I doubted Braelyn would’ve been able to tell me the color of the shelves much less a single book title since she seemed to be studying the overpriced gold rug covering a majority of the floor as she blazed a trail back and forth over it.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” I suggested. “Perhaps I can help.”
When she stopped her midnight marathon, Braelyn turned to look at me. This time, when those beautiful eyes met mine, they were flooded with tears. It was clear she was making an attempt to hold them back but failed when one glistening drop rolled over her smooth cheek.
Later, when I was alone, I would ponder my reasons for wanting to pull her into my arms, shield her from whatever torment plagued her, protect her from all the evils of the world. That wasn’t an emotion I was aware I’d been programmed with, being that I’d never felt it before.
ONE
Fourteen months later
Wednesday, December 30, 2020
Braelyn Bishop
“How long have you been in the area?”
The question came from the handsome, if a bit plain, man sitting across from me, and now that I thought about it, it was possible this was the second time he’d asked me that tonight. Maybe the third.
Question was: did he not believe me? Or did he just not listen?
Either way, I offered a smile, said (again), “All my life.”
Matthew “my friends call me Matty” Sandusky, my date for the evening, had been interrogating me with mundane and unimaginative questions ever since we sat down for dinner at one of the most popular restaurants in Chicago. And while the food was exquisite at this particular establishment, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it for a first date.
If Matty— Nope, can’t do it. He’s a grown man, for heaven’s sake.
If Matt had known anything about me at all, he would’ve known I wasn’t fond of pretentious, and this place had left pretentious a few rungs down on the ladder. This was one of those linen-and-candlelight venues, the kind you selected when you had something important to celebrate like a graduation or an engagement or most definitely an anniversary. Not a first date. Not with me, anyway.
But the wine was good, and Matt was paying, so who was I to complain?
“Well, you should consider yourself lucky,” Matt said kindly before taking a sip of his wine.
Ha! Lucky? That would be the last word I’d use when describing myself.
“Well, I do love it here,” I admitted. Just trying to play my part.
It wasn’t a lie. I couldn’t imagine myself living anywhere else, especially since I was born and raised in Chi-town.
Granted, there was no record of that. Not for Braelyn Bishop, anyway. That name belonged to the identity I’d taken when I was nine, back when my brother decided it was time we escaped our family’s sadistic clutches.
Not that I would share that with Matt. Or anyone else, for that matter.
When Ransom chose to hide us in plain sight, changing our names so that we could remain within the same city as the parents we were desperate to evade, I hadn’t asked questions. Not because I was too young to know what was going on, because that certainly hadn’t been the case. Having the parents I had, I’d been forced to grow up early. Rather, I hadn’t needed to question Ransom’s reasons. I trusted my brother with my life. Even to this day, he was the only person I truly trusted.
“Where’re you from?” I inquired in an effort to be polite.
“From here, of course.”
Of course. I smiled because it was obvious he expected it.
Having met Matt just a few days ago at the coffee shop near my apartment, I knew nothing about him aside from the fact he favored long sleeves, odd ties, and cold brew, plus a few tidbits I’d picked up tonight—only child, asshole father, graduated with honors. And while he seemed more than willing to divulge more, I couldn’t seem to get out of my own head long enough to enjoy the food, much less the conversation. I was still hung up on the fact I’d encountered him every morning this week at roughly eight, which, until I’d seen him three days in a row, I hadn’t realized had become my routine. One I would be discontinuing immediately, because if I’d learned nothing else in my life, I knew that routines were what could get you killed. A lesson my brother had browbeat into me since I was nine years old.
“I left for a bit,” he said, continuing to carry the conversation. “Took a couple of jobs in DC, but, like everyone who leaves here, I got back as soon as I could.”
I don’t think anyone had ever said that about Illinois, but hey, if Matt believed it, who was I to argue?
He laughed at his words, as though I was supposed to find them funny, so I plastered on a smile, asked, “What brought you back?”
“Unfinished business.” Matt waved me off, chuckling once more. “It’s not interesting, I assure you.”
My smile fell away as the hair on the back of my neck rose in warning. The way he said it wasn’t what concerned me. It was the words themselves. Unfinished business. When people used that phrase, it rocketed up my fear. After all, I considered myself someone’s unfinished business, and every day I expected to see my mother or father or, worse, their vicious henchman, ready to steal me away from this life I’d built for myself.
My gaze swept over Matt’s face, studying the soft lines of his jaw, the floppy, light brown hair that hung over his forehead, the almost feminine bow of his lips. Like I said, he was handsome, perhaps bordering a little too much on pretty. At least for my taste.
When I looked in his eyes, it was then I attempted to get a glimpse of his soul, to dig deeper into his psyche. Not that I could mentally ascertain his intentions, but since I hadn’t detected any deceit when I’d first met him, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was getting lax.
Not many people knew my history, or Ransom’s, for that matter. It was out of necessity that we kept a low profile, trusted no one. When you were born into one of the most ruthless crime families in the US, and you’d since escaped their violent clutches, it was imperative that no one get too close so as not to risk revealing who you really were.
