Keeper

One

T he bottle of wine in my hand nearly becomes a casualty as I slip on the ice just outside my house. No, not my house. His house. Everything we own is his — the house, the cars, the boat, the timeshare in Cabo. Even me. The gaudy engagement ring straining to break through the fabric of my glove marks me as his property, too. The great Jacob Hart, hacker extraordinaire and favorite of the local mafia.

Of course, if you ask anyone, Provost Ephraim Creed isn’t running a mafia. He’s running good businesses, they’d say. He’s running a fine academy.

But St. Andrew’s isn’t a school for religious nuts or peacekeepers, no. It’s a school for whores with big dreams. The three houses and various dorms train the people who attend in the art of submission, subservience, and espionage. They’ll train you how to use the holes God gave you to fuck the secrets out of the most powerful men in the world, and how to wield those secrets like knives. They’ll teach you how to sit at the table with presidents and kings, dictators and prime ministers.

Pretty and pristine, dangerous and dapper.

When you’re finished with St. Andrew’s, you’ll be able to temper the cruelest of men, climb to the heights of society. Pussy can end wars, they say. Men can only think with one head at a time, so keep the blood rushing south and suddenly they can’t remember why a little bit of oil in a far off land was worth killing over.

That’s what they taught me, anyway. And Creed made it clear when he wrapped a pretty little bow around my cunt and handed me off to Jacob Hart that nothing will ever belong to me. No property in my name, no signatures on any documents except our marriage certificate. I’m a pawn. And as the daughter of Saint City’s newest police chief, I’m a fucking important pawn. So it’s not my house I slip outside of, it’s his. It’s not my wine I almost drop, it’s his.

And it’s his fault.

The bastard was supposed to be gone for another couple of hours, but his Christmas tree is lit up in the window and the lights we strung around the ceiling are casting a multi-colored glow across the living room. I know I didn’t leave them on, which means I can kiss my bubble bath goodbye. If he’s home early, his meeting didn’t go well. If his meeting didn’t go well, I’ll be spending my evening hung from the ceiling by my ankles while he fucks my throat until I can’t speak anymore.

Merry fucking Christmas.

Bracing myself, I unlock the front door and set the wine down on the entryway table without looking at him. “Hi,” I say quietly, lightly, as I slip my gloves off and bend down to remove my boots. God forbid I track a little snow on the hardwood. “How did it go?”

Silence.

Usually Jake is first in line to bitch about anything and everything, so I allow myself to have a tiny bit of hope things might have gone okay.

All hope diminishes the second I look up to find Jake splayed out on the floor and a man I’ve never seen before sitting next to the tree with a Santa hat on. He has one foot resting on my fiancé’s body as he munches on a cookie without a care in the world, and I stop breathing entirely at the sight. Sky blue eyes rake my frame as he chews, a small, curved scar high on his left cheekbone snagging my attention before I take in the rest of his devilishly handsome face. “Hey there, little keeper. Did you make these cookies?”

Not the mafia, but something close. Creed is a dangerous man with dangerous people working for him.

My heartbeat remains steady as I size him up. “Who are you?” I ask calmly, then dip my head down toward Jake’s body. “Is he dead then?”

His plump lips curl up into a smile as he takes another bite. “You’re Sullivan Harbough, right?”

Sullivan, Sully, or Sullen as my dad used to call me. “You locked the door behind you. Was it to trap him in here, or lull me into a false sense of security?”

“Well, if you’re not going to answer my questions, I’m not going to answer yours.” He takes another bite, giving me an opportunity to check the rest of him out. He has wavy black hair under that hat and a neck tattoo I can’t quite make out, but I don’t see any sort of weapon.

Maybe he’s hiding it under the plate of cookies on his lap.

There’s also no blood on the ground, which is a... sign. I just don’t know if it’s good or not. “Do you always ask questions you already know the answer to?”

“Do you?” He nods down at Jake’s body. “Looks like your services are no longer needed here.”

