“No.” That was only a half truth. He wanted her to use that smart brain of hers, and if it took a little scolding, then maybe it was needed.
“What are you saying, then?”
“That you should think. This isn’t a job where you flip burgers and ask for a couple extra weekend shifts so you can buy… more textbooks,” he finished lamely, knowing she’d never spent money on frivolous things. “This is serious. You’re being groomed for a plan you don’t know about.”
She sat up at that. And after a moment, she closed the book and put it back on the table. “What kind of plan?”
He rubbed his face. He’d been loyal to Yuki as long as he’d known her. She’d pulled him out of the shitty streets of Kyiv, put him through proper university, and let him build his own business. This woman in front of him… he’d known her for a matter of weeks. Weeks!
“Do your engagements and leave. You’re going to get in over your head, something Yuki is probably hoping for.”
“I have my own plan. And my own goals,” she said, grabbing her textbook again. “No one will distract me from them.”
He ran his hand through his short hair, seeing a stubborn look come over her face.
“Besides, I’m meeting with Yuki on Sunday. It’s probably about this plan you’re talking about. And from what she told me, it will be my biggest engagement yet.”
He looked at her smug expression, wondering if she was lying. Wondering how she’d changed so much from the organized, levelheaded woman he’d slept with.
“Well, sounds like you have it all figured out then,” he grumbled, grabbing his tools. “Good luck with that.”
“You already told me good luck, but thanks again,” she said, a sneer in her voice. He watched her frown down at her book, her eyes fixed on the page, unmoving.
He couldn’t decide if he was angry or sad for her. Everyone had the right to make their own mistakes. The most he could do was keep an eye on her, at least for the weekend. He left her to her books, closing the front door with the quietest click.
23
Anya sat motionless, staring at the closed door. Outside, she heard the hum of the electric cart’s tires on the road. After several seconds, she slammed the book back on the coffee table.
“Goddammit,” she said to the empty room. She stalked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. She grabbed one of her favorite iced teas and then slammed it back on the shelf.
She hadn’t expected to see him on her first day back. Or at all, really. He had his own life plans, and they didn’t include her. At least it seemed that way, if he could cut her loose so easily. By text. “By fucking text,” she muttered.
She jerked the fridge door open again and cracked the ice tea lid open. At least their first awkward meeting was over with. Or maybe it was only awkward for me.
Fuck.
Grabbing her phone, she opened the Cavendish app and reread Yuki’s message from that morning.
I understand you want to take on more with Cavendish. I’m pleased to hear that and that you want to stay at the compound. Let’s talk more on Sunday.
The next message had been a calendar invite for a 9:00 a.m. meeting at the manor.
She’d lied to Dimi about her meeting with Yuki being about money, but his secretive attitude made her want to goad him.
He made Yuki sound dangerous but then wouldn’t say why. That was bullshit.
Her phone beeped, and she saw a message from Dimi.
I’m glad you’re focused on your plans. Be safe tonight, and if anything feels off, call me.
She thought of a few sarcastic replies, but ended up typing Ok, thanks.
She knew he had a history with Yuki, yet he’d wanted to warn her about being groomed. Groomed for what? It was clear to everyone she was here for the job, to pay for school. And if Cavendish plans had changed, well, that didn’t mean she’d just go along.
She pushed away thoughts of Yuki and grooming, shifting to thoughts about Dimi. He’d distanced himself from her yesterday, and it had hurt her feelings. She did the same thing to people, and it was hypocritical to judge him for it. She didn’t want to lose him as a friend. She had few enough of those as it was, let alone someone who shared her upbringing. She sighed, trying to compose a few words to him that might put them back on a friendly level.
A knock on her front door startled her, and for a second her heart double-pumped, wondering if it was Dimi. She was overcome with the need to apologize, and she hurried to the door.
“Package,” said a guy in a Cavendish Staff T-shirt. He handed her a box.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it and closing the door.
She dropped it on the coffee table and lifted the lid. Inside were two strips of thin, soft suede and long leather laces. Her costume for the night.
* * *
Anya couldn’t tell how long she’d been standing beside the small beverage table. She’d been told to stand here until the guests had shown up, keeping her head down and not moving. But her bare feet on the hard, wood floor were starting to ache. She’d have sworn it had been over a half hour so far.
A thin strip of suede crossed her chest and knotted in the back, leaving the undersides of her breasts peeking out below the material. The skirt was similar, although it wrapped around twice and knotted through a slit. Leather ties crisscrossed from her ankles to her calves, ending in a knot. Though the May air was cool on her naked body, the discreet heaters that circled the treehouse kept the chill away.
“After you, my beauty,” floated a familiar voice from below. Finally.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and the ache in her feet went away as she channeled the role of shy serving girl. She knew what to expect and hoped things would go smoothly so she could get back to her bed and sleep.
“How beautiful,” said the woman, whose voice she didn’t recognize.
Anya’s gaze was glued to her feet, but through the teased mess she’d made of her hair, she glimpsed a long shimmer of white sequins.
