Savaged Page 3

  THE SOUND OF MY OFFICE door handle turning panics me. No one other than Jarod ever enters without knocking, and I know, for a fact, he is out running my personal errands. Without hesitation, I stand up and walk toward the door, where the darkness no longer casts its shadow. I grip the metal handle, and with one swift rotation of my wrist, fling it open, exposing myself to the unwelcome guest.

  Scared someone would leak info about my survival, I fired my entire staff and hired new people while my wounds were healing and the scars forming. Everyone had signed confidentiality forms and that helped me sleep better at night. Nonetheless, I needed to start fresh. I’m not big on taking chances.

  With an estate as big as mine, I employ numerous workers to take care of everything from the grounds to cleaning and cooking my meals. It helps that my employees, other than a handful, call me Louis Marks. Niko is dead, but Louis, my newly found alias, is very much alive.

  As I stand face-to-face with Ruth, one of my helpers, her eyes widen, mouth gaping open, at my appearance. She’s taken aback, and it feels like a jab in my stomach.

  Rumors had spread like wildfire as soon as the new staff arrived. They all wondered the same thing–what the man in the forbidden room looked like, and why they were not allowed to speak of him to anyone, ever. I’ve kept myself hidden for the two years since my brutal attack. The only people I’ve ever been able to look in the eye, without darkness lingering between us, are Neil, Jarod, and a handful of the other board members. Ruth is not any of them.

  “Oh, shit,” I curse under my breath, turning and slamming the door in her face. Peering through the tiny peephole, I snap, “Did you need something or were you just coming to disrupt me?”

  “I…umm…oh, dear Lord. Please forgive me, Mr. Marks,” Ruth stutters. “I didn’t know you were in there. I’m terribly sorry. Someone told me to come dust your office. They didn’t tell me you….”

  My nostrils flare as I clear my throat. I’m royally frustrated that someone sent her here knowing damn well I was inside, but I know it’s not her fault. There will surely be consequences for the maid who advised her to come up here at this time of day, but that is neither here nor there. I will send Jarod to handle that, just as I always do. Being imprisoned in this darkness leaves no room for wandering around, looking for staff to punish.

  “Don’t be sorry. I answered the door. I am at fault here, not you. Please, forget that it happened and go about your business. I would however like you to note that I am always in my office. When dusting is permitted, I will let someone know.”

  The sound of Ruth scurrying is soon replaced with the noises of someone, or two someone’s, nearing. Standing with my ear pressed against the door, I feel like a child eavesdropping in my own home. A sudden knock prompts my attention. “Yeah, who’s there?”

  “It’s Jarod and your guest, Gretchen.”

  My eyes grow wide with restrained fire, and I bite the inside of my cheek, nervous with anticipation. It’s been two days since Jarod told me about a young brunette named Bree. Two long days that I’ve been waiting for her arrival. Jarod swore that she would change her mind. But nothing has come of it, not yet. So, while I wait, I decided it was best to relax with an old flame.

  After opening the door, I take a step back, allowing a dark shadow to hide me. Even with Gretchen, who has been a recurring guest over the last several months, I still don’t feel one hundred percent comfortable. “Please, come in,”

  “Thank you,” Gretchen mumbles as she steps into the obscurity, knowing damn well what she is getting herself into.

  “Can I have a word?” Jarod requests, but I hesitate before answering.

  What in the hell does he want and why can’t it wait? I have a pussy to devour.

  With Gretchen far enough away to not catch sight of me, I step into the light and cock my head to the side. “This better be good.”

  “I just got a call from our new friend. She is willing to discuss your offer. When you’re finished here, please page housekeeping. Someone will come escort Gretchen out. I’ll have a cab waiting out front all night. I assume you’re still interested, sir?”

  A sense of hopefulness overwhelms me. After what Jarod had mentioned about Bree being breathtakingly stunning and seeming somewhat submissive, my mouth waters at the idea of her agreeing to service me. I don’t say a word. Nodding, I shut the door and then make my way through the darkness. I hear Gretchen giggle. “Is there something that amuses you, precious?”

