28. “Lock everything down. ”
28
“Lock everything down. ”
Chapter Playlist:
“Monster” - Skillet
CAL
For the past two weeks, Everleigh has settled in comfortably. Well…almost comfortably.
I’ve never shared my history with another living soul. She did not give me compassion or pity. Instead, she gave me what I wanted, what I needed. She gave me her silent consent, her surrender, her self —as I gave her myself.
Since the night we turned a corner, I’ve taken every meal with her, giving her no chair. But she gives as good as she gets. Whenever she’s on my lap, she wiggles and squirms, tormenting my dick. So, I’ve taken to sitting her on the floor for discipline…clothed in nothing but the lush heart upon her chest. And her burning cheeks and flaring nostrils from how she stews.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I’d clicked my tongue and gripped her chin. “If you persist in baiting me, Little Quill, I assure you, I play this game much better than you.”
“Funny,” she’d snorted. “I didn’t realize baiting was so effective on a supposedly seasoned predator.”
“Predator vs prey implies the predator has her in his jaws and can do with her what she wants. Like a shark smelling blood…” Heat still fills me at the memory and how I’d brushed my knuckles along her sensitive mark. The mark that is healing well along with mine.
“If you’re the shark, why do I feel like the one swimming circles around you ?”
I showed her the proof of my jaws when I took a power shower hose to her pretty cunt and anus until she screamed for mercy from all the orgasms ripping through her.
I fuck her every day…multiple times. She still thrashes and fights when it’s time for ass training, but a quick reminder of the chastity belt always dulls the fight. She’d much rather take the plug than the belt.
When I’m not with her, I monitor her exhibit almost around the clock. She’s enjoyed researching and cataloging the various artifacts. Some I will generously donate to the Smithsonian. But I can always tell when she gets antsy, needing connection, attention from her master.
Once she’s finished with the first series, they will be replaced with more, which are in transit. I cannot pretend she will be content with this routine forever. But if she progresses, I will introduce her to a few rooms in my estate. Then, perhaps…the grounds so she may feel the sunlight on her face. I have calculated the risks. With my extensive acreage, she would not get far if she chose to run.
My cock twitches at the thought of hunting her through my surrounding woods.
Sitting at my desk, I check on the exhibit cams, finding her at the writing desk wearing a silk robe, her hair still messy from my earlier fucking. She often buries herself in the books following our dinner. I have my own “books” to do. Despite having several accountants and managers, I’m too obsessive-compulsive to hand over full control. You don’t stay a billionaire by being lax with your investments.
My most recent investment has paid off exorbitantly.
Another alert regarding an email from my agent. My jaw clenches with annoyance. Ever since I canceled the tour, he’s received a host of social media fallout, controlled chaos of ticket refunds, sponsorship renegotiations, and venue disputes. Due to my planning and calculated risk, it was far enough in advance to avoid permanent damage to my public image. Can’t have that.
When I shared the exhibition fees from my clients with my managers, they stopped bitching and moaning about the canceled tour. Money talks. And I mastered its script as I’ve mastered my art. Performance made me viral. My business sense has made me unstoppable. Naturally, I will spill blood to preserve my empire—and protect what is mine. Everleigh above all.
Heaving a sigh, I reluctantly turn off the exhibit cam to focus on my work. She will likely be asleep when I turn in with her.
A few minutes later, the knock on my door is soft but deliberate, pulling my attention from the documents before me. One brief holo-projection assures me it’s my estate manager. I reach into my nearest drawer and don my mask, practicing my veneer of control that shields me from interruptions like this. Without looking up, I say, “Enter.”
The door opens, and he steps inside, his posture tense. I continue signing, the scratch of my pen filling the silence. “What is it?”
“A motion sensor warning, sir.”
I pause, pen hovering over the next line. My eyes lift, narrowing. “You’ve interrupted me for a stray cat?”
“It’s not just one sensor,” he says, voice tight. “They were triggered on the rooftops.”
I stop. And set the pen down, my focus shifting fully to him. “The rooftops?”
“Yes, sir. And the security cameras?—”
“What about them?”
He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “They show nothing.”
A chill creeps through me, a rare sensation I don’t welcome. Rising, I stride to the console at the far wall and pull up the camera feeds, dozens of angles displayed. My eyes scan them rapidly, hunting for anything out of place. The estate is a fortress, every inch monitored.
And then the alarms start.
Every bone in my body sharpens like a blade. The shrill wails echo through the estate. Not one or two, but dozens. Fire alarms, strategically placed, blaring in unison. Then, I see it—a flicker of movement, a shadow, and the glimpse of black clothing darting down a hallway.
Toward the exhibit.
My blood turns to ice.
Growling low, I turn to my manager. “Lock everything down. ” He departs immediately.
Summoning my holo-cam from my smart chip, I take the private elevator, my pulse steady but my mind sharp. It descends swiftly, depositing me near the exhibit wing. Everleigh has risen from the writing desk, looking behind her, tensing as if she feels eyes on her. Before I adjust the angle, the elevator doors open. I hear her voice from the speaker—a soft gasp of horror.
I round the corner just in time to see him. The intruder. He’s filming Everleigh with his phone, his gloved hand reaching for the exhibit’s handle.
Rage sets my blood on fire like a storm but one that is controlled and narrowed to one purpose and one purpose alone. Protect her. I close the distance in seconds, gripping his wrist before he can make contact. The sickening snap of bone echoes in the hall, followed by his scream.
“Take him,” I bark into my comm and darken the walls of the exhibit—one way so she understands I haven’t left. My security team arrives within moments, dragging the writhing man away. “Dungeon room,” I order, my voice like steel.
I pick up the phone he dropped, removing the chip and slipping it into my pocket for later examination. Then I lift the dark filter and turn to Everleigh.
She’s trembling, her eyes wide with awe and relief. But I see her breath coming too fast, the tears threatening to spill.
Once I enter the exhibit, I lift my arms to each side, beckoning her forward. She takes one light step before rushing toward me and falling into my arms. Her sobs are muffled against my chest, her hands clutching at my shirt. “Did he… was it… shared?” she whispers, her voice shaky.
“I don’t believe so,” I murmur, my tone low and firm. “And if it was, I won’t rest until every trace is destroyed.”
She looks up at me, her tear-streaked face filled with trust and vulnerability. I take her hand in mine, holding it tightly. After the past two weeks of relatively calm events, she needs something, something more than this. The moment she stabbed me, she showed me another side of her.
With her penchant for dark, erotic romance, I theorize my plan will be the perfect thing. It could go 50/50.
Leaving some things to speculative surprise keeps life interesting.
So, I cup her cheek, wiping at her tears. “Come with me,” I command.
She nods, her faith in me unspoken but palpable. Together, we leave the exhibit behind, the echoes of the alarms fading as I lead her down a hallway on our left…away from the fish tank bathroom. Once we round the corner, we arrive at an iron door.
“Cal, what is?—”
“Shh,” I silence her with a simple lift of my gloved finger.
She swallows hard but nods, her cheeks pale, her eyes paler with emotion. The door reads my scars as a signature and opens to my dungeon room. My torture room—with the intruder cuffed to a metal chair.