had been all my thoughts. That I had subjected myself to this, it was all my own stupidity. If I had never taken that first taste of fentanyl.
That sent a frisson of wanting through me for everything I'd left behind. I wanted to see my father, I wanted an update on him. If I were undercover I'd be further gone than I was here. At least here Cole was willing to get regular updates on my dad's condition. If something happened, I was pretty sure he'd let me go, either to help my mother or to see my father if he was recovering.
Or slipping.
So for now
I was truly in the no news is good news world. It wasn't a place I found comfortable.
Cole had already exited the room when I stood, pulling up my panties before I turned around, remembering only then he'd said no underwear. Then again, that was once I was dressed for running.
There was a bathroom off the room where I was being kept and off the bath, a walk-in closet that would make my sisters wet themselves. It was giant and I thought I could wander through it for hours before I'd seen everything in it.
I had no interest in the majority of its contents. There were long, elegant, formal gowns, and cocktail dresses, all of them accompanied by the most amazing come-fuck-me pumps and high heeled sandals and elegant ballet flats.
I couldn't imagine wearing any of those clothes or the shoes. I couldn't move fast in them or conceal a weapon and my life still revolved around those considerations.
On one side of the closet I found the workout clothes, including the jog bras, a bewildering array of them, with t-shirts for cover up. I hadn't expected that but maybe he didn't want to draw attention to me. An in-shape girl running with just a bra top gets attention. On the other hand, I thought we were far enough away from civilization for him not to worry about it.
I hoped I was in shape. He was taller than me and leaner, and he hadn't just gone through months of addiction and attempted recovery following a period of being undercover. Most of the people I was with during my assignments weren't really the get up at dawn and go running sort.
Neither was I. Even before the assignments I didn't go running as often as I should. I had a bad feeling about what would happen if I couldn't keep up with Cole.
I chose a pair of capri length running tights because shorts rolled up into my crotch and I liked the fit of running tights. A pullover jog bra from Title 9. Thick, blister-buster Nike socks. A pair of Skechers he'd found somewhere that had memory foam and were meant for trails. If I had a chance before he dragged me out, I'd ask whether we were running on trails or asphalt.
Cole came back for me so fast after I finished dressing I completely believed the room was under surveillance and did my best not to look around for the cameras right then.
"Ready?"
"Almost, sir."
That got both a nod and a look of annoyance. "Why?"
I asked about trails or city streets and he said trails, allowing me to choose my shoes. I laced them on and joined him.
The morning was dusty rose colored. The desert dirt was hardpan with a layer of soft tan dirt over it. The sun over distant Nevada mountains was still down, though the morning had lightened toward dawn and it was easy to see. The air was chill and I wished I'd grabbed one of the hoodies from the closet, but I'd warm up soon enough.
Cole walked us out from the compound far enough I got an idea how huge it was with multiple buildings, all of them the same desert tan as the landscape around us. The Las Vegas day was heating up as fast as he'd said, and I was grateful in no time that I didn't have a sweatshirt tied around my waist.
The bruises on my ass throbbed as I broke into a run behind Cole, and my hips, back and shoulders felt tight from all the resistance I'd been offering up last night, trying to shake off the pain and not let it hurt in the first place.
Cole ran easily, a natural, loose-limbed runner. I followed behind him, panting. Most of the time I was fairly steady and able to run but it was never what I was really good at. Martial arts were, and lifting, though I sucked at yoga and dreaded that part of his program.
Running, though, I lost my acclimation for right away and I was already dragging behind him and dropping farther and farther behind, wheezing. Finally Cole circled back and told me I could walk the remainder of the trial if I wanted.
Sensing a trap, I waited, stubbornly – and slowly – moving forward. He laughed finally, having run circles around me, and said, "Good decision. We would have broken your miles down into the number of feet and then had a discussion with you about the missing numbers.
Even out here in the warming desert I felt cold at that. It meant he was playing games like I had expected, and that there were traps in everything.
I'd do best to never, ever drop my guard.
26
Cole
She was a good runner, but out of practice. Not out of shape, just hadn't done it in a while, which I could have guessed, between the undercover and the addiction and the rest of it.
I pushed her, but I didn't have to try very hard.
The desert explodes into beauty in the morning. I've got a long-legged, fast stride, and I love running as all the shadows become less ink-dark, the light less intense, and the day comes on. I ran only a little faster than I usually do and she was panting by the second mile.
