by Linnea May
THE PUPPETMASTER
By
Linnea May
Content
Copyright
THE PUPPETMASTER
Prolog
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilog I
Epilog II
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Connect with Linnea
Copyright © 2019 by Linnea May
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Editing: Sara, Write Way Creative
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THE PUPPETMASTER
By Linnea May
Prolog
Raad
She cowers on her knees in front of me like many have before—her ocean-colored eyes drenched in tears, her cheeks flushed with desire, and her body trembling with anticipation.
I’ll never get tired of this sight.
No one makes my puppets dance as beautifully as I do.
No one earns their committed faith like I do.
No one gets to see that dazzling spark in their eyes, that hot little flare that tells me more than they will ever know.
It’s evidence of my victory—and their ruin.
I have yet to see that fateful flicker in her eyes.
Alena heard the rumors about me. She came here to change her life.
A life that was marked by struggle, resistance, and frustration—a constant fight.
The ongoing strain hardened my little puppet. It made her curl up inside an impenetrable shell. And now she wants me to break that shell.
She thinks she knows what she’s asking for. She thinks my handling will set her free, regardless of the strings attached to cuffs around her wrist.
Alena is strong, unyielding, and a captive of her own mind.
But she’s starting to falter.
She told me she’d never waver, never succumb to a man like me.
Just like I told her that she should never mistake my attention for love. Never.
Yet, here we are.
A Master and his devoted puppet.
Caught in a dance that neither one of us wants to end.
Chapter 1
Alena
My boss's stubby fingers rest heavily on my thigh and it's hard not to shudder with disgust.
Mr. Hammond is a thick-set man, his musty suit jacket stretched by a massive spare tire and his greasy hair combed to the side in a futile attempt to cover his balding top. He casts me a patronizing smile, revealing a row of yellow teeth as he speaks.
“Alena, dear,” he says, humiliating me further by adding a condescending chuckle. “Let's stop here. Your ideas are all very nice and… cute. But we don't want to get ahead of ourselves, don't we?”
I suck in a sharp breath of air, my fists clenching as my eyes trail to his fat hand on my thigh. Why does he think it's okay to touch me there?
If you don't stop touching me right this second, I'm going to take that fucking hand and pin it to the table with a pen.
The image is scarily clear inside my head as I imagine driving my fountain pen right through the back of his hand, watching the spotted skin break as the dark ink mixes with the blood gushing out. I imagine the blend of blood and ink soaking the conference table, while his agonizing screams resonate through the room and my horrified coworkers jump up and run around like headless chickens.
Mr. Hammond notices my look, but doesn't withdraw his hand until I beckon him to do so by squirming myself out of his touch as gracefully as possible.
His dull eyes wander around the large table, aimlessly searching for signs of approval among his dutiful minions. My department is small, only seventeen people and nearly all of them are gathered in here, seated around a lumbering table that could hold almost twice that number of attendees. This whole meeting room speaks of Mr. Hammond’s megalomania with its excessive size, the panoramic windows, and designer furniture that starkly contrasts the low-budget chairs and desks equipping our offices.
The buttery leather that cradles my skin when I place my elbows on the armrest of the chair is soft and cool, but it doesn’t soothe me in the slightest as unbridled rage inflames every fiber of my being.
“But, Mr. Hammond,” I begin, my voice trembling while I fight to keep it together. “As I said, this would drastically improve—”
“Well, yeah, whatever. Alena, dear,” he cuts me off, once again belittling me with that goddamn pet name as he arches an eyebrow at me.
I helplessly gesture to the screen at the front, where the last slide of my presentation is still displayed. “But I just showed how—”
“Yes, and we all had fun listening to it, didn't we?” he interrupts me once again, nodding enthusiastically as his eyes journey around the table in search for affirmation. Some of my colleagues muster a suggested nod, while others resort to awkwardly shifting in their seats, clearly wishing for nothing other than to be excused from this unpleasant situation.
“It was a good presentation, nicely done, pretty pictures and all that,” Mr. Hammond assures, meeting my furious gaze. “But it's getting late and I think we're all ready for lunch. Besides, I never said I would actually do what you propose.”
