Contract Renewed (Contracted Book 3)

by Aya DeAniege

  “It takes time for scarring to fade,” I protested.

  “No, with your face I was understanding. He tried to carve you up like a turkey, but even that is gone. What in the hell did he do to the rest of you that they couldn't fix the scars on your front but did on your back?”

  By that point, I had simply accepted that this was my new look.

  “I... I don't know," I said with a shake of my head. "I don't remember it all. Just they grafted skin here," I motioned to an area on my side, then down one rib, "and here. This here, they uh—they said they couldn't stitch it back because there wasn't enough firm flesh, so they had to basically glue me back together. Almost lost a toe, just the little one."

  Or perhaps Albert had avoided my back because he wanted to see the look on my face as he cut into and burned my flesh.

  “They should have—”

  “I was broken, Nathaniel,” I said, daring to meet his eyes. “You can't sum it up with just saying I was damaged. I was broken on purpose, I was tortured, I was raped, and then the Program patched me back together as best they could because they couldn't afford to hire your rich people doctors, who thought that working on a poor person was beneath them.

  “Yeah, your father did this to me, but that doesn't mean you get to huff and puff about how I'm not perfect anymore. I wasn't perfect, to begin with, I never was, and I never will be. I was damaged before you put a contract out for me, now it's just that I'm wearing physical scars instead of just emotional ones.

  “And just because I have scars doesn't fucking mean I'm not attractive anymore. There are plenty of people who would find this hot. I am a D-cup petite woman—because yeah, I now know my breast size now—who likes to be tied up and beaten. A few scars don't change who I am, and if that changes what you see in me, that's your fucking problem, not mine."

  I turned and snatched up the dress I had been wearing, marching out of the bathroom and slamming the door as I went. I slammed the bedroom door as well, just for added effect. Fuming mad, I walked the whole of twenty feet to my bedroom door and marched in, slamming that door as well.

  I threw the sundress on the floor and walked to the mirror, not understanding.

  Nathaniel had looked at me at Mayfair's place. The lights hadn't been as bright as the bathroom had been, and my scars were faded. I still bore the marks of Alfred, and I always would. Some would fade away to nothing, some would fade, but would still be visible, especially if I took on any colour whatsoever. Such as when I tanned at all.

  At that point in time, however, there were scars across my stomach and ribcage, down my legs. I turned sideways and looked at my back. There were marks from both Alfred and Mr. Wrightworth. Down the right side of my spine were tiny pricks of marks from the zipper of my dress when I had been whipped. I thought they looked lovely. Alfred's marks were all but faded from my back. Mr. Wrightworth's hadn't been deep enough to last more than a few more months.

  Another side effect of being a sub, especially a masochistic sub, were scars. The scars didn't last forever, but a few did, I wore them as badges of honour.

  I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered if I was good enough anymore.

  Mr. Wrightworth hadn't allowed me to believe anything else. There had been no room to question whether I was worthy.

  I met my own eyes and every bit of self-worth shrivelled up and died. I left the mirror and immediately went to the bathroom, ignoring the knocking on my door.

  My rooms were only for me. Nathaniel couldn't enter them without my permission—a change to the previous contract where he could enter but couldn't do anything to me—and it was a fact that I took full advantage of.

  In the bathroom, I went to the shower and turned it on. I climbed in and grabbed the soap, immediately scrubbing at my skin. I felt so... something.

  It wasn't right. I wasn't right.

  I washed my hair, and then I washed my skin again. Clean, I sunk to the floor of the shower and I cried as the water fell on me. I cried and cried until no more tears would come.

  When I felt like that at the Program building, I could drop what I was doing and see Mr. Wrightworth. He would beat the guilt and shame out of me.

  I was a victim, but I was also a survivor. Some days I didn't feel like what happened to me would change me, others I just wanted to curl up in bed and never get out again.

  Rich people never ran out of hot water, a fact that I realized probably an hour later when I finally shut off the water. Feeling sorry for myself wasn't going to help me any. I left the shower and wrapped myself in a towel, drying off as I walked to the living area.

