by Celia Aaron
“Not until you ask nicely.” I swiped to the next contract on my tablet. “But you will sleep with me at night, naked, without complaint. Though I realize you prefer pajamas, especially ones with cats on them.”
“How do you know that?” Her eyebrows lowered, and I could sense her flipping through pieces of information in her mind, putting the picture together. She blanched, horror falling over her sweet face like curtains on a stage. “In fact, how do you know so much about me, right down to my favorite foods, the colors I prefer to wear, and what I like to sleep in?”
“I know everything there is to know about you.”
“How?” She seemed to shrink inward, making herself into the smallest possible version of herself.
I shrugged. “I went through your cottage a few days after we met—your computer, your contacts, your—”
“Oh my god.” She bolted and ran to the bathroom.
I followed, my steps muffled by the sound of her vomiting. She knelt over the toilet in the water closet. I reached out to pull her hair away from her face.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” she shouted into the bowl.
I didn’t see what the big deal was. Going through her belongings was the smartest move—research. Was it so repulsive? As I watched her heave her lunch into the toilet, I supposed it must have been.
A foreign set of words tumbled around in my chest. Ones I’d only uttered at the urging of my father, and I’d definitely never meant them. I grabbed a hand towel from next to the sink and handed it to her.
She sat back on her ass and leaned the back of her head against the tiled wall next to the toilet. I didn’t like her color, didn’t like that I’d caused this reaction in her.
The words rattled around again, demanding their freedom almost as vehemently as Camille had done.
I took a chance. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Her incredulous eyes peered into mine. “Sorry for invading my privacy in the worst way?”
I made a mental note to never tell her about the cameras in her house. “It seemed logical.”
“Logical?” Her eyes closed, and she wiped her mouth with the white hand towel again. “Why do you act like a robot?”
“I’m not a robot.” I sat down near her, the tile warm beneath me. “I’m a psychopath.”
“Right.” She laughed, the sound strained and off key.
“I’m not as bad as you think.” I could taste the lie, acrid on my tongue, before the sentence was out of my mouth.
“I know.” She nodded. “You’re worse.”
I considered lying to her, but decided against it. “That’s accurate.”
She clenched her eyes shut, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “Just let me go.”
Her soft plea would have broken anyone else. It had the opposite effect on me. The more she tried to fly away, the harder I wanted to clip her wings. She was the most precious thing I’d ever found.
I rose. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Let me guess.” She swiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “You need to return some videotapes?”
“Once again, I find the fact that you can quote American Psycho quite telling.” It tells me I’m the only man for you.
She didn’t answer, just stared at me with her watery blue eyes, beautiful even as her tears continued to flow—or possibly because of them.
21
Link
The anime porn wasn’t doing it for me. My cock wasn’t cooperating. I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair. It was time for my pre-work jerk, but I couldn’t seem to get my usual mojo going.
The problem wasn’t the overdrawn tits or the odd Asian words pouring from the pouty lips as the cartoon girl was reamed from behind. It was Camille. Her messages had been so cold ever since she’d left. And when she hadn’t returned my “I love you,” it stung.
I rose and walked to the wide windows looking out on the city. What was her deal? I inspected my reflection in the glass. Flexing my bicep, I posed and turned to get a look at my profile. I still had it. Hell, women hit on me all the time. But they weren’t Camille, so I didn’t bother with them except for the few times I’d accepted a blow job. Those didn’t count. Not really.
My phone beeped. I returned to my desk and picked it up, hoping for a sext from Camille. Instead, it was a message from an unknown number.
“What the hell?”
Hi Link, this is Mint Baxter, a student of Ms. Briarlane’s. I know this is going to sound weird, but have you spoken to her since she left?
Why is some little shit from her class texting me? I hit the button to call the number.
It rang once before he picked up.
“Link?”
“Yeah, why are you texting me?” I hit the speaker button and dropped to the floor to do some pushups. “And how’d you get this number?”
“My Uncle Hal works with you. He left his phone here after he came to”—he coughed—“visit this weekend. Anyway, I, um, I’m sorry about this, but have you talked to Ms. Briarlane since she left?”
“No. She doesn’t have voice service where she is.” I squeezed my back muscles with each push away from the floor. This horny teen didn’t have a chance with Camille, if that was what he was after.
“I know, but she texted me and it seemed sort of…off. Did you take her to the airport?”
“Look, kid. She’s fine. She’s been texting me. I saw her get into the car that was taking her to the airport.”
“Okay. That makes me feel a little better I guess.”
I rolled my eyes. Like I cared how this pipsqueak felt. “Great. I have some important stuff to do today, so if that’s all…” My biceps began to get the good burn going.
“So her texts to you have been normal?” His voice still carried uncertainty.
“Yeah.” I pushed up and held it. Come to think of it, she’d been colder than usual. Sort of brushing me off? I shook my head. Not possible. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Yeah, what did she text to you?” I tucked one hand behind my back and began one-handing it, pushing my breath through my teeth with each lift.
“She was sort of, I don’t know, abrupt.”