By the third she was flagging. After that I was able to tell her she could walk the rest but there would be consequences if she did.
She chose to push, resentfully, angrily, and probably upset at her own weakness. I'd seen her file. She didn't use quit as a default setting.
We'd be working back to that state. I was going to enjoy the journey.
27
Annie
A healthy breakfast. What an awful concept.
After the run, Cole honestly did everything he'd outlined. No consideration for what I'd been enduring or what I'd gone through the night before.
At one point he did say he knew that a first "encounter" like I'd had could be "wearying."
I hadn't thought a billionaire evil mastermind would also be a master of the obvious.
We got back to the compound on foot, running through the desert like idiots. That was followed by weights, and heavy bag work, and yoga, which bores me utterly and always has. Relaxing has never been my forte or my goal.
Despite that? The massage after was excellent, given by a man who was almost beautiful enough to make Cole seem plain. At the start I was afraid this was more of Cole's games, that the big man working on my muscles would suddenly cuff me to the massage table. I wasn't sure what would come next but a part of me was almost interested in finding out.
What came next though, was a shower and then breakfast.
"You need to eat that," Cole said.
I'd been shoving around all the parts of his complete breakfast for so long they were cold. When he said that, I jolted out of my thoughts and looked at him. "Have you heard anything more about my father, Sir?" It was frightening how fast the sir was being added to things. It was easier than being slapped and more direct than trying to game my way past it.
"Released yesterday to go home. Your mother has custody of him," he said.
I blinked. "Custody?" Then I looked at him and realized he'd made a joke. That thought was almost as surprising as the first strike of the crop had been. "Oh. Thank you." I didn't add ‘sir’. I was pushing my scrambled eggs into a pile to rest beside the strawberries and steamed kale or spinach or seaweed or whatever the green stuff was.
"Eat that." Cole was reviewing some kind of financial records on his tablet. He barely glanced at me or my plate.
I ate another bite of eggs. They were cold.
"Your father has a skilled nurse caring for him around the clock."
I looked up from the eggs. "Is that good or bad?"
A pointed look.
I added ‘sir’ and waited.
"He doesn't need to have it. It's simply easier for your mother."
I thought about the PD's insurance and my father's expenses and how we'd grown up. "Thank you, sir," I said, and that time I meant it.
He didn't bother to respond. He simply ordered me up and over his lap. Surprised, I squeaked at him in a way I'd never have let anyone hear on the job. "I didn't do anything!" Instantly biting off the protest because obviously I was his to do as he pleased with.
It was a nasty realization that the idea he owned me was also starting to creep into my consciousness, just like calling him sir.
"The food," he said. "You do as I tell you. There are reasons for some of what you're told. I hav
e neither the time nor the inclination to explain them to you."
He pulled me out of the chair by my arm, threw me across his lap and pulled off my running tights with three neat, economical motions. My hands flew to my behind, trying to protect it from any blows. I still hurt from the night before.
His voice was cold when he said, "If you don't want another session with the crop, I suggest you grab the chair legs and keep hold of them. Now."
It took all my willpower to release my own ass and move my hands away from their protective positioning, to grab hold of the legs of the chair he was sitting in and to hold on as the first swats began to rain down on me.
My father would be the first to admit that when I'm determined to do something, stopping me is next to impossible. For as close as we've become since I was the only one to follow in his footsteps, the fact of our similarities caused a lot of fights when I was growing up. We were both stubborn and determined.
Mark would have information on my father and have it now. Once it was obvious I was going undercover again, when no one knew I would end up here, the family had added Mark to the contacts list for medical information. He'd promised that if I called he'd give me the information and not try to hold the phone call to make it longer.
If he was home, it might be possible to talk to my father instead of Mark. Dad had a better idea of what a slipup might mean. He didn't know I was a narc but it was a good guess. He could have found out at any time exactly what my assignments were. My father had a lot of loyal friends and contacts still inside the job.
Three days after the first run in the desert Cole disciplined me for asking again about my father.
"I've promised I will tell you if there's any change, for the better or for the worse." He stood in front of me, already gleaming sweat from our run. His chest was bare and pale white. He neither burned nor tanned but seemed to glow at times when we worked out together. Shirtless, with the sun behind him, he looked like some kind of minor Greek god.