I really can’t deal with this today, I think to myself, tearing my glassed-over eyes away from the screen and not bothering to look at the five other messages she’s sent.
I love my mother dearly. But it’s better this way. I don’t want her tainted any more by what happened to me. That’s not to say that I’m not better now. I’m a survivor.
I suck in a deep, trembling breath. I don’t want to tell her that I’m not coming home. I’m trying to get over everything. And despite my trepidation about dealing with my mother, I do want to see my family again. But I can’t right now. I’m just not ready. It’s been four years of recovery, only nine months out here on my own, and I know I’m a stronger, better person for it. Yet, deep down I still feel like I’m… not whole. I’m still healing. And that’s okay. But being away from home makes everything easier. It hurts me to admit it, but I just want to be alone.
Well not alone, alone.
My fingers find the dip of my throat as my heart pounds in my chest as I think back to my previous conversation with Kiersten before she abruptly logged off. I’d finally confessed what I’d been thinking for some time. Something that I knew I deeply wanted, but was afraid to admit; my need for a Master.
I shake my head at the memory, still not believing I admitted this, to me or to her. After everything I went through, how more fucked up in the head could I get?
Tick, tick, tick. Fuck, I need to get my shit together and get going.
My eyes stray back to my cell’s screen and I read my mother’s first text again, my heart feeling like it’s being tugged down by an anchor. I want to answer her and soothe her worry. I want to reassure her that I’ll be there soon. But deep down, I know that’s not enough.
Taking a deep breath, I let my fingers fly across the touch screen keys.
I love you mom. I promise I’ll come home soon.
I stare at the text for a moment, debating on whether I should delete it. I don’t want to make a promise I know I can’t keep. Yet at the same time, I don’t want to cause her any more pain or guilt. I want her to feel better, just like I want to feel better.
After what seems like an eternity, I close my eyes and hit send, hoping desperately that I don’t regret it.
Chapter 3
Isaac
My bare feet tread the cold porcelain tiles of my state of the art kitchen floor. The steel gleams with the bright morning light streaming through the large floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall of the breakfast nook. My house may be quiet and empty, but it’s luxurious and fitted with every upscale feature I could find.
Modern, and sophisticated. It’s exactly what I wanted.
The coffee maker is already going and the sounds of steaming water get louder as the addicting scent of fresh ground coffee fills my lungs.
I cover my yawn and then stretch my arms above my head, feeling the stiff muscles ease. My flannel pajamas hang low on my hips as I crack my neck. Same shit, different day, but I’m ready for the excitement of the club. I’m determined to look into recruitment and go through candidates. I’ve been talking to Madam Lynn, hinting at the fact that I’m interested in finding a potential Slave.
She hears me, but I have no idea if she’s really listening.
The door to the fridge opens with a small hum and I crouch down to grab a pepper and a few eggs for my morning omelet.
I love cooking. It’s the one thing my mother used to do for me. Before things changed, she always cooked me breakfast. Even after things changed… for a little while.
I shake off the memories threatening to suffocate me and crack the eggs on the side of a bowl, whisking them as I try to ignore the memory of her laugh. She had a beautiful laugh, my mother. The sounds changed as she did. They were once light and airy, but they changed to a rough voice that cracked when she spoke. In the end, I didn’t even recognize her.
I turn on the gas burner and let the pan heat as I grab my cell.
I work at Club X and its safety is my priority, but my security business is still private and taking inquiries.
I put the phone on speaker and listen to the voicemails from yesterday. I rarely get a call for RP Security. That’s what we were called before transferring to the club. R and P, for Rocci and Payne. Zander and I still own the firm 50/50, but we hardly ever take clients. It’s simply not worth it. Well Zander never took clients. He’s a silent partner. Still, it’s not worth it.
I listen to a message from a man wanting a security detail at an exclusive getaway trip for him and his mistress as I dice up the pepper and half of an onion. I shake my head, deleting it and not even thinking twice about calling him back as I toss the knife into the stainless steel sink.
That’s not what my business is for. I started it myself around the same time Lucian quit college and created his company. It wasn't long before I followed suit. The three of us were inseparable, and in many ways we still are. Zander footed the bill for both Lucian and me. He’s good for fronting money in exchange for stocks, and not doing any of the work. Hiring Joshua as my right hand man took the business to the next level and turned it high-end.
But I’m not interested in being a lookout while a cheater gets his dick wet.
I created this business for one reason. My mother’s laugh echoes in my head again as I watch my breakfast cook in the pan. I'm losing my appetite more with every second that passes.
Murder. Vengeance. I needed the man who killed her dead.
She may not have been a real mother to me in the last two years of her life. The alcohol she used to numb the pain of losing my father overseas eventually turned to coke. Holding me close and crying on my shoulder because she missed my father turned to beating me because I reminded her of him.
She was responsible for her actions. I know that. But he didn’t help. He made them worse.
Jake Shapero. Her boyfriend who got her addicted to harder drugs and led her down the path that ultimately destroyed the mother I once knew.
