Perfect Submission

by Roxy Sloane

  “You bitch,” he growls. “You won’t be smiling when you’re rotting in jail.”

  “If they get a conviction,” I try my best to bluff. “But the lawyers say there’s no way that’s going to happen. They expect to get the charges dropped any day now.”

  “You’re dreaming,” Brent smiles, confident again. “You’re going to prison. They don’t just let you walk for murder.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” I protest, my voice rising with anger. “I told you all those years ago, it was an accident. I didn’t know about the fire.”

  “That’s not what the witness says,” Brent smirks again, and there’s something so smug about his voice that my suspicions are confirmed. He knows something.

  “What do you know about it?” I ask.

  Brent snorts. “Enough to know you’re not getting off so easy. You’ll be in jail soon enough. Enjoy those group showers.”

  I swallow back my rage. Brent is mean as hell, but he’s also arrogant. Maybe I can play to that.

  “What do you want from me?” I drop my voice to a whisper, begging him. “Please, Brent, I don’t understand. Do you want more money? Because this isn’t the way to get it. If I’m in prison, all my assets will be frozen or go back to the family trust!”

  “Fuck money.” Brent’s face splits in a furious scowl. “You want to know what this is about? This is about you! Leaving me for that Scottish bastard. Thinking you’re so much better than me.” Brent paces closer, making my heart skip. “You’re just a common whore, the way you spread your legs for me all these years, and now you’re doing the same for him. You think I don’t know what you’re doing with him? I’ve heard all about how Cameron McCullough likes it, you dirty bitch.”

  I’m speechless, but even as I try to recover, I hate knowing that Brent saw the shock and pain on my face.

  He smiles. “I know what you’re doing with him, all that kinky shit, so now it’s my turn to make you hurt. I’m going to destroy you, until you’ve got nothing left in the world. I want you on your knees, begging me for mercy the way you beg him. Because he won’t stand by you once you’re a convicted killer. You’ll be all alone in the world, the way you deserve.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. I can’t believe he has so much hatred boiling inside him. Or that I would have done anything for him once.

  “I can’t believe I ever loved you,” I tell him, disgusted. “That I never saw you for who you really are.”

  He smirks again. “You were easy to manipulate. Poor little Isabelle, so desperate for my approval. It was fun, making you run around after me. And then when you turned legal, well, that was fun, too. My own personal plaything,” he crows.

  I feel sick. “You’re disgusting. I was just a kid, I trusted you.”

  “And I developed that trust until there was nothing you wouldn’t do.” Brent laughs cruelly.

  He’s enjoying this. He loves to see me suffer. That’s when I realize, I can use his ego against him.

  “Please,” I whisper, trying to look pathetic. “I don’t understand. The fire was an accident. How could they have a witness?”

  “God, you’re so fucking naïve,” Brent leers at me. “People will say anything for the right price. Ten Gs and that girl would say anything I want.”

  “Which girl?” I demand.

  Brent’s face changes. He realizes he’s said too much. “You’re too late,” he snaps. “You’re not getting out of this one. And I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer. You’ll wish you hadn’t crossed me by the time I’m through.”

  “Never.” My voice comes out clearly. I find the strength to stand tall and stare him down. “I don’t care what you do to me, I’ll never regret breaking free from your toxic influence. I was just a kid when you got your claws into me, I didn’t know any better, but I do now. You’re worthless, Brent. You’ve had all the opportunities in the world and you’ve squandered all of them. Plotting against Keely, trying to steal the company,” I tick his crimes off on my fingers, “And now this, your vendetta against me. I won’t take it anymore. If you think I’ll come begging to you, you’re wrong,” I vow fiercely. “I have a better life now. I have friends, and people who love me, and a partner who knows what it is to be a real man.”

