Chapter 9
NINE
Sebastian
My phone chimes with a text. I ignore it and roll back over, burying my face in my pillow. It’s too fucking early to talk to anyone.
It chimes again, and I sigh and pick up the phone.
It’s Kingston, and he wants a fucking video call. I accept it and lie back, frowning at his face taking up my screen.
“What is it?” I ask. “It’s early.”
“It’s almost noon.”
I scrub a hand over my beard. I feel like shit. I’m too old for tours, even abbreviated ones. “So what the fuck do you want?”
“I want to talk about you, me, and Ella.”
My heart starts to disintegrate. I worried about this day, back with our other relationships, although I never thought to worry about it with Ella because everything feels so perfect.
But it’s always been a fear, before, that Kingston or I would have to tell the other we wanted the woman for ourselves.
He wants Ella.
And I don’t think I can let her go.
“You can’t have her, man, I’m sorry,” I say.
“What?”
“I don’t want to have to fight for her or make her choose between us, but I will.” Fuck, it is way too early for this conversation.
He laughs. The fucker laughs.
“What?” I say.
“That is not at all what I want to talk about, Bash, you stupid idiot.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. I want to know how you feel about our arrangement. If…if you’re in it forever.”
“That’s what we’ve basically told Ella,” I say.
“I need to hear it,” he repeats, his blue eyes vivid through the video call. His voice is serious. Even though he was laughing a second ago, he’s in no mood for bullshit.
I look directly into the screen, into my friend’s eyes. “You know, even though I don’t want to have sex with you, I love you, man.”
He only stares back, as if unable to speak. Finally, he says, “You’re my best friend—I love you, too. And…Ella?”
“I love her, too.” I rub my face, now wide awake and feeling like it’s time to get up. “This thing with her, sharing her with you, it’s permanent for me.”
He nods. “Good. I never thought it could be anything but permanent.”
“You don’t think we’re too old for her, do you?” I ask. “I know it was a concern for you early on.”
“Nah.” He shrugs. “It bothered me at first, but if she’s happy, I’m happy. Fuck everyone else, they don’t get to judge us.”
It’s bothering me, ever since that dickhead Landen said something at the Church of Fortune practice. The way he looks at me during our sets together at their shows is pissing me the hell off.
“What do you think about getting her a collar?” King asks.
“We’re not really in the scene,” I say. “We haven’t been anywhere that it would matter.”
“It might matter to her.”
I think about it, how unsure she seems sometimes, how she’s worried that we’re going to pull the rug out from under her at any moment.
“Dude, you’re fucking right,” I say. “She needs a permanent gesture, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, I think she does.”
* * *
Ella
When I arrive at Dorado Terrace, a woman in an identical maid uniform to mine is waiting at the service entrance. Her blond hair is streaked with silver and her light brown eyes look me over before flicking to my guards behind me—Cora and Terrence, today.
“Hi,” she says. “You must be Ella. I’m Lindsey.”
She says her name like I should know who she is.
“I’m going to be your replacement,” she prompts. “Melinda said you’d show me around here today, take me through your routine.”
“She did? She didn’t say anything to me…”
I pull my phone from my bag and unlock it. Sure enough, a message from Melinda is waiting there. Lindsey Kohl will be shadowing you today. Sorry for the late notice—I was just able to hire her.
“Looks like you’ll be shadowing me today,” I say with a bright smile. “Welcome to Maids in Heaven.”
Lindsey grins back. “Thanks!”
After tucking my phone into my pocket, I unlock the service entrance with my specialized key, telling Lindsey she’ll get her own when she takes over.
I go over the basics with her—which supplies to use, how to go about getting more if we run out, what to do about lost and found items, and the building’s specific protocols for interacting with tenants—which is: don’t.
The whole time, I’m thinking, this is really happening. I’m really quitting. Melinda’s already replacing me.
As my stomach loops with anxiety, I remind myself of the most important thing: I’m going to make music.
We’re cleaning our way down a corridor, wiping the baseboards, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Hoping it’s a message from Kingston or Sebastian, I sneak a peek.
The text on the screen has my heart jamming my throat.
$75k. Not fucking around. We’ll be in touch. Do not block this number .
It’s similar to the message yesterday. I thought I blocked him, though. I go to my block list and see that yes, indeed, there’s the other blocked number, right next to Tommy’s.
So this text is coming from yet another phone.
Tommy wouldn’t be able to get another phone and block me from that, too, would he? Unless he’s working with those guys who came after Natasha and me. His “friends.”
“Everything okay?” Lindsey asks, her brown eyes anxious.
“Yep.”
“I’m doing an okay job, right? I really need this job.”
“You’re doing great,” I assure her, swallowing past my own fears.
I can’t do anything about the message until I have a break, and now I’m going to have Lindsey on my heels for the entire shift. Great.
But the shift goes quickly. Lindsey doesn’t slow me down in the slightest—in fact, she enables me to get things done faster, because once I explain them, she’s on it and helping out.
We don’t even need to take a break—we finish early, and I’m waving at her as she makes her way down the block.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I pull out my phone and dial Detective Baldwin. Cora and Terrence watch me with concern, not even hiding that they’re eavesdropping. And I don’t mind—they should hear this. Just like the guys and I talked about. Everyone needs to know what’s going on.
“Baldwin here,” the detective answers.
