by Oliver, Tess
"Yeah, you keep reminding me." I pitch the ball like a bullet across the room. It ricochets off the walls and clinks off the glass chandelier in the dining area.
"Easy there, slugger, damages are coming out of your paycheck. I've got some news for you but give me an update first. How did the club interview go?"
"Weirder than I expected. Like getting into the mob or something." I pull a stool from the kitchen island out and sit on it. "I went to the parking lot in the mall and parked right where they told me. So I'm standing there next to the Porsche, waiting, and this limo with tinted windows pulls up. No plates or they were covered. I'm expecting the driver to get out and open the passenger door. We rich guys expect shit like that, you know?"
Clark shakes his head.
"Anyhow, the door opens automatically so I climb inside. My interview panel is sitting right inside."
Clark sits forward. "No shit? Freestone?"
"Nope. But I think he was watching the interview remotely. I noticed two cameras. They were easy to spot. No attempt to hide them. The interviewers were three club members. One was wearing a big nose and glasses disguise, but I think it's that guy who owns the chain of burger restaurants. Robson or something, he does his own commercials so I recognized his voice."
"Yeah, Bart Robson," Clark concurs. "How fucking cheap or balloon headed do you have to be to appear in your own restaurant chain commercials. Figures he belongs to the club. He always looks so smarmy in the commercials."
"They asked me a bunch of questions. Since I've only been rich for a few weeks, I fumbled through some of the answers. I can see why this club stays so under wraps. These guys take it very seriously. They don't want the word to get out and risk losing their dirty little party club."
"More like they don't want their distinguished names to be blasted across the news headlines when Freestone's sordid world is revealed."
"Yeah, I got the feeling it's not just Freestone you need to avoid if you reveal the secrets. In not so many words, the men in the car mentioned that financial sabotage and loss of any important connections might be the consequence if I so much as even mentioned the interview. About all I can say about that part of it is that those guys wear a lot of fucking cologne, and they are all eating just a few too many lobster tails and caviar parfaits."
I pull out Rick Haverton's phone and check to see if there's a message. "Nothing about getting in yet. It's been three days. They said they'll get back to me only if I'm accepted. So I'm plotting out my next move, if they say no."
Clark puts up his hand. "No, Maddox, no plotting. We've put a lot of money into this. Let's just see what happens first before you go tunneling underground into the secret compound. Which reminds me, the crew staking out those coordinates haven't seen anything unusual. Just a lot of desert landscape. No cars rising up from underground garages or helicopters lifting out from behind hills. I think the coordinates are wrong."
"Fuck. That makes plan B that much harder."
"Did you fuck up too many answers?"
I shrug. "Not sure. They were mostly wondering why a guy like me needed to join a club to, as they so eloquently put it, enhance my social life."
"A guy like you? You mean a big mouthed rooster?"
"Yeah that, and as people like to point out a lot. I'm pretty."
"Uh huh, I believe Hannah refers to you as that smokin' hot detective guy with the green eyes. What did you tell them?"
"Told them I wanted the sex without the commitment, and I wanted to avoid women who were always trying to corner me for my money. That answer went over well. I guess we'll have to wait and see."
"Uh huh." Clark rests his arms up along the soft leather couch. "Well, waiting and seeing is costing the department a small fortune, so if you don't hear from them in two days, this assignment is over." Before I can protest he puts his hand up. "That's what I came here to tell you. I think the feds will be moving in on this soon. The death of the undercover private investigator has moved this up the chain of command. The pharmaceutical company had to turn over documents with the data they had on Freestone's special drug. It's some powerful narcotic based shit."
"Fuck. That's not good news. What if Ten—"
"Don't start with the what ifs, Maddox. It doesn't help move us forward to speculate. It only adds to our worry." Clark drops his arms. His lumpy, big face droops like a bloodhound's. I know what's coming next because I've seen the same face every day since Ten disappeared.
