Total Submission

by Roxy Sloane

  THREE: ISABELLE

  Running into Cam at Nobu leaves me so shaken, I don’t say a word for the rest of the night. Thankfully, Brent and his friends decide to hit a strip club, so he doesn’t object when I get a cab and head home early.

  At last, I’m alone.

  I lay in bed, unable to sleep a wink until the dawn light filters through the curtains. God, every time I think I’ve finally gotten in control, everything fall to pieces.

  When Cam rescued me from that ugly scene with Brent at the Underground, I finally felt free. I pursued Cam until he agreed to let me be his sub: for the first time, I was going after what I wanted. I suddenly found myself in a whole new world of pleasure, but just when I allowed myself to believe in a better future, Brent’s blackmail brought it all crashing down.

  Now, I’m right where I started again. Trapped in a life that makes me empty inside. Doomed to deny my desires as a price for past sins.

  But you’re not the same.

  I feel a flare of determination. Seeing Cam again was painful and terrible, but being with him reminded me of everything that’s missing in my life. I never imagined I could have such intense feelings—just those few moments in the bathroom shattered my numb detachment and brought me screaming to life again.

  Even if I can’t have him, I won’t go back to the way it used to be.

  I hurry to the bedroom and drag my suitcases out of the closet. I can’t spend another day trapped like this, a prisoner to Brent’s evil threats. Tearing through my things, I heap them in the suitcases. Brent might think he’s beaten me, but I’ve gotten myself out of worse scrapes. Experience has shown me just how easy it is to wipe the slate clean, and start over again. It’s not easy, but I have no other way out.

  * * *

  I pack up everything I can’t bear to leave behind, then get dressed and take a cab straight to the bank where my family does all its business.

  Even though I don’t have an appointment, just the Ashcroft name is enough to bring my financial advisor, Mr. Grant, running. He ushers me into his private office.

  “Isabelle, how nice to see you again.” Mr. Grant gestures to a chair. “Sit down. Can I offer you anything? Coffee, tea?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” My heart is beating like crazy, as if I’m about to pull a robbery, instead of simply withdraw what’s mine.

  And flee the country.

  “So what can I do for you?” Mr. Grant smiles at me. “What’s it been, a year or more since we met last? How have you been?”

  “Oh, you know.” I fake a grin. “Busy, busy, busy! I’ve been involved in a lot of charity work and organizing a few fundraising events.”

  “Excellent!” Mr. Grant beams approval. “Your father would be proud. He was such a devoted philanthropist. Now, how can I help?”

  I take a breath, knowing what’s at stake—my future.

  “I was wondering about my trust fund. How much can I access right now?”

  Mr. Grant looks curious, but he clicks at his computer and jots a few numbers down on a pad of paper. Glancing at his notes, he says, “Your trust fund is pretty securely tied up in investments and property holdings that your father set up for you, but you have around two million dollars in liquid assets.”

  Two million? I hide my relief. It’s a huge amount of money, more than enough to start a new life somewhere – and cover the tracks to this old one so well that Brent will never be able to find me.

  “How quickly can you wire it to me?” I ask, keeping casual. “I’m thinking of making an offer on an apartment,” I add as an explanation. “I’ll need it for the down payment.”

  Mr. Grant’s frown clears. “Ah, perfect. Are you sure you wouldn’t want to make the deal through the family trust? It would serve you well in capital gains tax—”

  “No, no,” I interrupt quickly. “I’d prefer to do this on my own. A project,” I give him a dumb blonde grin. “Like, be a grown up.”

  He gives a doting smile. “Just send me the account number you need it wired to, and you’ll be all set.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Grant. I’ll get the details to you soon.”

  He nods and we shake hands, and just like that, I’m walking out of the bank with my new life one step closer to reality.

  My cellphone rings just as I’m stepping onto the sidewalk. I check the caller ID, bracing myself to ignore Brent or Cam, but instead, it’s Olivia.

  “Hey?” I answer.