  “It’s been too long since our last meeting. I guess I’m just excited you finally called me again. My body has been so lonesome. No one else knows how to please me the way you do,” she confesses.

  Her admission makes me feel like a king. The one thing those sorry bastards couldn’t take from me was the way I can make a woman feel. Only now, without the light lingering around us, there is always something dangerous about the intimate experience. I find that it drives women crazy. They’ve begged and pleaded for me to show my face, to kiss them on their mouths, to let them touch me—but I refuse. It makes them wild, and in return, the sex is that much more enjoyable. I hold all the power–something once stripped from my life without warning.

  “Do you remember my rules?” I ask in a deep tone. A tremble ripples through the air. Our contract was black and white. The rules are to be followed at all times. I’d dare someone to break them.

  “Of course, I remember. It hasn’t been that long,” she huffs while fumbling with the top button of her blouse.

  Her silhouette is barely visible, as our eyes become accustomed to the dark. I feel as if I’m bare in a crowd of a hundred people, all of them staring into the depths of my soul. Although the scar that now laces my once alluring face is still there, the darkness hides it. My no touching rule helps me disguise the other scars hidden beneath my clothing. In the shadows, I’m still the man that I used to be. I’m aggressive, passionate, and above all else, I’m needy with a longing that burns in me at all times. I’ve become the hunter and Gretchen is my willing victim.

  Her soft voice pulls me toward her, like a jaguar stalking its prey in the jungle. The thumping, increased breathing, the dampness I know is forming between her legs, it all calls to me, begging me to attack. Licking my lips, I raise my hand and brush my thumb over her plump lips.

  The sound is intoxicating, causing my cock to twitch in my trousers. As much as I yearn to kiss her, I know the rules. They are burned into my brain and are as much for me as they are for her. I can’t recall one time that I’ve let my guard down and kissed a woman. At least not since the attack. This is who I am now: a needy, hungry monster that lives in the world’s shade, unworthy of committing my life to another. Why waste my time kissing someone when we could never really openly be together?

  “I appreciate you coming here on such short notice,” I whisper in front of Gretchen, hot breath blowing out of my parted lips as I speak. “I’ve been very lonely since I last saw you as well,” I lie as I peer into Gretchen’s ocean-blue eyes. Not that I can see their color now, but I’ve stared at the picture she provided for her file on many occasions.

  I’ve had plenty of women service me after her, but the true way to a woman’s pussy is her mind. If I can get in there and make her believe my words, make her believe that she’s the only woman I want and need, I can make her do anything, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.

  “I…I’ve missed you,” Gretchen whimpers as she falls on her knees in front of me, eager to please. One thing I always liked about her was her tongue. Good thing our time apart didn’t cause her to forget exactly what I desire.

  Looking down, I watch her intently as I hum under my breath. Her dainty hands fumble with my belt buckle. I sense a thrill of arousal by her touch. With a cool breeze, my slacks fall to my ankles, and I smile a devilish grin. “Open wide, precious.”

  Holding my most prized possession in the palm of my hand, I look over my shoulder into the night’s murkiness. As I walk the few blocks to the town’s lo
cal pawnshop, I pray that it is still open. I’m not proud of what I’m about to do, but I hope it’s a way out of my shitty situation–one that I hadn’t thought about before. If I get enough money for the ring, I won’t have to meet with Jarod. I’ll be able to pay off Grams’ debt on my own.

  If I’m being honest with myself, I know that the ring’s value probably isn’t enough to cover an entire month’s expenses at the nursing home. Though the family heirloom is priceless to me, it is solely because of its sentimental value. Even still, I have faith that it’s worth something. But just in case, I have Jarod on standby. If the ring isn’t worth much or worse, doesn’t sell at all, I’ll have no choice than to meet him. There will be no other way out of this sinkhole that is swallowing me.

  As I open the door, a small bell rings loudly, chiming in my ear. It’s annoying.