Huffing, I try to keep my face as neutral as possible even though he’s annoying the fuck out of me. “So he is dead. And you’re... what, exactly? Here to reclaim me for someone else?”

“Yup. Tell me the truth.” He grabs another cookie. “Are you relieved?” Before I can respond, Jake begins to stir on the ground, making him curse under his breath. “Guess he’s not as soft as he looks. I’m impressed.” Setting the plate aside, he places the cookie into his mouth and reaches down, snapping Jake’s neck in one swift movement before he makes himself comfortable again. “Where were we? Oh, right. So the Provost has someone new for you.”

Jesus Christ. I’ve been trained not to react in all sorts of situations, but this is a first for me. That crack, the sound of it, the way it set my teeth on edge — that was something new.

My fingers twitch slightly as I fight the urge to run.

“Great. I’ve already got my coat on, so let me get my boots. I’m assuming someone will be by to take care of... this?” I gesture vaguely to Jake’s body, ignoring the pragmatic little bitch in my head reminding me that he wasn’t that bad. He had strange tastes, sure. But he never hit me. Never spoke down to me. I can’t be sure the next one will share those traits. “Or will we just be leaving him here?”

“Don’t worry about him, this will be taken care of. Any chance you know this recipe by heart?”

He grabs the last cookie off the plate, and suddenly I’m wondering how long he’s been here. This is quite the scene he’s made for himself.

“I do.”

“Hmm.” He sits there silently as he finishes up, and even after he stops chewing, he continues to stare at me. “Is it true the Keepers wanted to keep you?”

Selfish little hedonists never wanted to keep anyone except for me. It’s a point of pride, especially since Creed gave me the power to say no. “They did. But they’d have continued training other people and I don’t like to share. It’s the one thing they didn’t manage to train out of me. I was also built for bigger things than the houses of St. Andrew’s Academy.”

“Oh, so you’re possessive.” He licks his lips. “Why did they want to keep you? Specifically.”

Again, asking questions he probably already knows the answers to. This would go a lot faster if he didn’t like to play with his food. “Because I beat them at their own game. It’s never just sex with the Keepers. The Wardens might not think past the tips of their cocks or the barrels of their guns, and the Royals might not care about anything other than pregnant bellies and fancy clothes, but the Keepers are different. They value secrets and the power that comes with them more than they care about orgasms. I played my part until all three of them spilled their deepest secrets to me, things they never even told each other — and then I made them feel so good they forgot exactly how dangerous that made me. They wanted to keep me because I was their proof of concept. I was their greatest achievement.”

His scruffy jaw clenches so subtly, I almost miss it. “And what if you were betrothed to me now? Is that what you’d do to me?”

Is that what this is about? It seems unlikely Creed would make my new future husband come get me himself, but this man seems different. Maybe he asked to. I study his face a little harder to see if I recognize him, but I’d remember if I’d seen him before. Even without the Santa hat, a face like his would’ve stuck out.

I didn’t consider that as a possibility. The whole point of gifting me to powerful men is so Creed can get information without seeming suspicious. If he’s the one I’m meant for, I fucked this up already.

Creed might kill me for it.

“I was told that Hart would be my only job. Once he was gone, I was free.”

“If you believed that, you’re not as smart as you look.” He leans forward to brace on his knees without breaking my gaze. “Is freedom what you really want?”

It hadn’t occurred to me that freedom was in the cards yet. Since Jake was a hacker, he stayed off the radar and mostly kept to himself — I figured he’d live for years. Decades. I assumed my freedom was at the end of a very, very long rope, one I could use to hang myself or hold on for dear life.

But Jake is dead. That future is dead. And Creed, for all his faults, has paid me quite a lot of money for my services so far.

“Yes. I want my freedom.”

He sits back again, his legs spreading a little too welcomely. “Maybe we can help each other out.”

I’m nothing if not well-versed in the art of using my body. I let my eyes drop to his crotch, allow just a little heat to sneak up into my cheeks. Let him see me blush. Let him think I’m meek. “How?”