  And came face-to-face with a very embarrassed Patrick. The man blinked at me, trying desperately to keep his eyes on my face as the towel—which I swear I was dropping as I opened the door no matter what story he tells you—hit the floor. Red coloured his cheeks, his face a rather neutral expression as the awkward silence stretched out.

  “Mr. Edwards wanted me to check on you,” Patrick managed to get out.

  “For the love of God, just look down already,” I said.

  He looked down, then back up.

  Then down again.

  “If the women of my slum looked half as attractive as you, I never would have left,” he said, though I suspected he grumbled it, annoyed that he hadn't found a woman like me in his slum.

  I smiled, that was just what I had needed to hear.

  “What about the scars?” I asked.

  “What scars?” Patrick asked with a frown.

  “Thank you, Patrick,” I said.

  “What should I tell Mr. Edwards?”

  “Tell Mr. Edwards whatever you want,” I said.

  Patrick nodded and left.

  I went to my journal and flipped through it, re-reading everything. It was a habit of mine each time a life change happened. I would read and reaffirm who I was, what had happened. After reading it all, I wrote a new entry and then sighed.

  I pulled out my cellphone, another condition of the contract. There were not many contacts in my phone, only Mr. Wrightworth, Nicole, and the prosecution. A call to any of them and I would be helped in any way I needed. I chose to call Nicole.

  “Two hours and already you need help?” Nicole asked, sounding as if I had lost my mind.

  “He got upset when he saw the scars.”

  “... because he didn't see them before?” Nicole asked.

  “I don't know, maybe he only saw me before, and now something's changed, and he's not seeing me anymore, he's seeing what was done to me—"

  “I think you need to stop seeing that therapist, she's making you overthink things," Nicole said.

  “Nicole, am I hot?”

  “You know my stance on that, Isabella,” she growled.

  Nicole would never, not once, tell me that I was attractive. She would tell me that I looked good in a dress, or those pants didn't make me look fat, but she would never tell me that I was attractive. She always maintained that she didn't understand what it was about me that drove Mr. Wrightworth and Nathaniel so wild.

  I struggled for something else to say.

  “Am I less attractive than I was when I signed the contract the first time?” I asked instead.

  “No, and your scars don't change anything,” Nicole said. “If he has a problem with them, that's his problem.”

  “But—” I said, my voice breaking as I teared up.

  “But what? No buts!” Nicole said. “If he has a problem with you being scarred because of his actions, that's his problem. It's nothing for you to cry over. If it doesn't work out with Nathaniel, you've still got Mr. Wrightworth and half the damned Doms in the community. Because it's apparently contagious.”

  “I don't want the other Doms,” I protested.

  “There's still Mr. Wrightworth,” Nicole said. “And you wouldn't have to worry about him sleeping with other women either. Other men might be a problem, though.”

  I scratched at a freckle absently. There was a long silence as I just s
eemed not to function properly.

  “Darling,” Nicole said.

  “I don't know what to do,” I responded. “I mean, where are we? What's going on? Maybe signing a blank slate was stupid this time around, maybe it should have been an actual contract. I don't like not knowing where I stand.”

  “I know you don't,” Nicole said, then sighed. “But you have to give it time. A lot has happened, a lot has changed.”

  “What if I'm not good enough?”

  It wasn't just about Nathaniel. With him, I wasn't really in a place to care if I wasn't good enough because I was still so angry with him for what he had said in the bathroom. I had lusted after him for months while we had been apart, but that was still time apart.

  It was also about the trial, about his father, about having to stand publicly against Alfred Edwards. It wasn't just me anymore that Alfred was being tried for. It was also for the other women, and who knew how many others.

  There were families relying on me to stand for their missing relatives. If I failed, it wasn't just me that I was letting down.

  It was every poor person who had ever been abused by a rich person.