Also, the asshole who broke my jaw because I dared to talk back. I flex my jaw at the memory as I use the spatula to lift the perfect omelet off the pan and onto a plate. I have no desire to eat it at this point, but I still add salt and pepper and sit at the table. Routine is important.
I close my eyes, and he’s there. It wasn’t just one punch, but I didn’t see him. As I covered my face with my forearms, I saw her in the background. Sitting at the table, bent over and wiping the coke from under her nose, not even bothering to show emotion.
That’s not what made me want to kill him. That’s not why I got into this business.
When I was fourteen, I watched him kill her. It was the culmination of two long years of abuse and neglect, night after night. I watched him hit her; I watched him strangle her. He didn’t see me there, and I’d longed stopped defending her. A broken jaw, busted ribs, and beatings from both of them for interfering taught me to stay away.
I hadn’t realized he was actually killing her. I couldn’t believe she was really dead, even after she fell to the floor and his anger changed to fear as he shook her.
I watched him, and did nothing. The guilt weighs heavy on my chest as I take a bite of the tasteless eggs. Hating the memory.
I was tortured for years while I lived with my distant Aunt Maureen. She’s much older than my mother, almost like a grandmother. She gave me a good life; she took care of me as though I wasn’t troubled. But I never forgave myself.
How could I?
I never wanted to go to college, but Aunt Maureen made me. I was happy to keep her preoccupied with me being in college while I learned more useful skills. Meeting Joshua and Zander was the best thing that happened to me in college. I learned how to track down targets, how to hack into databases and effectively get someone’s records and backgrounds.
That someone being Jacob Shapero.
I wasn’t surprised to learn he was in prison for assault and battery, as well as possession. I had to wait over a year. A year of growing my security business wit
h Joshua and making it legit. Thanks to Zander, a silent partner, we had the funds and clientele to make it exclusive. But every day was just one step closer to my goal. The night he was released, I waited for a sign of activity. I had ten close contacts' phones monitored. And he made the call not fifteen minutes after leaving the station. The second night, I crept into his deceased grandmother’s house and shot him in the back of the head. Waiting that long fucking killed me, but I had to do it right. I spent years preparing, and it only took two days to see it through once I had the opportunity.
I have a lot of connections now, six years later. Many powerful and also corrupt people, due to this clientele and because of the deals I’ve taken. It’s not about the money. It’s about making things right. The business is legit, although some of my methods toe the line. Occasionally I break the law to obtain information. That’s the business I run. We call it security, but we’ve been known to do things a little less legal.
I haven’t taken a private client in a long fucking time. It's been years. The club takes a lot of my time and if there’s a client in need, I hand them off to someone who’s qualified. The money’s good, and the business is streamlined.
Sometimes I wonder if my focus on routine and careful practices, my seclusion and most notably my past, are why I am the way I am. Why I thrive on privacy and control. Not in everything. Just things that matter.
In relationships, especially.
I need complete control. I need trust so deep that she’ll give herself to me completely.
I’m not interested in normal. I’ve had a few relationships, but none that meant anything to me. None that lasted very long.
The two M/s relationships I’ve had in the club didn’t last long either. Neither of them gave me what I needed. And they sure as fuck didn’t need me. They wanted the relationship as a way to give up control, but not because they needed to; they just didn’t want responsibility. They didn’t want the other aspects of being a Slave. Neither lasted more than a few weeks. I want someone who needs me. I’m desperate for it.
I know what I want from my partner is fucked up. I want her devotion, and her only desire to be to please me. I want more than I deserve, but I’ll provide every want, every wish, every need. In exchange for her worshiping obedience, I'll give her the same in return.
I don’t want a safe word, I don’t want negotiation and compromise. I demand complete submission, and nothing less.
It’s fucked up, but I want it. And I’m tired of waiting.
It’s Lucian’s fault. Him wanting a Submissive and buying one on the spot is what’s fueling this need. I know it is. I’m pissed. I’m jealous. It was so fucking easy for him.
I’ll never have that.
What I crave is too rare. Too depraved to be so easily found and taken.
I don’t know why, and I don’t give a fuck. But I’m ready and tired of waiting.
Chapter 4
Katia
I hum a Katy Perry song playing through my radio speakers as I pull into my designated parking spot of Pine Brook Apartments, my spirits high. Today was an awesome day, and it was something I desperately needed after a week of night terrors.
An older couple who were leaving for vacation boarded their Miniature Schnoodle, Mr. Higgins, for the week. He has to be the most adorable dog I’ve ever seen with his tiny, bearded face. He looks like an old man and my heart just melted whenever I laid eyes on him. The day got even better when three eager high school kids, bless their hearts, dropped in to volunteer. I had a blast working with the kids, and they absolutely fell in love with Mr. Higgins and his puppy dog antics. It was so cute to watch. It’s not uncommon for kids to volunteer. I have a program set up with a local school, but it makes it that much better when the kids obviously enjoy themselves.
Since the kids had so much fun I’m hoping they’ll go tell all their friends about the dog shelter so more of them will come play with the pups. That’s all I ask them to do. Just give the dogs some attention.