“When I got back, I vowed not to leave again,” Matt continued, still with that pleasant smile on his face. “Luckily, my job allows me to remain here most of the time. But I travel frequently.”
Doing my best to hide the nerves that were clanging loudly, I wiped my mouth with my napkin, set it gently on my plate. “You’ve never mentioned what it is you do.”
Matt leaned forward, and I instinctively leaned back but tried to hide the reaction by reaching for my wineglass.
His voice lowered when he said, “I’m an aide to Senator Abernathy.”
If that was supposed to put me at ease, it didn’t. Senator Marybeth Abernathy was close friends with my parents, a fact I was aware of because I made a point to keep track of where they were and what they were up to at all times.
Matt’s cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink. “I know, I know. Politics. Don’t worry, I’m not here to solicit your vote or anything.”
Absolute least of my worries.
I forced another bland smile, attempting to relax. I’d long ago learned to read people. My gut was telling me this guy was not a contract killer out to kidnap me and eliminate my brother. Didn’t mean one wasn’t sitting somewhere nearby, but for the moment, I wanted to believe I was in the clear.
Something told me I wasn’t.
I kept my attention on Matt, refusing to look around although that tingling on my neck hadn’t abated. Someone was watching me, and tonight wasn’t the first night I’d felt that way. Months now, but I’d never seen anyone. Still didn’t.
“And you? You haven’t mentioned what it is you do,” he probed with a curious smile.
“Computer programming,” I said because it was the simplest way to explain it.
“Is that right?” He seemed rather pleased by this revelation. “Sounds incredibly interesting.”
Actually, it sounded like bullshit, but whatever.
“It’s not,” I assured him. “However, I do enjoy it.”
Mostly because it gave me the anonymity I needed. It allowed me to hide behind a computer screen. In my experience, very rarely did someone interrupt you if you were wielding a keyboard and not surfing the internet.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” the server asked when he approached the table.
“No, thank you,” I said quickly, hoping Matt would get the hint. “Dinner was lovely. Would you please give my regards to the chef?”
“Of course, madam.” The man’s eyes glittered with pride. “And you, sir?”
Matt was polite, if not a bit starchy, giving the server his full attention. He gave me the impression he was putting on airs, pretending to be in a class above his own. Something else I wasn’t particularly fond of.
Was that for my benefit? Did I come across as uppity? I hoped not, because I’d never considered myself entitled.
Did I know how to navigate a formal place-setting? Yes, I did. Did I know to compliment the chef for a wonderful meal? Absolutely. That was because my parents had grilled those things into my head when I was little. No child of theirs was going to come across as anything but sophisticated. However, having left my parents and their ridiculous values and rules in the past, class and status meant absolutely nothing to me.
I tossed back the rest of my wine, tried not to let Matt see how badly I wanted to make a mad dash toward the exit.
It wasn’t until this morning that I’d finally given in to his request for dinner. Not because I was interested. I knew from the beginning that Matt wasn’t my type. Too plain. Too … nice, I guess was the right way to put it. And while I didn’t want to lead him on in any way, I knew that continuing to thwart his efforts would only have him working harder to get my attention because he seemed extremely determined. So, I’d relented when he’d made the suggestion a third time, fully intending to let him know that, while I enjoyed his company, I wasn’t looking for a relationship.
Yep, it was true, we were doomed before the night started. It was me, not him. Blah. Blah. Blah.
I wasn’t in the market for a man, and it had nothing to do with the situation with my family. I had stopped looking over my shoulder a long time ago, succumbing to the theory that what was meant to happen would. Didn’t mean I was oblivious to those around me or that I didn’t have the urge to scan dark corners. I did, sure. I simply tried really hard not to.
My reasons for forgoing intimacy had more to do with my personal hang-ups.
“So, when can we do this again?” Matt asked when the server took his credit card so he could close out the bill.
I set my wineglass down, took a deep breath as I met his stare and held it. “I’ll admit, I had a really great time, Matt.”
It was only a small lie.
His eyes cooled, his shoulders tensing. “But?”
“It’s not you,” I said quickly. “It’s just … well, it’s just that I’m coming off a recent breakup.”
And by recent, I meant thirteen months ago.
Matt obviously didn’t need to know that.
His shoulders unknotted, his face relaxing. “I’m sorry to hear that. I had no idea.”
“How could you?” I smiled easily. “It’s been … difficult.” That was a lie, as well. The breakup hadn’t been difficult, it had been necessary.
I’d spent the better part of a year with Jake, and since him, thanks to a few unimpressive attempts on my part, I had yet to find the desire to date again. I’d had my fair share of the back-and-forth exchange of pleasantries in an effort to get to know someone before Jake had come into my life and swept me off my submissive feet. I’d fallen for a man who had called himself a Dominant. It hadn’t been one of those hard and fast falls, but I’d convinced myself it was a BDSM fairy tale, one I’d spent years anticipating. And though we’d both worked hard to be what each other needed, we eventually agreed that wasn’t going to happen.
Sometimes it took a failed attempt to open someone’s eyes. And mine had certainly been opened during my time with Jake.