  “Hello, miss, can I help you?” an older man, in his late sixties from the looks of it, with golden-rimmed glasses, asks as I near the counter.

  “I was hoping you’d be in the market for a piece of jewelry.” I open my hand; the small but elegant ring shines in the store’s bright lighting.

  “You don’t seem like the type of young lady that is desperate enough to sell something that appears to be a wedding ring.”

  If he only knew my mother rarely wore it, and she had good reason. My father was a cheating, sorry excuse for a husband. Although I was younger, I had lost count of the number of times I’d seen my mother cry herself to sleep. To me, the ring was a reminder of the infidelity that claimed my family and pushed my mother into depression. But still, it held meaning. Before it was my mother’s it was my Grams’s, and for that reason alone, I cherish it.

  “Then I guess you don’t know what desperation looks like.” I laugh, weeping on the inside, but only allowing my forced amusement to break through.

  “Let me get a good look at it.” The clerk opens his hand, silently gesturing for the ring.

  Placing it on the counter, directly in front of him, my eyes never leave his. I may be a female in my early twenties, but I’m not about to be played. Even though I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, I can sure pull off a mean poker face. I watch him closely as he holds up a magnifier, examining the ring like his life depends on it, not knowing Grams actually does.

  “And…what is it worth?” I ask, eager to know.

  The clerk grumbles under his breath, the stale smell of coffee wafts from his parted lips. “I’d give you about a grand.”

  “That’s it? A thousand dollars, are you kidding me?” I rattle off like a teenager who didn’t get her way. Hopelessness creeps its way back in, consuming me, blinding me, and I don’t even realize that other shoppers are now standing around, staring.

  “I’m being generous. Take it or leave it. And as soon as you walk out that door, offer’s off the table.”

  Reluctantly, I nod my head. Guilt fills my heart. But I can’t afford to not take the money. What if Jarod falls through? I can’t take any chances. I’ll get it back somehow. Take back what is rightfully mine. I hope that it’s before some douche comes and buys it for a girl he met in a nightclub. That would just be awful.

  Signing the forms, I hand over the ring. It’s not a good feeling. Not at all.

  With only a grand in my pocket, I head toward the coffee shop, wishing that I had just yanked the ring out of that man’s hands and kept it. I feel pitiful for selling it for practically nothing.

  With my head hung in shame, I walk down the sidewalk. My mind starts to roam, remembering how much Grams loved to people-watch. She’d say that you could tell everything you needed to know about a person from the way they acted in public. If a bum needed a dollar and a man in business suit brushed him off, what did that say about the kind of person that he was? If a teenager helped an elderly woman to her car, what did that say about their character, about the type of person they would grow up to become? I am a people-watcher, an observer of sorts. And I feel as if I am a good judge of character and can read others well. Which is another reason why I felt safe meeting with Jarod. I’m not scared of him, only what he is offering.

  Nearing the one-story brick building that holds the coffee shop, I spot him and stop dead in my tracks. The urge to turn around and flee hits me with an intensity I can’t explain. Then, a man drops his cell phone, and not realizing it, he keeps walking. My eyes follow Jarod as he kneels, picks up the phone, and then runs after its owner. A faint smile sneaks its way onto my face. If he is so willing to help a complete stranger, perhaps he isn’t so bad after all? Maybe he is honest and sympathetic. He did buy me a coffee when I was at my worst. Satisfaction over my own good judgment urges my feet forward.

  Crossing the street, the sound of the cars speeding by startles me as I think about what to do. I’m way out of my comfort zone and have no idea what to expect, but in my gut, I know I need to do this. Pulling up my big girl panties, I make my way toward the coffee shop.

  “Jarod,” I call out as he’s opening the coffee shop’s door. Pausing, he turns his head slightly, looking over his shoulder. A pleased look flashes across his face.

  Quickly walking past him, I march toward the back of the building, to the same small table we sat at only days ago. Seriousness overcomes me. I’m here for a business agreement. That is now my only concern. I hide my fear behind the flat line that has become of my mouth.

