by Sophia Reed
His hands roved over my skin. I shivered in the cold, with nausea and so much anger. There were games of Cole's that I could deal with. I hated him exhibiting me. I hated being naked around anyone. I could take his morning spankings and his maintenance spankings and the few times there'd been sex, it had been at least consensual in the moment.
But this?
The guard I'd already decided I wanted to kill forced me to lean my hands against the wall, well over my head, and jackknife my lower body out. Then he took his time fondling my breasts, pinching the nipples so hard I cried out. There was no way to even pretend it was a search for the good of the people inside the compound.
This was the first time Cole had lent me out in any way to anyone else and though his vile contract stated he had the right, I hadn't expected this was what he'd do.
My spirits plunged again and I wanted to be anywhere else. Anyone else. I wanted to be dead.
I wanted this asshole dead.
And I wanted Cole dead.
What I wanted when I went back inside was to be left alone. I wanted to take my drugs, eat whatever breakfast I was supposed to, and for Cole to be too busy to see to the yoga, meditation, weights and the rest of it.
Instead this was the morning he made a return.
When I got through security, freezing and angry, I'd pulled the sweatshirt back on. The instant I saw Cole standing in the holding cell I realized that had been a mistake.
"Who told you that you could get dressed again?"
I lowered my head, kept my gaze on the floor, and knelt onto the hard tile where I was. I put my hands behind my back and laced my fingers.
And the entire time I despised myself for this submission. "No one, sir."
Long morning. There were two flights of Fleet kits, until he was sure I was clean inside. There was a long session with canvas straps and one of his leather paddles, until I was screaming. This was no maintenance spanking. This was Cole angry, because he saw the simple way I'd reacted as being symptomatic of falling back into my own life.
I didn't know if the sadist had control of his brain and his actions or the man who seriously seemed dedicated to returning me whole and healthy to my life.
When I was nothing more than tears and remorse, he put me back on my knees, head down, arms back, stripped ass and breasts aching and glowing.
"When you're cleaned up and showered, join me in the dining room for breakfast. You'll be having kale and white fish and a dose of castor oil."
I shuddered. "Yes, sir."
I heard his footsteps cross to the door and prepared to stand when he had exited. But he stopped and said, "One more thing."
"Yes, sir." I didn't look up.
"I've changed your rainforest cure. From now on I'll be giving it to you at breakfast."
That wasn't really a change. But before I could say, yes, sir, again, he said, "In suppository form. I'll give it to you in the dining room."
I was crying already when he stepped through the door and just before it shut behind him, he said, "And you will ask me for it every day, and you will thank me for administering it. Every day."
19
Cole
All good things come to an end.
Her tears were beautiful. Her remorse fulfilling. Giving her the daily dose of the cure was going to become one of my favorite things of the day. She blushed so beautifully and cried, had to be ordered over my lap.
And the punishment earlier? I was hard and had no intention of using it on her. Marilyn's abuse would be plenty harsh today as I recreated what I'd done to Annie and took my pleasure.
But before I joined her again, I checked out one of her martial arts videos, primarily out of curiosity.
And then I scrolled down to the comments.
And then I saw we had a problem.
20
Annie
Shower over, I was finally warm again. The whole time he'd been punishing me, I'd been cold.
It felt like I was never going to warm up again.
I didn't know if I was cold because of something physical, either being outside without my shirts or a physical trauma, like everything my body had just gone through.
There were other choices. It was possible I was cold because I was so unsure of everything. That was new and it was intentional on Cole's part and even if he was right, I hated it.
There was no proof he was right. He was a doctor, yes, under his degrees in pharmaceuticals and his billions of dollars of pharma business, but that didn't mean he was a psychologist. For all I knew he was fucking me up far more than anything being deep cover had ever done to me.
It kind of felt like it. I had never been the kind of person who looked at the floor and mumbled yes, sir until I was grabbed by the chin and ordered to say it loudly and clearly. I was always the rebel, the at-risk kid who never stopped asking Why and Why should I?
There was no need for me to have swiped my record at PD (though I did) to read that this made me a better deep cover operative. I didn't have the military mindset or the cop brain. I still thought Why should I and Who says? when told what to do. It might make it harder for people in the chain of command to work with me but when I was deep cover, I didn't have to think twice before fitting in.
Suddenly I was unsure about so many things. Should I ask Cole before I went to the bathroom? That was one of his rules. But if he was terribly busy, would it be better for me to make the decision on my own? The way I'd been doing since I was what, four years old. He'd see that I'd gone into the bathroom if he reviewed the tapes, but honestly that seemed like such a small thing when taken in context with everything else.
It could completely detour my concentration for half an hour before the need became too great to put off making a decision.
It wasn't just that I still considered nonsense like that. It was also a constant feeling that I was supposed to answer to someone. And that I wasn't quite competent enough to make my own decisions and run my own life.
