by Hannah Ford
His face darkened, and a second later, all traces of vulnerability were gone. He straightened up. “I wish you could, Charlotte,” he said. “But I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking me,” I said. I put my hand back on his arm, and this time, he didn’t pull away. “I want to.”
We stood there for a moment, neither of us saying anything, the silence stretching for what seemed like forever. And then his cockiness came back, that disarming grin of his returning to his face.
“Very well, Charlotte,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’m texting you an address. Be there tonight at nine o’clock.” He slid his phone back into his pocket, and then his eyes slid up my body. “Wear the sexiest thing you own.”
***
I’d done what I was told. I was ready by eight, dressed in the sexiest thing I owned. Well, the sexiest thing my roommate, Julia, owned. She’d let me borrow a little black dress that was too big for her. Which meant it was a little too small for me.
It plunged down in the front, showing off my ample cleavage, and hugged my hips before ending right above the knee. I’d blown my hair out into big waves, then slipped into high-heeled stilettos. Bangle bracelets adorned my wrist, and dangly silver earrings clinked as I walked.
Noah sent me a text at 8:15.
Are you ready?
Ready.
Willing?
Willing.
Show me what you’re wearing.
I snapped a selfie and sent it to him, and the reply was immediate.
I can’t wait to get you out of that dress.
I paced around my apartment until my phone finally rang at 8:30.
It was Jared.
“Hello, Miss,” he said, which felt weirdly formal, since he knew such intimate details of my life. “Are you ready for your evening?”
“I am, Jared, thanks,” I said. “I’ll be right out.”
I went to grab my purse before realizing that wherever Noah was taking me, there was no way I could bring my huge messenger bag. I needed something sleek and tiny.
I rummaged around in my closet before coming up with a tiny black Coach wristlet. I started switching over the essentials – lipstick, keys, ID, cash…. All the small stuff was in the bottom of my messenger bag, so I had to pull everything out to get to it, including the file folder I’d been given on Noah’s case, the one I’d been avoiding looking at.
It dropped to the floor as I went to grab my credit card out of my wallet, the documents spilling out onto the carpet.
I reached down to pick them up.
And then I froze.
It was a picture of Dani DeClair, another one from her autopsy. The top was labeled “DeClair, Dani.” Only this one was a split frame, with a picture from another woman’s autopsy on the other side of the page. “Hogan, Nora” it was labeled. Noah’s ex-fiancé.
The pictures were taken from the same angle, close up on both women’s wrists. It was an unremarkable shot, especially for autopsy photos. The pictures hadn’t been taken because they were gory or shocking in any way. They were taken because of their similarities.
Both women had matching light red marks on their wrists, circling around as if they’d been tied by something.
The same exact marks I had on mine.
Noah
I got to the club promptly at nine, and made my way inside. It wasn’t my usual place. Charlotte wasn’t ready for Force, and I didn’t want to scare her off before we’d even started. Besides, I liked my anonymity.
I ordered bottle service for a table in the corner and watched as men and women gyrated on the dance floor, their bodies a tangled mess. The women were beautiful and came in all shapes and sizes, blonde, brunette, curvy, fit, skinny, tan, freckled…whatever you were searching for, you could find it here.
The men who frequented this club were very rich. And very rich men tended to attract very beautiful women.
I watched as a man placed a collar on a stunning Brazilian girl and began leading her to the VIP area downstairs.
My cock strained against my pants. Not because I had any interest in the Brazilian girl – no, quite the opposite. All of these women were nothing compared to Charlotte, with her curvy hips and voluptuous body, her gorgeous tits and pouty little lips. I was hard because I couldn’t stop thinking about her, imagining how innocent she was, how cute her little tantrum had been earlier in the lobby of her building.
You shouldn’t have invited her here.
I knew that.
But I couldn’t resist.
I needed to make her mine. It was pull I hadn’t felt toward anyone since Nora, and even Nora… I didn’t remember it being like this.
A blonde waitress in a skintight silver minidress came over.
“Would you like more champagne, sir?” she asked. Her eyes never left the ground. The waitresses had been taught not to make eye contact with the clients of the club.
“No, thank you,” I said.
“Let me know if you need anything else, sir.” She set a collar down on the table next to me before moving on to the next table.
I reached out and wrapped my hand around the smooth leather ring. It was my collar for the night, to do with as I pleased.
I checked my watch.
9:07.
Charlotte was late.
Disappointment ran through me at the thought that she might not show.
She had to show.
I wanted her.
I needed her.
Tonight her training would begin.
End of Book Two Click here for Book Three, WHAT HE DEMANDS, available now!