With it looking less likely that I'll get into the club and the coordinates not panning out, the last thing I need is his downer moment. "I'm not giving up until I find her, so wipe the frown off, Clark. I will find her."
16
Kane
"Mr. Freestone." I turn back to Oscar in the hallway.
"Yes?"
"I've got Robson on the phone. He wants to know if you watched the interview tapes for the two prospective members."
"No on the first one. He's far too old and out of shape. I don't need a heart attack victim on my hands. The second one was the opposite. Makes me wonder why the hell he wants in at all. But tell him yes. We need some new members. The women look bored during club activities. He looks like an asshole, but something tells me he'll spark a little competition between the women. They are all getting a little complacent and lazy."
"All right. I'll let Robson know."
I continue down the hallway. After her runaway stunt, I decided to let her have five days of solitude. I've visited only to give her injections and left each time with her flushed with arousal and looking as sad as a lost kitten when I walked out.
It's been pure fucking torture for me. It takes all my will power to walk out of the room each time without touching her. But my nerves of steel have melted into hot molten metal. I need her. The punishment phase is over and the punishment phase begins tonight. After nearly a week without her, I'm ready to tear the whole fucking compound down around our heads.
I flash my key card and walk in. The fragrance of bubbles along with a sudden, almost rushed splashing sound drifts past the ajar bathroom door.
Her plate of food is untouched, and her wine glass is full.
I push the door open. She sits up and peers over the bubbles. "Oh, I didn't hear you come in," she says with big, innocent eyes.
"Yes you did. That's why you jumped into the bath." I sit on the bench at the edge of the tub. "Apparently you thought a bath would be the perfect excuse for me to cut my visit short."
She shrugged her thin shoulders. "No, you're perfectly welcome to sit and watch me bathe. I'm just getting started." The last dose of nectar is wearing off, revealing that other, more defiant side of her. I've come to enjoy it almost as much as the sweet, submissive angel who purrs so eagerly when she's naked beneath me.
I lean back on my hands to watch. She lifts up her arm and takes a comically long time to run the washcloth over it. I don't know if she's trying to seduce me or bore me.
"Is it clean enough yet?" I say after a few more strokes. "I can't imagine you need too much scrubbing, sitting here in this room all day."
"Yes, about that." She lifts the second arm and gives it the same surgical nurse style attention. "I'm going stir crazy, which I know is your plan. So that is working. I should be ready for the asylum by the time you send me on my way."
"Is that what you want?" A tuft of bubbles floats up and coasts down to the floor. I stomp it with my shoe. "To be sent on your way? I suppose you've already answered that. And bravo on your ability to survive out in the world on your own. Maybe next time you could find a band of four freshly released ex-cons in a van to give you a ride."
"I wouldn't have climbed into the truck if your giant goons weren't chasing me down like a hunted rabbit. And just in case you thought you were leaving me in this room every afternoon aching with lust and dying for a satisfaction only you can bring—" Her luscious lips tilt up as she raises one bubble covered hand out of the water. She wiggles her fingers. "I've been doing just fine
satisfying myself. In fact, I think I'm enjoying it better."
I lean forward and flick the lever on the plug. The water starts to drain. Bubbles slosh over the edge of the tub as she lunges forward to try and save the water. I take hold of both her arms and yank her to her feet. She is wet and sleek from soap as I lift her out of the tub.
After the spoiled, bratty tirade in the tub, I should have expected the slap, but it still catches me off guard. It only slows me for a second. A long trail of soapy water follows us across the floor to the sink vanity.
She gasps as her naked ass lands on the cold marble tile.
"Stupid, demanding manipulative asshole." She pummels my shoulders and chest, managing to get in a few good thwacks before throwing her arms around my neck and slamming her mouth into mine. Her long legs wrap around me so tightly, I struggle to get my pants unzipped.
"Fuuuck," I groan as I push inside of her. "It's been too long."
"That's your fault." Her legs squeeze tighter around me trying to take in more of me. I grit my teeth to keep from coming. I slip my hand between us and stroke her clit, while pummeling her hard enough to shake the mirror on the wall behind her.