Biggest problem: I wasn't fighting it. Being safe from fentanyl, being away from temptation, going through a cure that was working - It was all worth it to me.
And there were the times he touched me. The times my head exploded along with my body the way it only ever had when Jesse rage-fucked me.
Then there were times I'd think of Mark. Who I never got permission to call. And my father, who I was in contact with about once every ten days. They'd get into my head and I'd wonder what they'd think if somehow, hideously, either one of them ever knew about spreader bars and leather restraints, fire hose straps and tire tread paddles and –
They'd never find out. Never.
I would work my way back out of this. Being off the opiate gave me myself back even if Cole's training stripped me of it. Being off China white meant I could think again and plan again and I knew I'd be going back into law enforcement, though the idea of not going back to Seattle wasn't as daunting as it had once been.
I could go somewhere else. I could join DEA while I still looked young enough to infiltrate high school and if not that, then college.
The one thing that had given me courage, even pleasure when the straps were doing their damage to my backside, was that Cole didn't know about Tad Charles and my continued communication with the outside world and the inside world of PD. My taekwon-do workouts were as important to me as I'd told him they were, but even more so, the idea of being in the loop again, of working out a way to make a difference without breaking this particular deep cover and exposing not the operation but my own recovery, that was giving me strength. It was a decision I'd made on my own and something I was doing by myself. Without getting caught.
Wrapped in the thickest, warmest robe, planning to put on some of the hoodies I wore to run as well as tights and sweatpants, I padded out of the bathroom.
To find Cole sitting on the edge of my bed.
For a horrible moment I thought he was there to give me my first dose without even letting me go to him in the dining room. Not that I wanted
it there – or at all, not that way – but I'd let the shower give me time to think my own thoughts and had planned that the walk into the dining room would be time to psych myself up for what was to come. A sort of whatever it takes to get healthy and get out of here mentality.
Then I saw his face and realized the thing I'd just been thinking, the strength I'd just been considering mine from my secret, was over.
The urge to run was so intense, I don't think I could have fought it if I had already dressed back in the bathroom, but the steaminess made it hard to pull on tights and jog bras. It was easier in the bedroom and now it was too late.
"Come over here and kneel at my feet. You may keep the robe."
"Sir?"
"You were cold. I saw that."
For a second I thought I didn't, after all, have autonomy in the bathroom. Then I realized he simply meant outside after the run and while he was punishing me. He just hadn't seen fit to stop and do anything about it. Actually, that would have been strange anyway. Here, let me beat some pain into you but let's wrap you up snug and warm first.
I kept my face impartial. Despite that wayward thought, I had never felt less like smiling. I anticipated being punished again, second time in one morning, but Cole was calm and thoughtful.
"This isn't a game, Annie." His voice was disappointed and I hated that I cared. But he didn't raise the tone. There was nothing of the frenetic sadist who sometimes frightened me and nothing of the eagerness he sometimes displayed. There wasn't even the anger that seemed to burn.
Somehow, that was all the worse.
"I'm not playing about your addiction. I'm not adding the rules and disciplines to be funny or to keep you busy or even to entertain myself. I developed the new way of giving it to you because that will please me and not you."
In other circumstances, it would have been hard not to snort at that one.
"Your life is in danger. China white kills. Opiates kill. There are numbers available on any website you want to look at. There is an epidemic in this country and I won't insult you by lecturing on it because you know this. You knew what you were doing the first time you used no matter how upset you were that day. You knew the risks and you knew the addictive strengths. Right now, kneeling at my feet, you understand the danger you're in. If you didn't, you wouldn't be so desperate to get back to work and fighting it."
I was surprised enough that I lifted my head halfway up before stopping myself.
"It's all right," Cole said. "Look at me."
When I did, his triangular, mischievous smile was nowhere and his eyes were very dark blue, very grave. "I've seen your record. Does that surprise you?"
"Very little you do surprises me, sir," I said and he was the one who snorted, but only a short bray of sound.
"You're a good cop. You've got good instincts. You're good at going undercover and getting the job done. You'd probably be changing jobs within the year anyway. Seattle isn't infinite. Eventually you'd cross paths with too many people who realized you were there when something – "
"Law enforcement-y," I supplied and heard him laugh again.
"Right. When something like that, which is not a word, happened. I want you to be able to go back to it. I saw what you were looking up and while I don't understand everything your Mr. Charles was telling you, I got enough of it to understand your panic."
I blinked at the word.
"Panic," Cole repeated. "You're terrified the thing you put yourself out there to stop, the thing you lost your health to on your way to stopping, will get so out of control you can't make a difference and that somehow one of those deaths will be on you."
I didn't say anything. There wasn't anything for me to say. He had it.
"You know who's in charge of what's happening right now, don't you?"
I narrowed my eyes, started to ask, because I didn't know if he meant between him and me or in Seattle, but he clarified. In Seattle, he meant.
