Contract Renewed (Contracted Book 3)

by Aya DeAniege

  “How did you get out of your bindings? If Albert Edwards was holding you hostage, holding you against your will, how did you get out of your bindings? If Albert Edwards was your assailant as you claim, why would he leave his phone by you? A phone which you knew the password for, to access calls?”

  “I'm observant,” I said.

  As I spoke, I was taken back to that moment. My moment of freedom, when I realized something was different. The one binding wasn't done up entirely, my wrists were bound together, above my head. I could reach both bindings with my fingers, but the clasp was usually locked down, and I could never seem to get my fingers to work properly. The one time I almost managed it, he had broken two of them.

  Despite the pain, I had gotten free.

  And because fuck Albert Edwards.

  I don't even remember saying it, but I watched the videos enough to know that I spoke those words out loud and the whole court went silent.

  “That's an awful lot of rage pointed towards a man who entertained you for two weeks.”

  I met the lawyer's eyes and saw him twitch, ever so slightly. There was nothing kind in my look. I like to think of it as my Domme face. In fact, in later years, when I had to put on a mean aura, that was the moment I thought of. The emotion that went through me wasn't the usual anger or even rage.

  Distilled hatred might be a better term for it.

  “When I told Mr. Wrightworth that there was an apple and a sandwich, he said that I had time. He knew what that meant. He told me to go back to where I had been left, to put the bindings back on."

  “How could he have known that?”

  “Perhaps that's something you should ask him, not me.”

  “And Albert Edwards' phone? How did you get the password for that, if Mr. Edwards wasn't the one to give it to you?”

  “As I said, I'm observant. I watched him anytime he picked it up, touching the same place on the screen in the same order. I thought it odd at first. Until he left it on the floor at my feet and I tried to dial out. It was locked. Doesn't take a rich person to make the conclusion. Everything important is locked, you just need the key.”

  “You stand firm on the fact that you never gave consent?”

  “Objection, your honour,” the prosecutor stood. “We have the videos from that time. The only time Miss Martin might have given consent was in the vehicle.”

  “Please, do you plan on submitting those videos?" the defense demanded.

  I made eye contact with the prosecutor. Pleading with him silently to say no. I didn't want any more leaked. I didn't want that shown any longer.

  Didn't need people to have yet another thing to whisper about me.

  “Peoples evidence declared this morning, their intent to submit the videos,” the judge said. “A motion which you signed off on, councillor, do not use my courtroom as a stage for your drama.”

  Why didn't they tell me?

  “Very well, Miss Martin, are you standing firm that you gave no consent in the vehicle to Albert Edwards?”

  “I gave no consent,” I managed to get out, but barely so.

  If you watch the videos of the trial, you can see my stability slowly crumbling away. I was barely more than a husk as the man countered his questions. I don't remember it, and my answers were weak, to say the least. I'm fairly certain his point wasn't to get me to admit to consent. He meant to tarry me and strip me down to absolutely nothing.

  It creeps me out to no end to admit that I'm fairly certain he was attacking me on Albert's instructions, that the man was probably excited by the idea of watching me squirm on the witness stand.

  When the defense finally rested, the prosecution started simply with, "Miss Martin, did you enjoy that?"

  The man stood as I stared at him, trying to comprehend what he had just said. He did up the button on his light grey suit and walked around the table.

  His aide was female and was able to ask witnesses questions. She was the one who was supposed to be questioning me. They thought that after the defense had questioned me, I might need a reprieve. We all believed that I'd be better able to answer a member of the same sex, after all, women hadn't don't much to me outside of Mayfair.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Did you enjoy reliving what was done to you?”

  “No.”

  “If this was a play session, just for reference sake, what level would you be at right now?”

  “Banana,” I said, and then lowered my head as every bit of me wanted to laugh.

  I sounded like a bloody moron.

  “Can we get it on record that Miss Martin went from nearly in tears to almost laughing?”

  “Objection, what's the point?”

  “She obviously reacts to certain triggers. Every time someone says banana, the woman is practically laughing, which was why it was chosen as her safe word. Now, if I suggested that Albert Edwards might walk free...”

  “I'll allow it," the judge said, his eyes on me. "Let the record reflect Miss Martin's reaction to the questions about her time with Albert Edwards obviously reflects her dislike of the man. But I will not allow it to reflect that as a lack of consent in the first place. That is up to the jury to decide."

  “As you wish, banana way it's put, Miss Martin is not a good actress."

  “I'm sorry, did you just...” I murmured.

  The prosecutor stopped and looked at me. He looked completely serious like I had just asked him if he had forgotten his pants at home that morning.

  “Did I just what?”

  “Never mind, my mind's probably playing tricks on me.”

  It wasn't. The prosecutor would slip the word 'banana' in four more times before someone else noticed. That was why he was asking me questions instead of his aide. She wouldn't have gotten away with such a thing because she was new the court would assume she was playing some prank.

  But to accuse a prosecutor with fifteen years of experience in his position of slipping a word into the conversation? Especially a word as out of place as 'banana'? It didn't happen. Everyone just pretended it didn't happen.