  I glare at him, feeling years of pent-up anger and betrayal come flooding to the surface. “What I have with Cam is real. He doesn’t have to manipulate or blackmail me to make me love him. He loves me for my strengths, he doesn’t exploit my weakness. You’ll never know what it’s like to be loved the way I love him, because you don’t deserve it. You may have taken my adolescence from me, but you’re not taking another moment of my life. We’re going to fight this, and win, and you’ll be left with nothing. You have no one, Brent,” I add, furious. “No friends, no family, no money, no one who cares.”

  He tries smirking at me again but it looks forced now, and I recognize a familiar panic in his eyes. He’s pathetic.

  I glare at him, so relieved to finally be free. “Goodbye, Brent. Now get the hell out of my apartment.”

  Brent opens his mouth, but a voice from behind me cuts him off.

  “You heard the lady.”

  I turn. “Cam!” I exclaim. He’s standing in the doorway, and although he’s casually leaning, I can see his body is ready for a fight.

  Brent looks between us. “I don’t need to bother with you,” he sneers, still trying to save face. “Enjoy jail.”

  “Go. Now.” Cam’s voice is lethal. Brent quickly storms out.

  I gulp for air, shaking. I didn’t realize I was so tense, but now exhilaration floods my body.

  “Isabelle?” Cam strides into the apartment.

  “I can’t believe I just did that,” I gasp. “After all this time, I finally told him where to go. And I meant it! It’s over, Cam. It’s all in the past now.”

  He doesn’t smile. With a sinking feeling, I realize what I’ve done: disobeyed him. And to speak to Brent, which could endanger me and my case even more. “I’m sorry,” I blurt quickly. “I know you ordered me not to talk to him, but I had to try.”

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Cam says, but his face softens. “Did you mean what you just said to him?”

  “About how crazy in love with you I am?” I meet his eyes and nod. “Every word.”

  Cam grins, even though I can tell he’s still mad at me, too. “I’d proud of you, Isabelle,” he says, pulling me into his arms. “I know it took a lot of courage to stand up to him like that. But why didn’t you tell me? I could have been here for you.”

  “I needed to come alone,” I explain, relieved. “Brent loves to show off. I knew that if I pushed him, I could get him to reveal what he’s doing behind all of this.”

  “And?” Cam asks.

  “And, I think I figured it out.” I look at him, my excitement building. “He said it was a girl, the witness he’s paying off to lie about what happened.”

  Cam pulls out his phone. “I’ll tell Jake. Maybe that will narrow it down.”

  “You don’t need to call him, I already know who it is. Britney, my foster sister. She was the only other one who could have been at the house that day. She’s the one who’s lying, she has to be.”

  EIGHT: CAM

  After Isabelle figures out that Brent is paying her former foster-sister to claim she killed Clayton on purpose, we have to move fast. I get Jake to dig out everything he can on this supposed witness; he tracks her to an address in Florida, not far from where Isabelle grew up.

  “Petty theft, some drug charges, looks like she’s not exactly a model citizen,” Jake says on our conference call. I have the phone on speaker so Isabelle can hear, too.

  “Doesn’t that help us?” she asks. “I mean, in court.”

  Grant clears his throat, then speaks up on the other end of the line. “Maybe. But relying on a witnesses’ character is never a sure thing. After all, the prosecution will be trying to paint you as a bad person, too. They’ll use photos of you partying, all kin
ds of things to show you’re of poor moral character.”

  “Which is why it’s important to get to this Britney and convince her to stop lying,” I decide. “We take off in a few minutes, I’ll call you once we land.”

  I hang up and turn to Isabelle, sitting beside me in the cabin of the private company plane. It’s luxurious, with leather seats and a hostess on call to bring anything we want, but Isabelle looks terrified.

  “Are you scared of flying?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I’m scared of what happens when we land.”

  I pull her closer, squeezing her hand as the pilot revs up the engine and we taxi down the private airstrip. We take off smoothly, and soon, the small plane is cruising above the country.

  “Score one for the Ashcroft fortune,” Isabelle cracks, trying to smile. The hostess comes back to take our orders.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Isabelle shakes her head.