The feral grin that overtakes his face tells me it worked. “It’s been a lonely Christmas and it sounds like my betrothed doesn’t want anything to do with me. Help me out and maybe I can help you out.”

So it is him, then. If he holds the key to my freedom, I have to be careful. “You never told me your name.”

“The name of a bastard doesn’t matter to most. You can just call me baby and let me pretend you’re mine for tonight.”

I should be careful, I know that. If I’m too good, he won’t let me go. The less he enjoys me, the less he’ll want to keep me. “And? What will you do for me?”

“Only one way to find out, little keeper. Flute’s not gonna play itself.”

Imagine that, the bastard has a terrible sense of humor. But the question is... who’s bastard is he? They’re abundant in our world. Men aren’t loyal, women don’t care. Nearly every major player in Creed’s circle has a bastard or five.

So he’s a bastard and I’m a pawn, and he’s asking me to blow him next to the dead body of the man I was given to for good behavior.

Screw it.

“Flute, huh?” I repeat, smirking slightly as I take a couple of slow steps forward, hips swinging just enough to catch his attention. “Does that mean it’s long and skinny? I took you for a thick man. Thick, veiny, and begging for a tight little throat to sink inside.”

“Mmm,” he grunts, legs adjusting a little wider. “Again... only one way to find out. Make me share my secrets.”

I don’t want his secrets. I want my freedom.

Maybe they’re the same thing.

Sinking slowly to my knees, I run my fingertips up his black jeans to his kneecaps. If he wants to pretend I’m his, I can do that. I have a knack for making monsters feel loved. “Did you miss me, baby?” I ask, bottom lip slipping between my teeth as I rub his thighs, settling closer. “You had a long day at work, huh?”

“So long,” he plays along, biting his lip as I get to watch him squirm slightly. “Missed that beautiful mouth all day. Show me it. Open wide for me.”

Almost all men have a thing for teeth, I swear. I think the Keepers taught me that day one. I flash him a blinding smile, then slide my tongue out so he can get a clear look.

His gloved hand flies out to grip my face, making me gasp, but the way he looks at me and leans in has me feeling things I don’t want to admit to even myself. His fingers dig into my skin as I keep eye contact with a murderer, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me. “Such a perfect tongue. You one of those girls that get wet from sucking cock?”

The Keepers trained me to get wet from anything, so I nod with a shy little smile as I reach up to unzip his pants. “Do you want me to prove it, baby?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, his grip loosening slowly until the contact stops all together. “Show me how much you missed me.”

Times like these, I dig deep. Back to high school before I ever heard of St. Andrew’s, before I became a professional whore. I think back to Jimmy, his wide eyes, easy smile, and the way he loved me. I don’t miss him, not really. But I sure as hell miss the way he made me feel.

I let that fill my chest as I glance up to meet his eyes, holding him there as I free him. I can tell just by touch that he’s exactly as thick as I teased, and every vein stands out against my palm as I stroke him once, twice.

“You were gone too long,” I whisper, picturing that easy smile I haven’t seen in years. “I don’t know what to do when you’re gone.”

Leaning in, I kiss the tip of his cock and lick up his shaft, getting him nice and wet as he releases a hiss. “I know, baby. I always hate not being next to you. This right here is my favorite view. of these days we’re gonna run away together.”

He reaches out to pet my face in a way that takes me by surprise... a way that makes me believe him.

How ironic that I’m doing this right now so I don’t have to be with him.

With my tongue on his cock, I lean in to kiss it again, then slide up to suck him in fully. He’s so hard in my mouth I let myself fall into it when he moans, the body behind me and everything else fading away as I show him exactly how much I want to be free of all of this. Only when I let myself glance up and meet his breathtaking blue eyes, I get the vibe freedom isn’t on the table anymore, if it ever was. He looks like he wants to lock me up in a cage and keep me forever.