  “I’m so hungry,” Olivia groans. “I’m on day two of a sugar detox, and I swear, visions of cake are dancing in front of me.”

  I laugh, despite myself. Olivia is the one sweet friend in my clique of society bitches – the only person I’ll miss, besides Cam, I realize with a pang.

  “Meet me for brunch?” she asks hopefully. “You can eat dessert for me, I’ll have salad and live vicariously through you.”

  I pause. I should get out of town as soon as possible, before Brent realizes what’s going on, but I haven’t gotten everything figured out yet and I’d like to see a friendly face, one last time.

  “OK,” I agree. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

  As I cab over to meet her, I try to think of what I’ll say. There’s no way I can tell her the truth about what’s going on with me, but I need an excuse, something to cover why I need to pull a disappearing act. Maybe a fight with Brent—it wouldn’t be so far from the truth, after all.

  Olivia is waiting in a booth at the back, mournfully eyeing a woman eating waffles at the next table.

  “Hey sweetie.” She gets up to kiss me on the cheek, then pauses. “Is everything OK?”

  I take a seat. “Not so much,” I reluctantly admit. Her brow creases with worry, and as I’m debating exactly what to tell Olivia, I realize: she might be the only person who can help me. If there’s ever been a time to let my guard down, it’s now. “Listen, I need to get out of town for a while. I’ll need to open a new bank account, maybe overseas? Somewhere that no one will ask questions or be able to trace the account back to me. But I have no clue where to start.”

  “Wow,” Olivia exhales. “Isabelle, what’s going on? I mean, this is the kind of thing people do when they’re hiding from the mafia. Or in trouble with the IRS.” She sits up straight and stares at me intently. “Oh my God! Are you in trouble with the IRS?”

  “Nothing like that. Don’t worry,” I reassure her, thinking fast. “It’s just Brent, you know?” The lie rolls easily off my tongue. “He’s going to spend every penny of our trust if I don’t squirrel some away.” Well, that part’s true at least. Olivia was at my apartment when UPS delivered Brent’s five thousand dollar, vibrating leather massage chair.

  I feel a stab of guilt as Olivia’s anxious expression fades, replaced by a sympathetic smile.

  “Hmm.” She gets out her cellphone and scrolls through her contacts. “OK, I think I’ve got someone. He’s very discreet. Just tell him I referred you and he’ll talk you through everything.”

  I exhale. “You’re the best. Thanks.” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “Now, how about we get you some food before you pass out?”

  The waiter brings our salads, and we chat a little about charity events and gossip, but Olivia can clearly tell my mind is elsewhere.

  She pauses, like she’s trying to figure what to say. “I know you don’t open up,” she says quietly, “And that’s OK. But just know, if you ever need anything, I’m here.”

  I feel a tide of emotion. “Thanks,” I say, trying to keep it together. “But I’ll be fine. I’m just going out of town for a little while. I need a vacation,” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Some time to recharge. And maybe a little poolboy action to distract me.”

  Olivia gives me a look like she’s not buying it – especially after my asking about foreign bank accounts. But she doesn’t argue. Instead, she brightens. “You can use my beach house in St. Lucia. It’s on a private beach, totally remote. We have a staff there year-round, they’ll take care of everythin
g you need. Including the poolboy.”

  I blink, stunned. Is she serious?

  “Take all the time you need,” Olivia adds. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re there—especially Brent.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, overwhelmed. I feel guilty that I never fully appreciated her friendship – now I realize just what a great person she is, how giving, generous, and loyal. “But what will you tell everyone? People will notice I’m gone.”

  “I’ve got it!” Olivia suddenly laughs. “I’ll say that you’ve gone to a spa to have plastic surgery. They’ll have a field day with that!”

  I laugh. “Oh my God, can you imagine Nicole’s face when you tell her? I wish I could be there to see it.”

  “Right?” Olivia grins. “She not-so-secretly hates you because she thinks you’re perfect. Let’s make up some hideous secret affliction and see how long it takes the rumors to spread. Maybe you’re getting a belly-button tuck to fix your disgusting outie.”