  “You haven’t eaten all day, and we need to keep you in fighting shape,” I remind her. “We’ll take some fruit, and a couple of club sandwiches, thank you,” I request from the hostess. She moves back to the cabin to prepare our food.

  Isabelle stares out of the window, anxiously twisting her bracelet around. I hate that she’s stuck in this nightmare, even though I’m doing everything I can to get her out. She’s so brave, facing down Brent and getting the information about the witness, but seeing her here, none of that strength is apparent: she looks like a scared child.

  I don’t understand it. And then it hits me. She’s going home.

  “You haven’t been back since Ashcroft adopted you?” I ask, concerned.

  “No.” Isabelle swallows. “He offered… said we could try and find my mom, if I wanted, or relatives. You know, have a sense of my past. But I didn’t want to. The day I left, I swore I’d never go back.”

  She blinks back tears, setting her jaw and forcing her gaze out the window. .

  I feel a surge of protectiveness. “It’s not for long,” I reassure her. “I arranged an interview with the local police, so the judge is bending your rules on bail and letting you out of the state to answer their questions. Hopefully, we can get everything we need on Britney and be home before tomorrow night.”

  Isabelle nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. I can’t imagine what she must be feeling right now, going back to the place that caused her so much pain and fear.

  I pull her into my lap and cradle her, resting her head against my chest. “You’re not the same girl you were when you lived here,” I remind her. “You’ve built a whole new life.”

  “And look what’s happened: it’s all come crashing down,” Isabelle counters. “I’ve been running so long, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave my past behind. I’m right back where I started.”

  “No,” I correct her. “You’re older, and braver, and stronger than before. And you have me with you this time. I won’t let anything hurt you,” I promise. “We’ll face your old ghosts. Together.”

  * * *

  When the plane lands, I have a rental car meet us. Using GPS to guide us to the small town fifty miles outside Gainesville where all this began. Isabelle stares out the window at the scenery as it passes. Again, I marvel at her bravery – and beauty.

  Anyone else, and I’d still be furious at her defying my direct order, but I’m realizing that our sub/Dom relationship isn’t so black and white anymore. I respect Isabelle’s choices, and when she took the risk to face Brent on her own, I know she was doing it for the both of us: so we could move on to the next chapter in her life.

  “We can check in at the county sheriff’s office later,” I tell her, turning off the highway. “They’re the ones who had original jurisdiction in the case. They ruled it an accident back then, but they need to interview you for the fresh charges.”

  “Will you stay with me?” Isabelle asks.

  I give her a nod. “Of course.”

  As if wild animals could drag me from her side.

  As we drive, the landscape outside the windows gets more rural. Wide-open woods and swampland, with small, run-down homes and trailers set back from the road. It’s hard to imagine Isabelle growing up here: the woman I first met with Ashcroft was always so polished and perfect, she acted like she’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and designer heels on her feet. But it was all just an act.

  “It reminds me of where I grew up,” I tell her. Isabelle looks over, surprised.

  “In Scotland?”

  I nod. “It was a poor area too. Rural, in the Highlands. But beautiful. Coal mining and ship-building were the main trades for jobs, and when those dried up twenty, thirty years ago, a lot of people sank into unemployment and never got out. I was lucky,” I add, “My parents worked hard, dad retrained with computers. It was a modest living, but it was something.”

  “But you still left,” Isabelle says.

  “I wanted more,” I reply simply. “I felt trapped, stifled by the lack of opportunity. I had big dreams, I wanted it all.”

  “And you made it,” Isabelle says, admiration in her voice. “You worked for everything you have now. Not like me.”

  “Don’t say that,” I scold her gently. “We were both fortunate. Ashcroft chose us both, for whatever reason. He saw something in us, I guess. But what you did after that, it’s all you.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” Isabelle’s voice twists. “Unless you count shopping and lunches.”

  “And fund-raising, and all your charity work,” I remind her. “You do a lot more than most women in your situation.”

  “Maybe. But being back here, seeing everything I left behind, it makes me feel like it’s not enough.” Isabelle exhales. “I mean, what if Ashcroft hadn’t adopted me? Would I have wound up like Britney? Like my mother?”