  “Miss Martin, could you relate to us the first few days in the Program building?”

  “I can't, they kept me sedated for several days.”

  “According to the file, they did attempt to bring you out twice, do you have any recollection of those times?”

  “No, but I'm told I was screaming and thrashing.”

  “And your rescue, do you remember that?”

  “I remember bits of it, yes.”

  “You called Mr. Wrightworth for help, when you got a hold of Albert Edwards' phone, yes?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “Are you aware that you dialled his mobile number, not the Program's number? You know the Program's number, correct?”

  “I... no, I wasn't aware of that, but yes, part of the contract is memorizing the Program's number in case something happens. Each estate has several phones available for poor folk to use to call the slums, or the Program itself. We're also taught how to get messages out if something is wrong, but we're denied access to phones."

  “The Program teaches you a code, one that it doesn't teach the rich folk?”

  “Well, no. There's no code, but we're taught about audit times. At the time of the audit, we're supposed to ask for help. Everyone's audit time is different."

  “During audits the Program cycles through the footage looking for a problem, but if you utter the word, you're withdrawn, and the videos are combed over, correct?"

  “That is correct, yes.”

  “So you called Mr. Wrightworth for help. We've heard testimony from both him and the rescue workers that, when you were found, you screamed and attacked any man who came near you until Mr. Wrightworth arrived. Do you recall that?"

  “No, I don't.”

  “Do you recall Mr. Wrightworth being there when you were finally woken up?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And one of your first questions wasn't about your health or
safety, was it? You asked where Nathaniel Edwards was, didn't you?”

  “Yes, I did. They wouldn't tell me anything about what was going on.”

  “You were fragile, and they were trying to protect you. If you don't remember being rescued, you probably don't recall stealing Mr. Wrightworth's phone from him and calling Nathaniel Edwards, do you?"

  “I—” They had never told me. I struggled before I managed to finish. “No, I don't remember that.”

  But for a moment, I almost did.

  “Darling, where are you?”

  “Sir, I hurt...”

  I must have gone through Mr. Wrightworth's contacts and called that way, though I'm not entirely certain that I didn't just mash the screen until I got what I wanted. After all, it wasn't until I was given my own cell phone that I realized there was a contact list.

  “Once you were up and moving, you saw a therapist, did you not?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “And you told that therapist that you had difficulty remembering what happened to you, did you not?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “Are you still being seen to by this therapist?”

  “No, she serves at the Program building for the workers there. Mr. Wrightworth found me another therapist. She visits several times a week."

  “When you took a second contract with Nathaniel, you were assigned another therapist?”

  “No, I asked for one, two weeks after taking the new contract.”

  “Two weeks after your new contract? You mean, after the trial had started, you requested a therapist from the Program?"

  “I did, yes.”

  “I've also noticed that you don't attend every day. Does that have anything to do with the request for a therapist?”

  “It does, yes.”

  “And does it also have something to do with the fact that Nathaniel sits behind his father, but you sit on the other side of the courtroom even though the pair of you are together the moment you leave?”

  “It does, yes.”

  “And could you describe your relationship to Nathaniel for the court?”

  I feelings him is not an answer.

  “He's my Sir.”

  “Could you elaborate...?”

  I love Nathaniel Edwards is not an appropriate answer for court.

  “I love him.”

  What kind of fucking stupid am I?

  It seemed weird at the time. We spent a couple of weeks together and then everything with his father happened, and we were separated for months. I was embarrassed to admit it out loud because I wasn't certain he would reciprocate my feelings, or what the entire country would think of my saying that. I thought they'd just believe it to be some twisted psychological response.

  They did, they did think it was some sort of Stockholm syndrome.

  “And yet you sit apart at this time in your life when you are very vulnerable, why?”

  “Because Nathaniel signed a contract with his father with very specific terms as to what had to happen if Albert Edwards was ever taken to court.”

  “That... almost sounds like Albert Edwards expected to be taken to court. Like he had something to hide.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  That day getting home, I arrived well before Nathaniel. The man had been pulled aside by his father's attorney. Probably to deliver more long winded excuses and commands. From what I understood, Albert's orders were mainly about the business, anyhow. That part of Nathaniel's life didn't interest me much.

  I still learned about it in some ways. When Albert had returned to the country, he had, for whatever reason, taken control of the company once more. I've never learned about the business, but I suppose Albert still technically owned the business and Nathaniel had been running it in Albert's absence. Once in jail, Albert needed Nathaniel to carry commands to the board, rather than taking them himself.

  It wasn't the only business that Nathaniel worked in, or owned, or however, that worked.

  I've always been more about politics and rights of the debtees.

  After returning to the estate, determined to hide until the world ended. Sitting the witness stand left me feeling weak to my very core.

  I was in my room when there was a knock on the door. While I had sat down to stare at a wall, I still sighed loudly at having to get back up. I stood and flickered out my skirt, trying to straighten myself before I went to answer the knocking.