So, along with letting go of that relationship, I’d also discarded the illusion that I was a submissive, opting to put it behind me. I figured when you couldn’t find what you were seeking, it was possible it didn’t exist. That or my expectations were simply too high. And truth was, it had grown tedious. Rather than continue to be disappointed, I’d opted to make the jump back to the vanilla world, accepting fate had other things in store for me.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Matt said kindly, but I could see his disappointment.
Giving him a sad smile, I let my eyes shift to the table. “Yeah, well … it takes time for the heart to heal.”
I hated lying because I sensed Matt was one of the nice guys. If I gave the signal, I had no doubt he would take me back to my place, make sweet love to me all night. Probably send me flowers tomorrow, take me on another date next weekend. It was what the nice guys did. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want a nice guy. I most certainly did.
I merely wanted my nice guy to have a sexual, domineering edge.
Somewhere deep down, I think I still held out hope that my Dominant would one day come to my rescue, save me from this mundane existence, and offer me a life right out of my submissive fantasies.
A girl could dream, right?
*
RANSOM BISHOP
“What a douche,” I muttered, watching my sister and her date as they appeared to be finishing up their meal while I tried to stay warm in my car, wishing I was anywhere but here.
Exhaling heavily, I exchanged my cell phone for my lukewarm coffee, dumping the former in the center console, picking up the latter. I’d already gleaned everything I could about this Matthew Sandusky. Although he wasn’t what I would call squeaky, he did appear clean despite his relationship with the crooked senator he called a boss. From the deep dive I’d done on him, the only thing my sister had to worry about was that she made more money than he did.
“She’s too good for you, man,” I said although no one was listening to me.
This certainly wasn’t my ideal way of spending this chilly December evening. Or any evening, for that matter. However, these days, it was my only option. Specifically, on nights my sister opted to go out. Granted, she generally made a trip to the yoga studio or the bookstore rather than some swanky restaurant on a date, but I figured it was inevitable. She couldn’t hide herself away forever, although it certainly would be easier on me if she did.
And yes, that was me being selfish. My sister deserved to have a life, and it was my job to watch her back, so here I was and here I would remain for as long as she was out and about.
If I were a tyrant, I would’ve simply locked Braelyn in a dungeon somewhere no one could find her, but I’d already disrupted her life enough. After all, I was the one responsible for putting us both in this predicament, for stirring up the past and all but painting targets on our backs again. For the past year and a half, I’d spent every single minute waiting for the anvil to drop. And when I wasn’t doing that, I was ensuring it didn’t fall on my sister, too. The least she deserved was to enjoy her freedom.
Even if it meant I had to forego a night dominating a willing submissive or two in lieu of lurking in the shadows to ensure Braelyn was safe. Yes, I had skipped another night at Dichotomy so I could give my sister somewhat of a life. It was the least I could do. Of course, I wasn’t feeling the club much these days. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what my issue was, but I was growing tired of the drama, the tediousness associated with developing a scene, following through. Had been for quite some time now. Even the sex had become uninspired. The high I used to get from it all had faded.
So maybe it wasn’t such a hardship to be keeping an eye on my sister. At the very least, it gave me the excuse I needed to avoid engaging with others.
I could tell the date wasn’t going well based on Braelyn’s body language. I’d seen her do this before. Braelyn call
ed it enduring. I preferred to say she was wasting her precious time. The good news was, it appeared the date was coming to an end, which meant I’d be able to retire for the evening soon enough.
I watched as Braelyn pulled her cell phone from her purse, typed something.
A second later, my phone screen lit up with a text from her. I’ll be going home soon. Hope you’re having fun at the club.
I downed what was left of my coffee, smiled, grateful my sister was abiding by my request to keep me informed of her whereabouts. I knew it was beginning to irritate her, and I couldn’t very well blame her. She was a grown woman, could do what she wanted, when she wanted, yet I insisted she report in so I knew she was safe. My sister assured me she understood my reason for hovering.
Granted, she didn’t know I was lurking in the parking lot, nor did she know that I was living in a rented apartment in the same building as her rather than the three-bedroom house I owned, just so I could be close in the event something happened. It was just another step I was taking in my efforts to keep her safe.
Would she be pissed if she found out? Yeah. Maybe. Even my easygoing sister was known to get upset from time to time. But her anger was the least of my worries. My only goal was to keep her alive so she could run the gamut of emotions another day.
I turned my attention to a car pulling into the lot. It wasn’t the midnight-blue sedan that had been following me earlier in the day, although I kept waiting for that one to appear. I had managed to lose the tail two hours ago, but I knew whoever was tracking me was still out there, waiting. I’d outwitted them for eighteen months, but it appeared they now had me in their sights. It wouldn’t be long before they caught me. At that point, my life would be over, but not before I endured a significant amount of torture that would be used as a means of getting me to give up my sister. I wouldn’t. Not to anyone. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try.
I exhaled sharply, looked back at the restaurant, waiting for Braelyn to get to her feet. She almost made it, but the douche managed to delay her once more.
Owned (Office Intrigue Book 8) Page 2