That’s not what I signed up for, but I’m helpless now. There’s a reason I was so good for the Keepers. I love this shit. Having this much power, this much control? Feeling a man come apart under me? I fucking love it, and the rush it sends straight to my cunt proves it.

Slipping one hand down, I play with my clit as I deepthroat him, forgetting the consequences. It doesn’t matter what happens after. The Provost decides my fate, his little pawn, but I decide how I react to it. And right now? I’m doing something I love.

“There’s my little keeper. Fuck, girl, you take me like a champ.”

His fist tightens in my hair, holding me back just enough that I have to struggle to keep him all the way in. But this is where I shine, the fight. Proving that choking myself on their cock is preferable to breathing, to being comfortable. The harder he pulls, the faster I rub my clit, the harder I fuck my own throat. My free hand curls around his balls and one tight squeeze has his left leg shaking. “Goddamn, Sullivan. There’s no way he’d appreciate this.”

Who, Jake? The dead body behind us? Oh, he appreciated it. Most days, he couldn’t stop shaking until he had my mouth around him. He appreciated it. And now he’s dead, and I’m blowing the man who murdered him in front of me.

I can’t speak to defend him, not that I would if I could, so I deepthroat until I’m struggling to breathe through my nose and pull back.

Stroking him quickly, I meet his eyes as he wipes the drool from my chin. “I need your cum, baby. I forgot what it tastes like. Will you give it to me?”

Something akin to desperation flashes across his face as he nods, but it’s gone the second he grabs my hair again and shoves me back down on his cock. “Suck me so good,” he groans. “Take it like the good little whore you are.”

That’s me, and I do it well. I do it so well that when I slip back enough to focus on his tip, he makes a throaty little moan that has me clenching my thighs and waiting for his load. He doesn’t disappoint.

He mumbles out something that sounds an awful lot like “swallow my cum next to your dead fiancé’s body” but I refuse to look any closer at the words as the first taste of him oozes all over my tongue. A growl leaves him as I feel his cock pulse over and over with his release, and before I know it, my mouth and throat are so full I can’t breathe.

He tastes... better than I thought he would. Most men are bitter, sour almost. But his? I swear, it’s borderline sweet.

“Show me some,” he says breathlessly. “Tastes good, huh? I eat my pineapple, beautiful.”

That explains it.

I gather what’s left of my tongue and slide it out, sitting back on my knees as his gaze devours me. With his full attention, I swallow, licking my lips and once again showing him my mouth.

Fresh and clean, two things I will never be.

“Good girl,” he praises, leaning in to swipe his thumb across my lips. The soft gesture has me closing my eyes.

It’s a mistake, because I feel something sharp sting my arm a second later. Jerking back, I rub the spot as I try to scoot away from him. “What the hell did you do?”

He stuffs something into his pocket with a sympathetic expression. “Sorry, little keeper. The Provost always gets what he wants, and the next guy they send won’t look as good as me.”

I’ve been around long enough to know Sway when I’m fucking stabbed with it. It’s the product the Provost is most proud of — a paralytic that only affects the muscles from the shoulders down, completely immobilizing a target while still allowing them to speak. It also amplifies every emotion you’re feeling, making interrogations quick and almost foolproof.

As the numbness spreads to my arms, my legs, my fingers and toes, I know there won’t be anything I can do to save myself. “You said you’d help me,” I remind him. “I did good, I did what you asked.”

“No, baby. You did absolutely perfect,” he whispers, leaning down to lift my left hand and wiggle my engagement ring off my finger. It disappears into his pocket along with any hope I might’ve had. “I said I’d help you out, I didn’t specify how.”

I knew it, I did. This is on me. But what choice did I have when the end result was inevitable? We would’ve always ended up here, with his muscular, tattooed arms picking me up off the floor, my eyes falling to the body of my dead fiancé, and my life changing once again.

I’m a pawn, remember? They’re meant to be moved.

They’re meant to be sacrificed.

I just wish they’d quit fucking with me first.