  When I opened the door, I found Nathaniel standing there, hands in his pockets.

  “I... uh... need to ask something of you.”

  I frowned at him, not understanding why he was so hesitant.

  He almost seemed bashful, hands in his pockets, eyes on the floor. His weight wasn't balanced as it usually was but seemed to be balanced backward as if expecting to take flight at any moment. There was a cold edge to the hesitance. When he glanced up at me, I swore there was ice a mile deep in his eyes. All the warmth was gone as if we were perfect strangers.

  “Are you breaking up with me?" I asked. "Because I don't think we were technically dating, so you don't have to sound like that and I'm sorry about saying I love you in court, they want everything quantified for the jury like I'm some eloquent speaker and just know how I'm feeling, and can just tell them what's going through my mind and what I feel every time I see you."

  Nathaniel frowned, his green eyes darkening slightly. The ice seemed to warm slightly as he studied me. For my part, I struggled to get a breath after that long winded sentence. It came out more slurred than I thought was possible coming from my mouth while sober.

  When he didn't say anything, I knew that I couldn't just let the words hang in the air. Something else had to be said, and if he wouldn't say it, I had to.

  “And just because I said that I love you doesn't mean that I, like, expect you to reciprocate the feelings because I know better than that and that's never the way life goes and so what? Let's just have fun, you don't have to break up with me and call off whatever it is that we have because I had to try to explain to a courtroom full of people what is going on between us, it's not like—”

  He reached into my room. His hand grasped my upper arm firmly. The heat of it flooded me with desire even as I went cold with dread. I had no idea what he intended to do.

  Nathaniel pulled me across the threshold.

  With a turn and a thrust, he had me pinned against the wall of the hallway. Before I quite realized what was happening, Nathaniel captured my lips, hot tongue thrusting into my mouth.

  His hands roved down my sides, grasping my hips firmly as I attempted to writhe. I shuddered as Nathaniel pulled away from the kiss, his body still pressed tightly against me. The heat of him alone was enough to make me want to writhe more. I had been forever and a day since the last time he had touched me like that. We did have sex while the trial happened, sometimes, but it didn't have that fire to it.

  “Shut up,” he whispered.

  “That's not a nice thing to say,” I said with a laugh.

  Nathaniel grinned at me. "I was going to wait until you stopped talking, but those were a couple of long run-on sentences."

  “I got nervous.”

  “I'm not breaking up with you," Nathaniel said with a shake of his head. "Though..." as he hesitated, my heart dropped in my chest. "We should probably agree that we are at a point where we can comfortably say that we are in a relationship."

  “If that's not what you came about, why do you need to ask something of me?”

  “Suppose it's to do with the trial,” he muttered.

  “I am not lying for him.”

  “No, I'd never ask that of you,” Nathaniel said with a frown. “I...” the man pulled away, placing distance between us suddenly. “I'd like to discuss a play session.”

  “A play session? After the day I had?” I asked, then shook my head. “No, I don't want to be tied up tonight.”

  “Yeah, you wouldn't be the one tied up.”

  My mind went blank. I stared at Nathaniel as the
man's cheeks turned red with a blush. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair.

  Suddenly I understood what his muttering had been about. Nathaniel was feeling 'that craving' as Mr. Wrightworth would put it. The trial was putting a great deal of stress on both of us, but I had never imagined Nathaniel asking for that sort of a play session.

  Throwing things, shouting, cursing, even drinking had all crossed my mind. But tying Nathaniel up and beating him? Not since Madonna had left for the Capital had that even dawned on me.

  “You mean you want me to be the dominant one?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Nathaniel said.

  “Terms?” I asked.

  “No pegging.”

  “What, you wouldn't enjoy my thrusting away behind you?" I said with a smile. "Seriously, though, no, I don't want to. Anything else?"

  “There's nothing that you could do to me that hasn't been done before,” Nathaniel said.

  “I need a guideline, at least.”

  Our first session had been dictated by Mr. Wrightworth, something that I hadn't told Nathaniel going into it. Though I'm pretty certain he figured it out about the time that I told him where his tormenting little toy was hidden in his room.

  The truth of the matter was that I had no idea where to start with Nathaniel, or what to do. Doms with experience could create scenes as they went. They had tens, if not hundreds of play sessions to draw from for inspiration.

  “You don't always get a guideline," Nathaniel said. "First time you came to me, begging for it, did we discuss it beforehand?"

  I bit my bottom lip at the thought of it. "That was nice."

  Suddenly I had a craving of my own. However, Madonna had left us only after she had helped us draw up clear terms. If one of us went to the other as a sub, we must take on the Dom/Domme role and see to the sub cravings before we could request such treatment ourselves.

  “It was," he murmured, smiling just slightly. "I have no guidelines because I don't know what I want. Tie me up, beat me if it makes you feel better. No whips, though. I need to keep my eyes."

  “Whips are hard,” I grumbled.

  “They are, which is why I don't want you using one on someone until you're certain. I, uh, I had a pair of larger manacles delivered to your playroom.”