  “I don’t believe that for a second,” I tell her honestly. “Don’t let all these old memories drag you back. We’re here for a reason, don’t lose sight of that.”

  Isabelle gives me a small nod.

  “We’re almost there.” I turn down another back road, the car bumping on the uneven track. I wonder if we’ve taken a wrong turn, but the address Jake found is right here: a small, single-level house that’s seen better days. The porch screen is torn, and the railing hangs off the edge.

  “I guess we know why she took Brent’s money,” I remark.

  “And what she’s spending it on.” Isabelle nods toward a new satellite dish on the roof, and a new-looking car in the drive.

  We get out. “Are you ready?” I ask.

  Isabelle gives a determined nod. “She was a sweet kid. I’m sure if I just talk to her, explain what her lies mean for me, she’ll take them back. She’s probably in way over her head. You know how Brent can be.”

  We climb the front step and I knock on the door. But when Britney comes to open it, there’s no sign of the sweet kid Isabelle’s been talking about.

  “What?” Britney demands, pushing the screen door open. She’s wearing cutoffs and a tank top, revealing an ugly tattoo. Her hair is bleached and ratty, and her face is tired, looking far older than her years.

  “Britney?” Isabelle sounds shocked. “It’s me. Izzie Johnson.”

  Britney looks freaked. She tries to slam the door, but I stick my foot in the way and elbow it open. “Not so fast,” I tell her.

  “I just need to talk to you,” Isabelle begs. “Please, it’ll only take a minute.”

  Britney’s eyes dart between us. “Fine,” she says, standing back from the door. “But only for a minute. I got to go.”

  “Thank you.” Isabelle sounds grateful. She heads inside and I follow, looking carefully around. It’s a run-down room with peeling wallpaper, but I can see a stack of shopping bags and delivery boxes in the next room.

  I make sure Britney is looking the other way, then I take out my phone and set it to ‘record.’

  “It’s good to see you,” Isabelle says. She smiles at the girl. “How h
ave you been?”

  Britney doesn’t offer us anything to drink. She sits heavily on the couch and folds her arms, defensive.

  “What do you think?” Britney scowls back. “Not everyone got taken off to some fancy big-city house to live with a perfect family.”

  Isabelle’s face falls. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, even though she has nothing to apologize for.

  I look at Britney and see the bitterness in her eyes. I can already tell, she’s the kind of person to blame everyone but herself for her lot in life. So instead of trying to make things better for herself, she’s tearing down Isabelle instead.

  “We heard you’ve been talking to the police,” I speak up, trying to hide my anger.

  Britney doesn’t look ashamed. “Maybe.” She gives a sullen shrug. “What’s it to you?”

  “Your lies concern me very much.” I glare. “You’re saying that Isabelle killed your foster father on purpose. Why would you do that?”

  “It’s what happened. And you can’t say otherwise,” Britney smirks. “Those prosecutors in New York say you’re in real trouble now, Iz. Not so perfect anymore.”

  I squeeze Isabelle’s hand.

  “I don’t understand,” she says to Britney. “Why would you lie like that? Do you understand what they’re going to do to me? I could spend my life in jail!”

  “Yeah, well I have to spend my life here,” Britney scowls. “You think I haven’t seen you, all these years? In all the magazines, having the time of your life. What makes you so special?” she demands. “Why should you get to live the high life while we’re all stuck back here?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Isabelle sounds wretched. “But lying now? Britney, please. You weren’t even home that day. Don’t you remember? You were at school.”

  “I never made it to school,” Britney says flatly. “I cut. So I could have been anywhere that day. Including at home.”

  “You know I didn’t kill anyone,” Isabelle whispers. “It’s a lie. Please. Don’t do this.”

  I hate watching her beg like this, but Britney is unmoved.

  “I’m telling the truth.” She smirks. “Crisis of conscience, like. I’m doing my job as a good citizen, speaking up now so you don’t get off free.”