“Girl,” said a loud voice, and brown leather boots came into her view close to her feet. “Pour water,” Grisham requested, and he brushed back some of her hair.
She bowed her head briefly and turned to fill the first wooden cup with water. He’d turned to go sit at the table and talk to his date, and she cheated her stance as she filled the second wooden cup so she could sneak a glance at them.
He wore a white linen shirt and brown pants tucked into tall boots. His date had an elaborate updo of black curls with feathers stuck in it, and a white dress that started with beads at the top and finished with sequins at the bottom. It reminded her of the time period from Tarzan of the Apes.
Instead of sitting across from each other, they sat side by side and faced the beverage table where she stood. Her toes rubbed together, and she looked away, hyperaware that Grisham stared at her.
“Come,” Grisham commanded, and before she lowered her eyes, she saw he wore a brown silk mask that covered his.
She placed the cups on the table in front of them and dipped a small curtsy, backing up to resume her place by the wooden table.
“I apologize for the servant,” Grisham said. “She is new and doesn’t know the ways of society.” He moved their cups to the other side of their plates. Anya wasn’t sure if she was meant to remember this for next time or if being wrong so he could “punish” her was part of the evening.
She’d hoped that things would move quickly from there, but he seemed happy to eat his appetizer slowly, order her to pour water, eat a salad course, and then have her pour more water.
He kept encouraging his date to drink her water as well, always indicating for Anya to stand beside him, so she had to reach across the table to pour. One time, he ran a finger against the curve of the breast exposed so close to his face.
Then came a soup course and more water. This time, he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh when she leaned to fill the woman’s cup, and when his fingers got close to the heat of her, s
he squeezed her legs without thinking.
She shot a look at him, seeing his gleaming eyes. The jug in her hand shook and splashed some water on the table.
“Stop,” he said, and she straightened.
Damn, damn, damn, she cursed herself. She’s supposed to be shy, demure, and obedient. Hopefully the gleam in his eye meant he interpreted her movements to be inexperience.
“Leave,” he said, and she bowed and took a step back. He grabbed her wrist. “Scarlett, leave.”
The woman beside him looked startled, but she stood and did as he asked.
They stayed like that for a long time, Grisham seated, her wrist held tightly, and the jug dangling by her side in her other hand.
As Scarlett’s footsteps faded away, his hand moved. He loosened his grip and stroked a thumb against her palm. Now it would start. It was a little off script, with his date being asked to leave, but he’d masturbate against her and leave. End of the night and money in the bank.
But he didn’t move, just stroked her palm. His breathing shuddered, and she tried to shift her eyes and see if he was jerking off under the table, but there was no movement.
After a long minute, he stood and exerted pressure on her wrist to turn her toward the beverage table.
“Put the jug down,” he grated, and she put it down. He stepped behind her and pulled both her arms behind her back. Something scraped against her wrists and she heard a zip sound. He pulled her against him, and her bound hands pressed against his hard dick.
What the fuck?
“I don’t…” she started, and his hand covered her mouth. Hard.
“Don’t speak,” he grated. “That’s one rule I’m not changing.”
His other hand reached under her skirt, groping and pinching.
“You’re mine,” he whispered hotly into her ear. His hand moved off her crotch, and she thought she’d hear him lower his fly. But it never came.
Instead, her tucked her hair behind her ear and licked it, his tongue swirling inside. She pulled away, but he replaced the hand on her mouth with a damp cloth.
The smell made her gag, and she immediately fought, knowing what he was doing.
“Nuuuhhhnnn,” she yelled, her “no” muffled against the rag. He pushed her down on the table and lay on her, his hand still a vice over her mouth.
Her gagging turned to nausea and then dizziness. She had no leverage with her arms bound and her feet unable to reach the floor.
“Don’t fight,” he said, “and this will all be over soon.”
She made one more try at talking, but it came out even more garbled than before.
“Yes, relax,” he said, his grip not lessening, but his other hand stroking her hair. “You’re mine,” he whispered again, and as everything faded away, she heard him say, “and I’m keeping you.”
24
“Good God, somebody do something,” Dimi muttered as he watched the three camera angles at the treehouse. After the salad, when Grisham asked his date what she thought about the weather, he’d turned off the audio. He read over the engagement and knew Anya wouldn’t be speaking, so he wasn’t missing anything. The meal had progressed at an excruciatingly slow pace, with Grisham copping feels every once in a while.
He’d set up his laptop in the Savanna house, letting himself into the Moroccan room for fun. He regretted it though, because the pillows weren’t meant to accommodate a long time of laptop viewing.
“Fuck this,” he said, and got up to pull an elaborate teak chair from the hallway toward the room. He stopped when he heard voices.
“I’m not sure,” said a woman’s voice. “He said to go, so I’m going. I’d better get full payment.”
“I’ll have a car come around right away,” Crowley said, and he saw them walk from the back hallway through the foyer and out the door.
He tried to remember what the engagement said and opened the package from his phone app. He skimmed through it to the end.