“But why not? It's a small investment with the potential to bring great results. I ran the numbers with accounting,” I insist, pointing to the stack of paper in front of him. “We could use part of last year's surplus for this, and it would pay off in the long run for sure!”
“Be that as it may,” Mr. Hammond says, arching an eyebrow at me. “And don't get me wrong, I admire your spirit, young lady. But some things are better left in the hands of professionals
, don't you think?”
A murmur travels through the group, followed by uncomfortable silence that weighs on the entire room like a dark cloud carrying a heavy thunderstorm.
“Professionals?” I repeat in a shaky and hoarse voice. “I have been working in this position for three years, Mr. Hammond. I have done my research and I have talked to a lot of—”
“Yes, yes,” he murmurs, waving me off as he once more refuses to let me finish my sentence. “No one's saying you're not trying hard, dear, but—”
“Did you even read my proposal?” I want to know, glaring at the papers in front of him. “I put a lot of work into this, Mr. Hammond, and I did most of it in my free time. You said you'd only give me fifteen minutes for my presentation, so I had to cut some things short to squeeze it all in. But it's all written in there, and if you have read it all, then—”
“Don't worry, I have read it,” he insists rather loudly, narrowing his eyes as he throws me an irritated look. “Or… scanned it rather. Trust me, I get the gist of it.”
“You scanned it?” I repeat, my eyes wide with disbelief. “After I've been telling you about this for weeks and you encouraged me to go through with this proposal—you haven't even read it properly?”
He shrugs, adding an exasperated huff while his eyes dart back and forth between me and the rest of the room.
“Alena, dear,” he begins, lifting his hand as he makes a move to touch me again. But I pin him down with a furious look, my piercing eyes latched onto that hand as my mind runs wild with violent images once again. My inner rage is almost painful, dancing at the tip of my tongue while the knuckles of my hands turn white as my hands clench up.
Vicious heat assumes my entire body, and I'm sure the glowing sensation on my cheeks is accompanied by a treacherous blush of anger spreading across my face.
I used to like this man, because I was grateful to him. He took a risk when hiring me. On paper, I was unqualified for the job and had nothing going for me other than my ambition.
But he believed in me. He saw that I had potential.
At least that’s what he said back then. He said he would help me flourish and that his door was always open.
I felt obligated to work harder than anyone else and I gave a lot of thought to improvements for the benefit of this company and the people working for it. I tried—but he never listened. He never even gave me a chance, often rejecting my suggestions before I had a chance to finalize the proposals.
I thought today would be different. I worked extra hard for this proposal, making sure it could truly hold up before asking for a chance to present it.
He encouraged me along the way, he kept saying yes to everything—up until now.
Did he wait to turn me down in front of the entire department, just to humiliate me? To make sure that I would never bother him again?
Well, don't worry about that, asshole.
For a while, no one speaks and the silence is deafening. My coworkers display their discomfort by shifting in their seats, the expensive leather squeaking under their awkward motions. Someone coughs. Another person clears her throat. There’s the sound of a pen doodling in a notebook somewhere to my left.
No one says a word. No one has my back.
I didn’t want to end it this way, but fuck it.
Fuck him.
Fuck all of them.
I stand up so abruptly that Mr. Hammond jerks in surprise, nearly toppling his chair when he flings himself back into it. His startled gaze follows me as baffled gasps fill the air around us.
I want to scream. I want to reach for the pile of papers and throw it in his face. I want to burn this entire building to the fucking ground.
But I don’t and I won’t.
I can do better.
I inhale a sharp breath, straightening my posture and jutting my chin up before my lips part to speak in the most collected and sovereign manner I’ve ever managed in my entire life. Two words, that’s all it takes.
Two words that will change my life forever.
“I quit.”
Chapter 2
Alena
Three days have passed, and my heart is still pumping with anxiety each time my mind wanders back to that moment when I forced a free fall upon myself.
I caused this. I wanted this.
I still want this.
I don’t regret my decision. The way I gave voice to it feels like a spur-of-the-moment thing, a spontaneous detonation that no one saw coming. But it wasn’t like that at all, at least not for me.
My closest office buddy Jill chased after me when I stomped out of the meeting room right after my announcement, effectively trying to calm me down.