  “Not good enough?” Nicole asked furiously. “If I hear those words come out of your mouth again, I will come down there and beat you, contract be damned. Take a nap, Darling, and stop thinking about that.”

  Chapter Three

  Nathaniel and I had an awkward week. I went to his study every day and read from Paradise Lost. We took meals together. We even did movie night. But there was a distance between us that could not be overcome.

  Our conversations were short outside of our schedule.

  He didn't apologize and, as it turns out, I have no interest in a man who believes me to be damaged. All I really wanted to do was knee him. Perhaps beat him some, tie him up.

  I will not lie and say that I didn't fantasize about hurting him for being so rude to me. Mr. Wrightworth had lectured me on never playing with a sub while angry. The only time the darker emotions should be in play was during discipline, and even then he had strongly cautioned me about crossing a line.

  Of course, I understood what he meant, but that didn't mean that I couldn't think about it. Think about a hand around Nathaniel's throat, about slapping him across his face as I made him pleasure me.

  I also fantasized about making him kneel, that was something he had yet to do for me. Supposedly Nathaniel's skill with his tongue wasn't just limited to kisses. And at the end of it all, if he were good, I'd tell him as much.

  I want to see the look on his face when I use his trigger word.

  Despite the fantasies running amok inside my head, my rage burned slow and long. I did not approach Nathaniel. At the same time, I didn't feel the desire to do as much. My fantasies haunted my dreams, but I never felt the burning need that I had felt in those first few days with Nathaniel. I was in control of my desires and would not be bent by a man who hesitated at the sight of my scars.

  Sunday came up quickly, and the pair of us dressed and left for church. He drove, I watched out the window as everything flew past. Susanne sat in the backseat and carried on a conversation with herself. She was nervous, I got that, but the woman babbled worse than Kathy.

  The moment we stopped in front of the church, Susanne fell silent.

  Nathaniel walked up the steps as I stood beside Susanne on the sidewalk. She gaped up at the church. I saw her confusion but didn't understand, not until she spoke.

  “I drive by this church every day on the way to work,” she said, frowning as she shook her head and looked at me. “Even, I've even seen these people before. They always seemed so nice and put together. And the priest is hot.”

  “He's a Daddy,” I said, offering Susanne my arm.

  She took it and then took a deep breath. Steeling herself for what needed to be done, and hopefully for a morning of silence.

  With a nod from Susanne, I led her up the steps to Ezekiel. The man clasped his hands before him and gave a tight-lipped smile.

  I hadn't exactly set a good example the last few trips I had made to the church. The last time I had visited, I had ended up crying while somehow drawing the taunts of the other subs. The time before that, I had physically attacked Mayfair. She deserved that, though.

  Deserved that and a lot more.

  Certainly, more than the nine months she had received for assault.

  “Hello, Ezekiel," I murmured, patting Susanne's arm. "This is Susanne. I believe Nathaniel explained?"

  “Mr. Wrightworth,” Ezekiel's eyes focused over my shoulder.

  Though his tone of voice wasn't clear as to whether he was greeting the man over my shoulder, or if Mr. Wrightworth was the one who told them, not Nathaniel. I was fairly sure Nathaniel had said he was going to tell them, and that irritated me even more.

  “I told the community,” Mr. Wrightworth said, bending slightly. I blushed as the man turned his face to look at me. “Are you all right, Darling?”

  “Fine, Mr. Wrightworth,” I responded, praying that I didn't sound strangled.

  “Do I need to beat it out of you?” Mr. Wrightworth asked in a slightly deeper voice.

  “Oh,” I said with a shudder. “If only.”

  I pulled Susanne away from Ezekiel and into the church before I could be tempted to take Mr. Wrightworth up on his offer. While Susanne was there was not the time to accept the offer of a sadist. One of the conditions was that others weren't allowed to play with me without first going through the Program. I was pretty confident that condition went both ways, that I also couldn't play with others.

  A fact that Mr. Wrightworth would have known. If I broke any detail of the contract, he'd take great pleasure in reminding me that the contract was there to protect me.