  “Please, sit down. I believe we have a lot to discuss,” I instruct, my demeanor much more firm, shocking even myself as I speak.

  He does as he is told, gracefully and without question. After he sits, and is at eye level, a standoff of epic proportions hangs thick in the air between us. For some reason, I feel more powerful, more in charge of this situation than I had expected. Jarod doesn’t seem like a coward, but he is different today, too. He doesn’t speak but allows me to do so. During our previous encounter, I felt like he had control, swooping in to buy my coffee, and then dangling his offer in front of me as if I were a starving dog

  Jarod looks from side to side, breaking our stare, and then parts his mouth. My eyes take him in, follow his tongue as it slowly slides across his bottom lip. I don’t know why I feel as though he should intimidate me. I’m pleased that his presence isn’t as daunting as I had anticipated.

  Finally, he speaks in a hushed voice. “I’m glad you decided to come today. However, I would like to discuss the arrangement in a more…private setting. I understand why you chose this place, with people ushering around at all times. But what I have to say is meant for your ears, and your ears only.”

  “My apartment is only a few blocks away, but….” Hoarseness claims my throat. I’m nervous and just made it evident. Gulping down a swig from a water bottle I had in my purse, I continue. “I don’t feel comfortable inviting a stranger into my apartment.”

  He nods and reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer. He pulls out a small stack of crisp, white papers, and extends his hand across the table, offering them to me. “Here is the contract, stipulations, and terms. Read it thoroughly, decide whether or not you’re going to sign it, and bring it back to me.” His eyes narrow and I can feel them boring into me. “Bree, it is very important that you know what you’re agreeing to, if you decide to sign these. Do not skim or skip any section in these documents.”

  Demanding Jarod makes his return. I slide the chair away from the table, the metal screeching as it skids against the concrete stained floor. Other patrons notice and turn their heads. Ignoring them, I retrieve the papers, and say, “I’m going to go sit in my car and read these. I think it would be best.”

  He doesn’t say anything as I turn away from him and walk toward the exit sign. What are you getting yourself into? I ask myself as I open my driver’s side door. Every nerve in my body flares in alert, urging me to turn away, to not unfold the papers in my hand, and to hightail it out of there.

  Listening to my heart that is screaming for help, I know that I need money. Desperately. The one thousand dollars I have in my po
ssession isn’t enough to pay for much. So, I unfold the papers, reminding myself that I’ll be able to help Grams. The words written in black solidify the answers to all of my questions as my eyes drift over the pages. I’ll accept twenty-five thousand dollars to have sex with a man that I cannot kiss, or touch, or attempt to connect with emotionally. It is strictly pleasure for him, and in return, I will be paid. There is no gray area. No in-between, no feelings involved at all. The kicker is that the entire world thinks that he’s dead, yet I’d be fucking him, secretly of course.

  I’m no angel. My innocence was given away freely a long time ago, along with my virtue. There’s no trying to sugarcoat it. I’ve lived a not-so-glamorous life, tried to fill the void that existed inside me with men. Was it healthy? No, of course not, but it made me feel wanted, cherished. I was desperate to feel anything after the sudden deaths of my parents, and I became everything they raised me not to be. I grew into a difficult adolescent, wild and out of control, headed down a path of self-destruction. But with help, I reclaimed my life, and then dedicated it to the woman who saved me from my own self—my patient, loving, and forgiving grandmother, Joyce.

  After several prolonged minutes of reading over the documents, I emerge from my car. I’m a college dropout living on minimum wage. My parents’ life insurance ran out a long time ago, and I’ve been trying to take care of Grams. For months, maybe even longer, I’ve attended this pity party for one. I tell myself that signing these papers is the means to an end as I force my head high and try to hide the disgust weighing it down. If this agreement is a secret, one that I am now prepared to take to my grave, then my guilt and self-loathing is something I will hide, too.

  Within a few strides from the entrance, I’m back at the small table. My body language must be an indication that I thoroughly read the papers because Jarod takes a deep breath and smiles confidently. Standing in front of him, I hand the papers over, still gripping them tightly.