"I think I know who it is, yes. Because when I rode with Jesse, there were people who were always chomping at the reins. I'm not surprised they've found their way in and they're every bit as ruthless as I expected."
He sighed and stood, walking out of my line of sight. I pulled the robe closer around me and moved so my toes were tucked under the hem. The coldness was trying to seep back in.
"I'm afraid it will damage your recovery to have you back in that world," he said, standing across the room and watching me. "But I'm afraid it will also do damage to you if I simply cut you off from your Tad Charles and refuse you any hand in stopping those people."
I blinked and my spirits began to rise. Don't get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up.
Too late.
And then he crushed them utterly and at the same time, completely changed my world.
We sat across the breakfast table from each other. As he'd promised mine was made up of white fish and kale, two substances that in a nice world, don't exist. I had a small plastic cup of supplements, a cup of coffee, and a plate of bacon besides.
Geez, he was mellowing.
I almost laughed at that thought. My backside and boobs said differently.
"I know people," Cole said.
It seemed to come out of left field and I squinted at him. "I'm not sure I understand, sir."
He'd been looking off into a corner of the room but now he looked back at me, as serious as I'd ever seen him. "I think you do." Abruptly he moved forward fast, leaning across the table toward me. "Right now – how certain are you it's who you think it is?"
No hesitation. "Ninety-nine percent."
Nod. "And that one percent chance of error?" His lean, narrow face was inches from mine, his dark blue eyes intense.
"To be honest? It doesn't matter. Even if they're not behind the most recent activity, they're bad and immoral men. They're killers."
Cole nodded. Then he repeated, "You can name them? Describe them?"
"And give you descriptions of their cars and bikes and their addresses. Yes. I know who they are."
"You're certain."
"Yes." I was no longer answering as a submissive. My head was back in cop space.
"You're absolutely certain they're not what you are?" His gaze didn't waver.
"Again, ninety-nine percent. There's no way to be one hundred percent."
"If you had a gun in your hand." His eyes were level with mine, unblinking.
I pictured the men who I thought were likely Jesse's killers. Men who I knew without a doubt had sold China white right into the hands of children.
"I would pull the trigger." That had always been a possibility, even if I didn't come out of deep cover.
He looked at me for a very long minute and said, "I know people."
I breathed in sharply. "That's what you're saying?" I didn't spell it out. Not even here in what was probably a more secure room than the ones in which my undercover assignments were made and my teams assembled.
"Yes."
Oh, my god.
"But you have to decide."
Shit. I breathed out. And then I thought of the high school girl who’d died in my arms, a friend, even if I wasn't who she thought I was. I thought of all the other kids losing futures and their parents losing children.
"Do it, sir," I said.
That was when he punished me. After he asked me if I was certain. After he gave me an hour by myself, to think it through. And I still said yes.
He took me in the room and he laddered my legs and ass and breasts with his canes, two of them, one thin and whippy, one thick and inflexible. I sobbed, I screamed.
I never backed down.
After another shower. After the after care. After he held me as I cried and he put salve on my cuts.
He took me back into the dining room where the kale still sat on the plate and the coffee was cold and ordered me to request my cure, to crawl across his lap and lay there as he administered it, and to kneel at his feet and thank him after, my face still b
urning with humiliation.
But my mind and heart were at ease, my decisions made.
Nowhere in my mind did I ever question what I'd done. Not once the decision was made for those men. There were two of them, the leaders of a splinter group. The ones who wanted the business Jesse had built.
Jesse's business was illegal and immoral and unthinkable. For all that I had felt things for him, I had never lost sight of that.
It was part of the reason I lost myself so totally when he was killed: Because I'd already lost a huge part of myself to him, and I knew the whole time what he was. If he hadn't died, I would eventually have betrayed him.
There would have been no other choice.
Jesse himself had never handed drugs to a child, as far as I knew. It came down to the same thing. There were deaths that tracked back to him with very few other people in the way.
I shared the responsibility. In order to get to the people bringing such horrors down on the communities in which meth and China white thrived, I had to let it through. I had to get past the part of me that knew the bubbly, giggly girl in her senior year who was dying strung out was in part my fault. I'd done everything I could to help her while remaining her apparent seventeen year old friend, but I shared in her death.
So did Jesse.
Not like the two men I had just sentenced. Not like the two men Cole had just put a contract on.
That was more nightmarish for the fact of it being the wrong way to go about it than in thinking those men were going to be taken out. They weren't Jesse. They weren't at the very least a few people removed from the horrors. They were in the thick of it. And they weren't taking care of their own men, no matter how brutal that caring was or how absurd it might be to consider that a mitigating factor; I did consider it something that set Jesse apart. He cared for the men who rode with him.
If that made me a hypocrite, so be it. Jesse was one step above the monsters I'd just sentenced to death.
That didn't mean I slept well but in truth, my sleep was more fractured by waiting for whatever came next with Cole. I'd just agreed to something outside the parameters of police work. Outside anything I'd have done in my undercover work.