  “While I’m there, I can finally get my third nipple removed, too.”

  Olivia and I collapse in laughter. It feels really good to know she’s on my team.

  “Ugh, I totally envy you.” Olivia sighs. “I’d love to get away.”

  “Why don’t you, even for a short break?”

  “Duty calls, you know?” Olivia rolls her eyes. “My calendar’s booked for the next six months, at least. Charity things and family events. Plus there’s Jeffrey…” she trails off. Olivia’s been engaged to a total stuffed-shirt of a guy for a year now, but she doesn’t seem excited to make it down the aisle. “Anyway, I’ll call Pedro on the island and tell him you’re coming. You have a blast and send me a postcard, and don’t worry about a thing.”

  I smile and sip my juice. There’s still plenty to worry about, but with the money and an escape plan set, I’m halfway to my fresh start. I can stay on the island long enough to get a real plan sorted, and then Isabelle Ashcroft will be just a memory.

  A memory, like my time with Cam. His face clouds my mind, and I feel an ache, remembering what I’m leaving behind.

  But he’s out of reach now, and he deserves so much better than me. One day he’ll see, leaving him was the best thing I could ever do for him.

  If only I could believe it myself.

  FOUR: CAM

  My investigator, Jake, calls first thing to arrange a meeting. I should have known it wouldn’t take him long – he’s the best in the business. With a background working for the FBI, Jake usually only takes high-profile murder cases or multi-million dollar corporate espionage gigs; it’s a personal favor that he’d swing by my office at nine AM on a Saturday morning when he’d usually be hung-over and tied up with some gorgeous woman. Usually, literally.

  But he can tell, my query about Isabelle won’t wait.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” Jake whistles as he saunters into my corner office. The views of Manhattan are spectacular, but I’m more interested in the file under his arm. He’s looking rakish and disheveled like he’s been out partying all night.

  Still, I keep control. “Coffee?” I offer. “My secretary can get whatever you need.”

  Jake chuckles. “You got her in, too? Poor thing. You better be paying overtime.”

  “Rest assured, my staff is more than adequately compensated for their time. As are you,” I remind him. Jake’s minimum retainer is fifty thousand dollars. Worth every cent if he can help me figure out what’s going on with Isabelle.

  “Yeah yeah, I get it. All work and no play,” Jake grins at me. “You need to spend a little more time at that club of yours, stop getting wound so tight.”

  I bristle at the mention of the Underground, but I’m not surprised either. Jake makes it his business to know everything about everyone – that’s why he’s so good at his job.

  “I’ll be more relaxed when I know what you’ve found.” I gesture for him to take a seat on one of the sleek leather couches, but I stay standing, too tense to stay still.

  “Your girl, right.” Jake flips open the file and spreads some pages on the marble coffee table. “First of all, she changed her legal name to Isabelle Ashcroft after the adoption, but before that she was called Izzie Johnson. She was born in Tallahassee, addict mom, no dad on the birth certificate, but word is he was another junkie who didn’t stick around. She grew up at an address outside the city, a trailer park, it doesn’t look to be much.”

  Jake slides some photos over to me. I glance down, filled with sadness. Isabelle skirted around her past so much, I knew it was bad, but this is bleaker than I ever imagined.

  How strong Isabelle must have been to make it through all of this. How brave she is, even now.

  “Her mom bounced in and out of the system,” Jake continues, checking his notes. “A couple of arrests, some court-ordered rehab, a caution for possession. I’m surprised social services didn’t catch up with her sooner, but I guess they slipped through the cracks—at least until Isabelle was five years old. Then her mom gets arrested for solicitation, can’t make bail, spends a couple of nights in lock-up. It took them three days to realize Isabelle was on her own in the trailer. That’s when they took her into custody and she went into the foster system.”

  My blood runs cold, imagining Isabelle all alone like that. Just a kid left to fend for herself, she must have been so scared and confused.