“What were you texting her?” Better not be dick pics.
“I just had a homework issue I wanted to talk about. Nothing big.” His voice cracked on the last word.
“Right.” I switched hands. “Look, she’s my girl, okay? Whatever little crush you may have on her, forget about it. Your horny teenage dick will never get anywhere near her. You got it?”
He groaned. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Unless you have something to tell me other than ‘my teen hormones are raging and I want to dick down with your girl, but she isn’t responding favorably to my texts,’ this conversation is done.” She wouldn’t even dick down with me. This kid didn’t have a fucking chance.
“Don’t talk about her like that.” His tone took on a sharp edge, and for a moment he sounded more man than boy.
I dropped to my elbows and planked. “Dude, she’s mine. I’ll say what I want.”
“I can’t believe she’s dating you. Look, asshole, she sent me a text earlier today. I’m screenshotting it and sending it to you.”
“Better not be a dick shot.” I tapped on the message and a text thread appeared—the kid bellyaching about his family and Camille blowing him off.
“Do you see the important part?”
I stared at the screen. “Nothing’s jumping out at me.”
Mint Baxter: Did I do something wrong?
Camille Briarlane: No. I’m busy researching Epipogium Aphyllum. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I’ll have much cell service for the rest of the trip. We’ll talk when I return.
“Look at how she capitalized Aphyllum.”
“Okay. So?” I rolled to my back on the cool wood floor and began doing crunches.
“Seriously, you’re her guy? You?”
“
Kid, you’re pissing me off. Get to the fucking point. And for the record, I’m a great guy.”
“Ms. Briarlane would never capitalize the species name in a binomial classification.”
“Come again?” I lost count of my crunches but kept on doing them.
“During our very first week in her class, she gave a lecture on the proper way to classify living things. The first word is the genus. The second is the species. The species is never capitalized. She would never make a mistake like that.”
“Have you heard of autocorrect?” My abs burned. I wondered if the kid had a point. Camille was super into the science of things, especially when it came to plants.
“What is wrong with you?” His voice rose. “It wasn’t her. Couldn’t be. She’d never do that. And her texts haven’t even felt like her.”
I paused and dropped the back of my head to the floor. “Her texts to me have been sort of weird, too.” The Christmas thing, where she’d practically said she was having a ball without me—that couldn’t possibly be true.
“See?” He crowed with triumph. “Who are her other friends? Will you ask them if she’s been in contact?”
“Yeah, I’ll text Veronica. But don’t get too excited just yet. I’m sure she’s trying to adjust to the new environment.”
“I’m not excited. I’m worried.”
“You’re too young to worry.” I sat up and swiped my phone off the floor. “I’ll make some calls.”
“Please text me back if you find out anything.”
“Sure thing.” I clicked off the call and opened a text window.
Link: Hey Veronica, you heard from our girl?
The three dots bopped along.
Veronica: She’s my girl and yeah.
Link: She sound weird to you?
Veronica: Um, her responses were sort of short, I guess, but nothing weird in them. Why?
Link: I was just checking. Her responses have been short to me, too.
Veronica: She’s on a grand adventure. Probably doesn’t have time for us when there are plenty of muscly, half-naked natives there to help her out.
Link: Nevermind.
Veronica: Don’t worry. She can take care of herself.
I wanted to let it go at that, but a nagging feeling still ate at me. Camille had left a number for the leader of the expedition. I’d call him up—right after I finished my morning wank.
22
Camille
His helicopter took off early that morning, the blades slicing through the cold air as I watched from the window of my room. He’d asked me to walk out with him, but I’d refused. He’d looked handsome and powerful in a dark gray suit, but I wanted him gone. The emotions he churned up inside me made me feel as if I was betraying myself. Instead of trying to understand him, I needed to come up with a plan to get away.
The helicopter turned and leaned forward, carrying him farther from me with each passing second. Someone knocked at the door, and then I heard the keypad beeps. Timothy swung the door open and clicked a switch along the closing mechanism. The door remained open.
“Please help me get away from here.” I walked over to him.
He kept his eyes downcast.
“Timothy.” I stood in front of him.
He wouldn’t look at me.
“Hey!” I snapped my fingers in front of his face.
He glanced at me. “I’m not to engage with your escape wishes.”
“You’re fine with keeping me prisoner here?”
“I’m not to engage.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “Your breakfast is ready downstairs.”
In his distress, his British accent came through stronger. I recognized it. Everything finally clicked. Anger roared through my bloodstream, poisoning all rational thought.
“Dr. Williams?” I hissed.
His eyes widened, but he didn’t respond.
He was the man who’d called and explained the Amazon expedition, the one who’d claimed my old professor recommended me highly for the prestigious spot on the team. It was all a set-up, just part of Sebastian’s twisted plan to trap me.
“You lied to me. Played along with his game to get me here. Why?” Fury welled inside me as his silence deepened. “What is wrong with you?” I stepped closer, though he was far bigger. I wanted to shake him. “What has he done to you?”
He finally met my gaze. “He set me free.”