“‘...masturbate… fulfill requests until guests leave.’” The hairs on his neck stood up, and he forgot about the chair and headed to the laptop.
Grisham held her from behind, groping her. Almost time for his big finish.
Dimi moved his email window, blocking the top of the video feed, leaving just their feet visible. He didn’t want to ask himself why it bothered him to watch.
“Get your rocks off, buddy, so we can all go home,” he muttered.
He saw an email from his contractor and opened it.
My calendar is clear from six weeks on. I’ll get my agreement to you tomorrow.
He was about to hit Reply when Anya and Grisham’s feet disappeared from the window.
“Whoa, whoa,” he said, clicking on the video feed again. Two things struck him. The cloth Grisham held against Anya’s mouth and the look in her eyes that he could see on the second camera. Panic.
“Fuck,” he yelled, flying out of the room and pulling out his walkie. “All ears, all ears, Code 7 at the treehouse.” His voice was tight and almost unrecognizable.
He ran down the hallway to the back of the house, slamming through the kitchen door. A series of “Rogers” sounded on the walkie, and he knew the estate would be in shutdown mode in sixty seconds.
He ran through the maze of stainless-steel tables, through the pantry, and out the back door, cursing that it was on the other side of the building from the treehouse.
In the distance, he saw Grisham struggling down the last few stairs, Anya draped limply over his shoulder. The image kicked his run into an even higher gear, his instincts yelling to tackle the asshole until his rational brain reminded him about hurting Anya.
He slowed his pace as he drew closer, calculating how to take him out and grab Anya at the same time. There was no way to jump him, so he decided to negotiate while Grisham was still in the open yard.
“Grisham,” he called when he was about twenty feet behind him. Grisham froze and then swayed slightly as he looked at him. “Run into some trouble?”
“She passed out,” he replied, panting slightly. He gave a weird giggle and adjusted the woman on his shoulder with a grunt. “I thought I’d move our night into the house.”
“Looks like you need some help,” he suggested, closing the gap to ten feet.
“No, I’m fine, but thanks,” the man said.
“Sorry, but it’s our mandate to intervene when there are health issues with consultants.” He didn’t wait for a response, just removed Anya from Grisham’s shoulder. She was starting to come around, so he clamped her to his side and smiled at Grisham.
The man stood in front of him, uncertainly glancing back to the treehouse and then to him.
“How did you…?” he started, and then Dimi stepped close enough to lay him out with one punch. Grisham’s head snapped to the right and he crumpled to the ground almost in slow motion.
“St-Pierre,” called Cormier as he rounded the side of the house. “Estate is locked down. What do you need?”
“Grisham went off script and hurt a consultant. I’m taking her to the medical center. Can you secure this asshole for me? Hold him in a room here until I get the official word from executive?”
“Shouldn’t he go to the medical center too?”
“No,” he said, looking him hard in the eye. “He’ll be fine.”
* * *
Dimi carried Anya into the house to the elevator bay, going down to the tunnels.
“What happened?” she asked groggily, and he pulled out his pocketknife to cut the zip tie holding her arms.
“Grisham deviated from the engagement. I think he was trying to take you home.”
“My head is pounding,” she muttered.
He settled her into one of the carts and got in beside her. He started it and pulled out of the parking space, following the blue line.
“Where are we going?” she asked, grabbing his arm when he went into a curve a little fast.
“Sorry,” he said and put his arm around her. “We’re going
to a place nobody knows about. Until I can figure out our next steps.”
“Our next steps?”
“Or yours and mine. I need some time to think.”
He tightened his hand on the steering wheel, which only resulted in his arm shaking. He focused on relaxing, letting his arm muscle go slack. His brain had jumped into action, but never had he been in adrenalin shock like this.
In a few minutes, he pulled into the parking area under the command center.
“Can you walk?” he asked, and Anya nodded. But she waited for him to walk around and help her out.
He swiped them into the elevator and then paused, pulling out his phone.
“What are you doing?” she asked when he lifted her wrist that had her wristband on it.
“I’m taking your bracelet offline for now.”
“Why?”
“I need to tell you a few things so you can decide what you want to do. If you want to be a part of Yuki’s plan. Because I have a feeling she won’t give you the option to turn it down.”
They rode the elevator to the main floor then accessed the private elevator to the lair.
“What is this place?” she asked, walking into the room and to the windows. It finally sank in that she was mostly naked.
“Let me get you something to wear,” he said, going to his bedroom to grab a T-shirt, shorts, and some socks.
“Oh right.” She gave a short laugh as she looked down at the scraps of material she wore. He handed her the clothes and she pulled them on then swept the room and the view with her eyes.
“This… is amazing,” she whispered.
He looked around, seeing it through her eyes.
“Thanks,” he said.
“It’s kind of overly manly, but pretty cool,” she teased.
“Overly manly? It’s modern. And it’s very cool.”
“Okay. Modern manly. And nobody knows it’s here, for real?”
“Nobody. Everything about it is off the grid, and nobody has access but me.”
Disciplined Page 21