  “After that, the paper trail is simpler.” Jake kicks back. “Isabelle bounced around foster families and group homes until the Ashcrofts adopted her when she was thirteen. There’s no more police reports except some fire at a foster home when she was twelve, which killed the father, but she wasn’t around. Most of these places aren’t real homes,” he adds. “A lot of people just keep kids for the benefit checks, give them food and a bed to sleep in, but not much else besides.”

  No wonder she craved love and affection, taking it wherever she could – even from Brent. All those years, alone. All those years with nobody looking out for her but herself.

  “And Brent?” I demand. “What’s he doing now? He’s got something on her, I just know it.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s obvious. She’s been propping him up all year. Credit cards, car payments, and now cash too.” Jake shows me the paperwork. “She’s moving ten k at a time into his account, and he burns through it just as fast. Has a taste for high-class strippers and blow,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

  “And you don’t?” I shoot back.

  Jake gives me an easy smile. “Real men don’t have to pay for it. And I keep my body clean. You have to in my line of work.”

  I shake my head, still concerned with the matter at hand. “Keep digging, I want to know exactly what he’s holding over her. It’s something big. Has to be, with all that payout.”

  “I’ll dig all the way to Australia, if you’re the one paying for my shovel.” Jake unfolds his body and gets to his feet. “One thing you should know though, your girl had an appointment at the bank this morning. Met with an advisor and asked about transferring out all her funds.”

  “How do you know this?” Once again, I marvel at Jake’s skills.

  “I’ve got my ways,” he winks. “But she just sent over the transfer account details. It’s a Swiss bank account, totally anonymous. It looks to me like she’s getting ready to run.”

  Run? I tense. “Keep watching. Call me the minute you find out what’s got her so scared.”

  “Sure thing.” Jake salutes me and saunters out, leaving me alone with the file.

  I pace the floor, my mind racing. I knew Isabelle’s background was troubled, but

  I never dreamed that she would have so much pain and loss in her life. It’s a miracle she’s made it through this far. Other people would have become brittle and bitter, but she’s kept her sweetness—even if she has buried it deep beneath the surface.

  Suddenly, it all makes sense to me. Why she keeps up the perfect act, and pushes her own feelings aside.

  She’s a survivor. She thinks she can only rely on hers
elf.

  But she’s wrong. I’m here now, and I swear, she’ll never have to feel alone again.

  My intercom buzzes, breaking through my thoughts.

  “Mr. McCullough, you have a visitor.”

  I pace over to the desk. “There’s nothing on the schedule,” I reply. “Who is it?”

  But the door flies open before I get an answer. Brent Ashcroft strolls in.

  It takes everything I have not to slam his smug face into the fucking wall.

  Mary scurries after him. “I’m sorry, I told him to wait.”

  “That’s fine.” I pull myself together and dismiss her. I turn to Brent and arch an eyebrow. I refuse to lower myself to his level and reveal how much I hate him. There’s a reason he’s here, and until Isabelle is out from under his thumb, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

  Even if that means leaving him untouched.

  “Is there something you need?” I ask, keeping the rage from my voice. “I have a busy day ahead. You should really make an appointment in the future.”

  He looks disappointed. He wanted to get a rise out of me.

  Not today, buddy.

  “Corner office, huh?” Brent makes a show of strolling around, examining the place. “But then Dad always did think you were perfect. Cam the brown noser. Sticking it where the sun don’t shine, right up dear daddy’s wrinkled old asshole.”

  I hold back my revulsion. Brent was always a disappointment to Charles Ashcroft – all the money and expensive education in the world couldn’t fix what was rotten, deep down inside.

  “What do you want, Brent?” Anger simmers but I don’t give in to it. Brent came here wanting a fight, but he doesn’t realize, control is my talent.

  “It’s more about what you want. Or rather, who.” Brent smirks. “Was she good for you? Personally, I think her skills could use a little work, but hey, maybe ‘frigid bitch’ does it for you.”

  I concentrate very hard on my breathing. He wants me to snap. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead I blink at him, affecting a bored expression.