The moans rolling off her lips let me know she is close while, at the same time, make my self-control crumble. Her head drops back with a soft cry as her pussy clenches around me. She milks me instantly to release.
Still jammed tight inside of her, I carry her out to the bed. I sit down on the edge of the bed, my cock still tight in her pussy and her legs still wrapped around me. I reach up and push the wet hair off of her face, the face I have memorized. She lowers her mouth to kiss me, gently, sweetly. I can almost convince myself that she wants to be with me. That she regrets running. Then she pulls her lips from mine and gazes down at me with big brown eyes.
"I want Blake to come back," she says.
I laugh tersely. "And I'm the manipulative one?" I stand up and toss her unceremoniously onto the center of the bed.
She scurries under the covers to get warm. "He's my only friend in this fucking place."
I stare down hard at her, hiding the fact that her words have pierced right through me. "You need nectar." I head to the bathroom to get the syringe.
"No, I don't want your fucking poison. It's making me crazy. I'm going crazy. Either bring Blake back or let me go."
I stop halfway to the bathroom and spin back toward the door. "Fine. You win." I reach the door.
She sits up. "So you'll bring Blake back?"
I open the door. "No, I'll let you go." I walk out to the hall and shut the door behind me.
17
Angie
A smart mouth never serves anyone. It's an admonition I heard from my dad more than once. But growing up in a house full of boys who were bigger, louder and far more the apples of my dad's eye than me, sometimes a smart mouth was the only way to be heard or noticed. But it seems my dad was right. My smart mouth certainly didn't serve me well this time.
After skipping a dose of the fucking poison, my new nickname for the nectar, my body is starting to break down into a pain-wracked, shivering worthless pile of bones wrapped in crawling skin. Without Blake's care and his specially concocted smoothies, I am losing weight fast again. My muscles and strength are withering away. And for the cherry on top, Kane has finally decided I am no longer needed. His obsession with his 'sweet sin' is over. That realization has hit me with far greater impact than I expected.
Kane stomped out with no other details, only that he was letting me go. After a good half hour trying to absorb his quick and easy dismissal of me, I leap into survival mode. There are few clothes in my closet that are not made of gossamer lace and frail ribbons, but I manage to piece together a more practical outfit for my official ousting. My sense of time has been wiped away in my underground mausoleum, but I know Kane comes by before and after his work is finished. I conclude that it is close to nightfall so I pull on several layers of shirts and the one pair of jeans in the dresser. Sandals are the only hard soled shoes in the closet. They aren't great for long walks and my feet will be cold but I'll power through. Even with layers, I'm swimming in the clothes. The nectar has nearly erased my physical self, but I refuse to let it take me completely.
I sit at the vanity and shove away the leather cuffs and anklets. It seems I've worn them for the last time. I haven't sorted out yet how I feel about it. Not wearing them seems cold and lonely, like I'll be losing something without them. My captivity, I remind myself harshly. You will no longer be his plaything. I internalize the statement with anger but the emotion runs much deeper and wildly counter to anger.
I brush my hair, not having the strength or enthusiasm to do much more than a few quick strokes. I sit on the end of the bed waiting, unsure what will happen next. A knock practically causes me to jump to the ceiling. My heart is slamming against my chest waiting to see Kane walk through the door. Will he be angry and mean? Or will he be pleased to see me go? It dawns on me that I fear the latter more. I'm sure it mostly has to do with the drug, but I can't deny the prominent reality that I've formed a connection to the man. In fact, the mix of emotions I feel when I think of Kane seems to ping pong from hate, to lust, to devotion, never stopping on one for long. Still, even with the hurricane of confused feelings, I know everything will be better when I'm free of him.
The door opens and the cook brings in my dinner, solidifying my guess that it is early evening. The pile of macaroni and cheese looks almost inviting. "Thank you," I say. I already know not to ask her anything. She never provides me with any information. God, I miss Blake. I hope he's all right.