“Leave the poor man alone.” Sebastian’s voice chilled me. It came from a speaker somewhere nearby.
He was watching me, could hear me somehow. I whirled and peered around the room, trying to find the camera. Even when I thought I was free of him, he was still here.
“I didn’t want to tell you this, but I have a camera system set up throughout the house.” Did he actually sound sheepish? I fought the urge to kick and slap Timothy just to get out some of my anger. But it wasn’t his fault. Not exactly. It was the fault of the asshole with the disembodied voice.
“You didn’t want to tell me about constant surveillance, huh?” I put my hands on my hips and stared at the black chandelier in the center of the room for lack of a better target. “Because it’s the most psycho thing you’ve done yet?”
“In my defense, I had the home wired quite some time ago.” The whir of the helicopter blades made a soft whomp whomp whomp noise in the background each time he spoke.
“Why?”
“I like to keep an eye on things.”
“Where are the cameras?”
“You won’t find them. No point looking.”
Horror crept up my spine at the thought of him keeping recordings of me. Then another thought smacked me right between the eyes. “Oh, god, are they in the bathroom?”
Silence.
More silence.
“Oh my god!” I screamed and covered my face. After several deep breaths, I dropped my hands. “Turn them off!”
“What will you give me in exchange?”
I didn’t want a deal. I wanted privacy. I wanted some semblance of my own space inside this cage he’d created for me. How dare he? Anger made me bold. I returned to Timothy and stopped only a breath away from him. “If you don’t turn them off in the bathrooms and this bedroom, I’ll kiss Timothy.”
Timothy blanched, and his gaze went to the chandelier. Busted.
A growl, followed by, “Turn the helicopter around.” Whomp whomp whomp.
“You won’t make it in time.” I threw what I hoped was a sexy look over my shoulder to the chandelier. “Maybe I’ll make it more than a kiss.”
Timothy swallowed hard.
“You wouldn’t mind, would you?” I ran my hand along his smooth cheek.
“Turn this helicopter around right this goddamn minute!”
“Agree to my terms or Timothy gets a taste.” I lifted onto my tiptoes and flattened my palms on Timothy’s hard pecs.
“Please don’t.” A sheen of sweat broke out along his brow. Pity for him tried to overcome my bravado, but I couldn’t let up. Not now.
“All right!” Sebastian’s bark startled me. “All right. I’ll turn them off in the bathrooms only.”
“And the bedroom.”
“No.”
“Pucker up Timothy.” I gripped his cheeks and pulled him down to me.
“Deal!”
I smiled and released the poor man, then turned to the chandelier. “Turn the cameras off now.”
“Done.”
Timothy sighed with relief and sagged against the doorframe.
“How do I know you aren’t lying?” I stared at the chandelier.
“Timothy, dismantle the cameras in my bedroom and all the house bathrooms.”
“Yes sir.”
“Good.” I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling more than a little satisfied with myself.
“Keep going to the city.” Sebastian’s stern command could have cut glass.
Timothy pulled his black butler’s jacket down at the hem, though it was already straight. “I’ll set to work o
n the cameras while you’re eating break—”
A buzzing erupted from his pocket followed by a ringtone. He glanced at me. “Excuse me for a moment, please.”
“Sure.” I walked into the hall and turned toward the stairs as the door clicked shut behind me.
“And, Camille.” Sebastian’s voice floated along the hall ahead of me, planting a seed of worry. “I’ll deal with you when I return this evening.”
“I think I can get my hands on most of these.” Gerry pushed his worn baseball cap back on his head and surveyed the list of plants I’d given him. “Some of these scientific names I’m not sure of, but I’ll figure them out.”
“Great.” I dug around the roots of the tomato plant I was working with. “How long do you think it’ll take to get them?”
“Some of them today. Some might take a little longer.” His weathered skin crinkled as he spoke, but his dark brown eyes retained a youthful sparkle. “Got big plans?”
I shrugged and pulled the tomato up gently and re-potted in a larger terra cotta. “Just some experiments. I want to do my own drawings and studies on the exotic varieties. The more common ones, I’ll use for hybridization.” I paused. “You wouldn’t be interested in helping me escape, would you?”
“No. I’m not supposed to.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “Has he hurt you any?”
“If I said yes, would you help me?”
“I would, but I’d hate for us to start off on the wrong foot with a lie like that.” He folded the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of his denim coveralls. “And it would be a lie, wouldn’t it?”
“Other than the obvious mental and emotional damage …” I wanted to chew on my thumbnail, but my hands were covered in dirt. “No, he hasn’t physically hurt me, but I still shouldn’t be held captive here.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I agree with you there.” Despite his words, he didn’t seem inclined to do a damn thing to help me. He patted the pocket where he’d put my list. “If this is all you need, I best get going.”
I returned my attention to the plant and ignored the useless sting of tears in my eyes. No one here would lift a finger. I was on my own. The urge to cry eased as Gerry’s footsteps faded toward the back of the greenhouse. Though no one would help me, something on my list would allow me to help myself.