“It’ll be okay,” she said sympathetically, her hand resting on my shoulder in a sign of solidarity as we hurried down the corridor. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll know you didn’t mean it like that.”
But I did mean it like that. The frustration that poured out from that one poignant statement has been building up over months, years even.
Hard work is all I’ve known since I can remember—but I’m not simply working hard for the sake of it. I want my reward, recognition. I want my goddamn promotion. I don’t want to feel like I’m making sacrifices for nothing.
And God knows I’m done with being the little goody-two-shoes who constantly gets overlooked.
I want more. Or at least… something else.
I quickly left the office that day and haven’t been back since. I know I’ll have to return eventually if I don’t want to completely ruin my chances of getting a reference from Mr. Hammond, but that’s Future Alena’s problem.
I called in sick for the rest of the week. Today is Friday and I refuse to face the reality of my decision before Monday, not before I absolutely have to.
That’s the plan, at least.
Of course, my overactive brain has other ideas. I can’t sit still because every time I do, the voices in my head start berating at me.
You fucking idiot, how could you? You let your rage get the better of you—again!
What are you going to do now?
What will you live off of? How long do you think you’ll be able to survive on your meager savings?
A month? Two?
What if you haven’t found a new job by then?
What if...
I grimace as if in physical pain, jumping up from the bed and stumble toward the door. It’s almost noon. I stayed up until the early morning hours, unable to sleep. I’m a night owl by nature, but this is bad, even for me.
Maybe I should change fields, I think, as I drag my feet over to the kitchen.
Maybe I should become a bartender, like my friend Melina.
A smile creeps across my face when I think of her, because Melina isn’t just a bartender at a regular downtown hipster bar. She works at The Velvet Rooms, a place that only very few people even know about. Selected people with peculiar tastes.
She always corrects me when I call it a kink club, most likely quoting her boss when she insists that it’s more than that. And, I guess, in a way it is. It’s not a place where just anybody with a taste for kink can show up and play as their heart’s desire. Only a few selected clientele can even gain admittance, and for the first few months it was open, there was absolutely no chance a regular person like me could gain entrance off the street.
It’s only thanks to Melina that I was selected to be one of the first women outside the circles of the super rich to be invited to one of their events.
I was curious. I knew I wanted to experience something new, something challenging—and I wanted a chance to play without the burden of a relationship. The Velvet Rooms seemed to be the perfect place for that. Safe, exclusive, classy—and with a promise of finding something very special.
The club hosts only a few events open to guests like me—single ladies who are not wealthy or paid escorts. I have been there a few times since then, mesmerized by the scenes that were played out on stage during the midni
ght show. I was intrigued by the atmosphere, the people, the forbidden.
But I never played. I never dared.
There was a time when I thought I wanted to, maybe even needed it. There was a moment when I thought I had found the perfect man to help me figure out who I am and what it is that I need.
But that chance has passed and will never present itself again. Ever since I have come to accept that, I lost interest in visiting the club altogether.
Besides, I couldn’t become his plaything anyway. Because that man is asking for something I couldn’t give.
I decided to be prudent and rational for once in my life. Do the right thing, focus on my career, stop getting off track.
A sinister smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth when I think about it.
You wanted to be the good girl, a grown-up. Look where that fucking got you, Alena.
Jobless, frustrated, and without a purpose.
Nowhere, that’s where it got you. Fucking nowhere.
I fetch my tablet before I sit down at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, and a bitter grimace masks my face as I open the club’s website. I don’t even know why I’m doing it. I can’t expect there to be an upcoming event, especially on such short notice, but my heart still sinks a little when I see that the club is closed for tonight.
And then it almost stops when I check tomorrow’s schedule.
Saturday is blacked out too, but for a different reason.
My breath hikes and my eyes widen with disbelief as they hurriedly scan the few written words, checking the date and information again and again.
It can’t be. This must be a mistake.
Fate wouldn’t toy with me like that. Would it?
I shake my head, my lips moving as they try to form the words that I keep reading again and again, unable to make sense of it all.
Maybe the old saying is right: when one door closes, another one opens.
But this door is one I’ve knocked at before. A long time ago. It didn’t open for me then, and I thought I would never have another chance.
I finally force myself to speak, because I feel like I have to say it out loud to believe it.