I love each and every one of the dogs, but there’s not enough time in the day for me to give all of them the attention they deserve. That’s not to say I and my other four employees don’t do enough for them, but these dogs deserve more than what we can give.
Stretching as I go, I climb out of the car and make my way to my apartment. I wince as I make it to the paved walkway that leads to the stairs, a sharp pain spiking up my back. I’m totally sore from hauling bags of dog food.
I take the stairs slowly, feeling the strain of the day on my muscles. I don’t mind it, though. It feels good to just feel; even if it is because I’m sore. It lets me know I’ve had a productive day. Even if all I did was lift dog food all day, it makes me happy. Helping the dogs gives my life special meaning.
I take in a deep breath, still clinging to that happy feeling, but at the same time I feel a sadness trying to creep in. A sadness that is trying to remind me of what my life could be. I hate it.
I reach the door of my apartment and try to push that unwelcome feeling away, taking out my keys. I’m about to unlock the door when I look up to see the mailman coming my way with a small box in his hand, along with an electronic signature pad in the other.
I furrow my brow as he approaches, wondering what’s in the box. I’m absolutely certain that I haven’t ordered anything in the past few days.
“Miss Herrington?” he asks me, stopping right in front of me and giving me a friendly smile. He’s an energetic young man, with blond hair and bushy eyebrows.
“Yes?” I say, flashing a friendly smile back.
He hands me the electronic device, along with a stylus. “If you could just sign for me here, please?”
I take both and quickly scribble my name and hand it back over to him.
He smiles at me again as he hands me the box. “Thank you Miss Herrington, have a wonderful day.”
“Thank you,” I reply absently, my eyes still on the box in my hands. “You, too.”
With the box tucked under my arm, I open the door and kick it shut behind me. I turn it in my hands, the keys jingling as I toss them onto the kitchen table and look for the address label. There’s no return address listed, but I recognize the sender's name. Kiersten. A smile graces my lips as I plop down into my seat. She’s such a freaking sweetheart. She knows this past week has been rough, and it’s not unusual that we give each other a little gift here and there when we’re going through something hard.
I instinctively look past my kitchen and into the cozy living room at the wooden owl on the bottom of my end table. It was a gift from Kiersten. She knows I love owls. I think it’s a door stopper, but it looks just right where I put it.
My place is a nice, one-bedroom apartment with a spacious, open floor plan. It’s not cheap, but it’s not too expensive either, considering it’s in the city. The kitchen and living room join seamlessly with one another. There’s a large sliding glass door at the end of the living room that leads to a small patio. There are two windows with sheer curtains on either side of the couch. I always keep the curtains open because I like the sunlight. It helps keep the darkness away. I went a long time without sunshine, and I’ll never take such a simple thing for granted again.
There’s not much to the rest of my apartment, just a small hallway and then my bedroom and an adjoining bathroom. But I love it. It has a cozy vibe, and I’ve surrounded myself with little things that help keep my mood upbeat, like the stone bunny bookends on the shelf next to the couch, owl pillows, and beautiful glazed ceramic planters by the large windows filled with succulents. I forget to water the plants often, so they have to be succulents. And I filled this place with warm yellows that seem to pop out at you. I use yellow because I’ve always heard that it helps with depression. Just seeing the color stimulates endorphins that make you happy. And I want to be happy. More than anything; it’s all I want.
My eyes stray back to the box and I wonder again what it is. Deep down, I know this is something different. Something… sp
ecial.
There’s only one way to find out.
I walk over to the cabinet and retrieve a letter opener and then come back to the box. My heart racing in my chest, I pry it open.
My breath catches in my throat when I see what’s inside. A fancy golden envelope sits on a bed of purple plush velvet fabric. Holy shit, this is fancy. I pick it up, marveling at the soft feel of the parchment. It’s unlike any paper I’ve ever felt before. It's thick and luxurious. After a moment of staring at it, I carefully open it to reveal a golden card with tassels on the side. There’s a simple message inscribed inside.
You’ve been invited to Club X.
Madam Lynn
Club X. The words run over and over in my mind. I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is. It sounds like some sort of secret underground club, yet I can’t make any sense of it. Why send me an invitation without any information about what I would be joining? And who the hell is Madam Lynn? It’s just strange. I check the box again, and there’s Kiersten’s name. I can’t get the scrunched expression off my face.
I turn the invitation over in my hand, examining it several times, looking for any clues of what this club is about. There aren't any.
Shrugging off my coat, I walk over to my desk in the corner of my living room, thrumming with excitement, sit down and open my laptop. When the screen lights up, I quickly type in my password and bring up the web browser. I type in Club X in the search bar and then hit enter. Kiersten won’t be on till tonight. And I’m too impatient to wait to ask her.
My heart drops in my chest at the results that pop up. Nothing with “Club X” per se. But a bunch of porn websites and pornographic pictures are the first things listed. Some information about ecstasy. Certainly not what I expected. I click through a couple of them, but the sites are all set up to get you to put in your credit card. Screw that. I click through a bunch more websites, trying to find any information that links to the invitation, but I come up short. There’s absolutely nothing here. After clicking through a couple more, I shut down the browser, a feeling of disappointment running through me.
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