She walks out. I force myself to sit down at the table. I will need strength to face whatever comes next. I take small bites and chew quickly, not allowing that little counter appetite mechanism in my head to take control. After a few more bites, the food tastes even better than I imagined. I manage to finish half the plate without feeling sick. My stomach's capacity has shrunk so much the half portion feels like a Thanksgiving feast in my belly.
I walk back to the bed and sit. The solitude lets me consider various scenarios of my departure. Will I be dropped back off at the corner where Rowan and the driver picked us up for the party? Will Kane take me himself and hug me good-bye and wish me luck? That scenario makes me laugh out loud. My laugh is interrupted by another knock on the door.
My over full stomach tightens. I feel slightly sick as I wait for Kane to enter. The door opens and Oscar walks in. He rarely shows any emotion and his posture is always stiff, but tonight, he looks slightly crumpled. His shoulders are not as tight and broad and his chin is a little lower.
"Miss Smith," he says in a formal tone. "Are you ready to go?"
"Oh, so that's it? Just like that I'm out of here?" I glance one time around the room, my home for the past few months. I'm slightly nervous to leave the security of its walls. Once I walk out, I know I'll never see it again. Or Blake. Or Kane. It's insane to think how tightly I bonded myself to this bizarre world.
I stand up from the bed. "Ready as I'll ever be." I ignore the pains shooting through my head and limbs, the trickles of nausea and dizziness, precursors to the waves that will hit me in a few more hours, when I'm further from my last dose. A blush of shame warms my skin as I envision myself showing up at the precinct strung out and in the throes of drug withdrawal. I see no way to avoid it.
Oscar holds the door for me. I walk past him into the hallway. I've been out of the room so infrequently, even the hallway is unfamiliar. I follow behind the stalwart bodyguard as he leads me along several corridors and up an incline. It's the incline to the garage. While I got ready, I entertained the idea that I might have a tiny send off or at least see Kane before I left him for good. A laugh shoots from my mouth as I realize how ridiculous that sounds. Why would he see me off? He obviously only had one connection to me and that was sex. Just like I insisted to Blake. It was all about pussy. I laugh again but it's forced. I like to think that sex was the only thing I wanted too bu
t I know that's a lie. For a few strange, crazy months I wasn't Angie, the girl who was never quite good enough, or sporty enough or tough enough for her dad. I wasn't rusty haired, smart mouth Angie, the woman who was never good enough to wildly win over a man. For a few months, weeks that now feel like they were all just part of an insanely long and real dream, I was Tawny, the cinnamon haired seductress who captured the attention of Kane Freestone. But in the end, it was all about pussy.
Oscar flashes his key card in front of the panel and the metal door opens. Without a word, he leads me to the black van, the one with windows tinted inside so the passengers can't see out. As he opens the door, he nods just the tiniest bit, his version of good-bye apparently.
I climb inside and am instantly reminded of Yoli and Becky and all the excited women waiting to be taken to the party. The door slides shut. I sit alone, the sole passenger in the van. I glance up to the cameras and wonder briefly if he is watching me. Another laugh, a much sadder one than the last two falls from my lips. He's not watching. He's already forgotten my name.
It's colder inside the garage. The inside of the van is chilly. I wrap my arms around myself and settle back, waiting to be driven to wherever Kane has decided to dump me. With any luck, it'll be close to the park.
The van wiggles slightly and the sound of the doors opening and closing echoes through the garage. The motor vibrates beneath me, and the nose of the van heads up an incline. I'm heading out of the underground. I'm heading back to the real world, leaving Kane's fantasy world behind. Again, it's impossible to sort out my feelings about it. I blame it on the lingering drug in my bloodstream.
I rest back and close my eyes, hoping to meditate away the horrid headache. The pounding increases with each passing minute. The rather rough road doesn't help. I've trained myself to not rub my arms when the ant army starts its torturous march along my skin but it's hard.