  Of course, he'd remind me by beating my backside bloody.

  We both took red bands at the greeting table, and then I found a seat at the back of the church. Nathaniel was off speaking with Nicole on the side. Both seemed to be just talking about the weather.

  That was until Mr. Wrightworth approached them. Nicole took one look at Mr. Wrightworth and all but bolted. To the casual eye, it probably looked like she simply decided to leave the conversation mid-sentence. I knew her well enough to know that she was retreating from a threat. Her back was stiff, there was no taunting waggle to her hips, and she headed towards a group of subs. The subs were a cover. They would flock around her, asking her questions to keep her busy enough that Mr. Wrightworth couldn't pull her away.

  Nathaniel watched Nicole go, then very awkwardly turned to Mr. Wrightworth.

  I couldn't hear what was being said, but I saw how Mr. Wrightworth's eyes got a little smaller, the small twitch of his head, and the scrunch of his nose. Mr. Wrightworth was asking a question that he already knew the answer to. His hand was at his side, thumb grazing over index and middle finger.

  Nathaniel noticed the hand. Then he saw me staring at them. The man jabbed at a nearby room with his head and walked off with Mr. Wrightworth in tow.

  He didn't seem frightened in the least. In fact, Nathaniel looked self-assured, like he was certain he could get away with whatever Mr. Wrightworth had just accused him of.

  Pity that, I had been hoping for a show.

  “Do you typically sit by yourself?” Susanne asked.

  “No," I said with a shake of my head. "The others like to be anonymous, obviously. They don't want to talk to you, which means they won't speak to me. It was silly of them to insist that you come here."

  “We have several contracts with Doms and subs,” Susanne muttered. “I doubt that this part of the audit is just about you. In fact, I know a few people currently in the church.

  “So how's this typically go?”

  “Ezekiel is the greeter, typically he says hello to everyone," I said. "Which makes it a little odd, that he didn't greet us. No cell phones, do you have yours?"

  “Yes,” Susanne pulled it out and stood immediately, walking back to the table where we checked in.<
br />
  I turned in my seat and watched as Susanne checked her phone in, apologizing because she hadn't been explained that part before entering the church. Lots of people watched Susanne check in the phone. A few of the single Doms almost seemed disappointed.

  Perhaps they hadn't received the explanation. I know a few weren't quite notified for whatever reason.

  Nathaniel and I had both left our phones at home that morning, which was why neither of us thought of telling Susanne about the rule.

  Susanne returned to the pew and sat beside me again.

  “And?” Susanne asked.

  Nathaniel came out and found me. He sat beside me and glanced past me to Susan before he faced forward. The man seemed a bit rumpled, which made me wonder if Mr. Wrightworth had acted on his desire to smack something.

  Ezekiel stepped up to the pulpit and held his hands up for everyone's attention. I didn't have the chance to ask Nathaniel what had happened, or even to ask after Mr. Wrightworth and see what his reaction was.

  “We have a guest here today. Darling is a free sub. I have no other announcements.”

  And then he stepped down as I frowned at him. I turned to Susan, who looked at me and frowned.

  “That's usually a lot longer," I said, confusion plain in my voice. I turned to Nathaniel, who stood and walked off to the Dom room. "Sure, just leave us here," I muttered.

  The man stopped, stiffened, and turned towards me slowly. He frowned at me.

  “Did you hear him?” Nathaniel asked.

  “Fuck you too,” I said, standing and marching off to the sub room.

  I muttered the whole way there, snarling at the other subs as they filtered past me. They all seemed to skitter away immediately, but then I hadn't made friends with any of them before, so why would they be nice to me then?

  Susanne stayed by my side as I paced just inside the door.

  “Isabella, maybe you should take a walk,” Susanne said.

  At least she sounded like she cared.

  “Yes, I'll take a walk,” I snapped, leaving the sub room.

  I marched across the church without thinking. It was a stupid thing to do, you didn't just do whatever you wanted at church, there were rules, and you followed the rules.