“Hi,” I say slowly. “This is Ella Marchand again.”
“Hello, how can I help you, Miss Marchand?”
“I was wondering if I could talk to your colleague in Missing Persons again,” I say.
Detective Baldwin sighs. “More issues with your brother?”
“Yes, I’ve received more messages.”
“Fine, I’ll put you through to Detective Marks in Missing Persons,” Detective Baldwin says. “But Miss Marchand, I have to tell you, there’s not much you can do at this point. And your brother has shown that he will go to great lengths to deceive you and manipulate you for money.”
I never should have told him about the last one being a ruse. Now they won’t take anything seriously.
There’s a ringing tone, and after a couple of rings, someone picks up.
“Marks, here.”
“Hi, Detective Marks,” I say. “This is Ella Marchand. We spoke about my brother about a week and a half ago. He was missing?”
“Right. Baldwin told me he turned up, and he was behind the whole thing from the start.”
“This threat might not be fake,” I say. “But yeah, the last one was.”
Already, doubts are assailing me. Maybe it is fake, just like the last one. Shit. I rub my eyes and think longingly of Bash’s penthouse, getting out of this scratchy uniform and curling up with Schrode.
Detective Marks makes a scoffing sound. “Miss Marchand, I really want to believe you. But…”
Here it is. They aren’t going to help.
“We’ll have some people look at the text and see if there’s a way to find the number. I have a feeling it won’t reveal any new information. Or at the most, it’ll show that it’s your brother leaving the message from a burner phone. I’ll send someone by his place for a wellness check, okay?”
“That’s…something, at least,” I say.
“Forward the text to me, and I’ll have a look through your phone records, see if there’s anything else I can glean.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m doing it for Baldwin,” Detective Marks says. “He’s calling in a favor.”
I make a mental note to thank Detective Baldwin again. After saying goodbye to Detective Marks, I pocket my phone.
“So, what was all that?” Cora says, a look of concern on her face. “Do you want us to do anything at Ironwood?”
“No, but thanks,” I say. “This is hopefully nothing. I’ll wait and see what the police say.”
Honestly, I want to kick Tommy’s ass for putting me through this. All of this trouble, and probably for nothing.
I hope it’s for nothing.
* * *
Kingston
I have another hour before I need to get back to the business symposium. The grad students attending are all fresh-faced and eager. Normally, I’d find that inspiring and I’d be using downtime to consult with them and answer further questions. But today, I have other things on my mind.
Bash and I have decided to shop in our respective cities away, looking for the perfect collar for Ella. We debated for sometime whether she needed a special one for home, but she’s not our slave or our “sub”—she’s our little girl. And little girls, in our minds, don’t wear collars.
They do, however, wear pretty jewelry, so that’s what we’re shopping for.
Sacramento has some very nice jewelry boutiques, although the selection isn’t as large as those in Las Vegas. Bash has sent me pics of several pieces that might work, but so far, nothing has felt completely right for Ella.
Close to my hotel is another store. This will be my last stop today, because I have to get back to the symposium. I walk inside.
“Hello, how may I help you?” the young man behind the counter asks.
“I’m shopping with my buddy on the phone,” I say, holding up my device. “Is it all right if I send him pictures of pieces to consider?”
“Of course,” he says smoothly. “Is there a particular kind of jewelry you’re looking for today?”
“Necklaces,” I say.
“Jeweled, or?—?”
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
He nods. “I’ll let you browse, then. I’ll be right here if you have any questions.”
“Thanks.” I wander around the shop. My phone buzzes with the occasional text from Bash as he sends me more pics from boutiques in Vegas.
I browse the wide variety of rather mundane necklaces.
They’re pretty, and well-made. The jeweler and his buyers have a gift for finding the best. But nothing really fits Ella, or what Sebastian and I are trying to say with this particular piece of jewelry.
I come to another case, and this one has exactly what I’m looking for—O rings affixed to the chains.
These are very obviously daytime collars.
Some of the O rings are big enough to bear custom engraving, and others are thin and delicate.
Some are studded with diamonds and other jewels.
As I linger over the display, the clerk approaches.
“I wondered if these might be what you’re looking for,” he says.
“Did you?” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Yes. You have that air about you. Are you shopping for your friend that you mentioned?”
“No, he and I are shopping for our girlfriend.”
“Ah. In that case, I have some others I’d like to bring out, if you’d like more selection to choose from?”
“By all means.”
He pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks a drawer beneath the display case.
He struggles to pull it from its home, but once he does, he carefully sets it on top of the other display.
Some of the pieces are still in plastic bags and tissue.
Others are shoved off to one side of the drawer or the other, but they don’t look as if they’ve been sorted.
“They aren’t arranged properly yet,” the clerk says, “as we just got them in a few days ago. But see, over here…” He tugs a necklace free of its brethren, where it was dangerously close to becoming tangled.
“The pendants on many of these are customizable, with a space for engravings, or with adding charms or jewels to make them more personal. These particular ones would hold up well to adding two messages or other additions?—”
“What’s this?” I ask, pointing to a silver necklace. The O ring is linked to the delicate chain with two infinity symbols, one on each side.
“It’s platinum, finest quality,” the clerk says. “It can be switched with an optional locking clasp.”
We won’t need a lock. If we get this necklace for Ella, she’s never going to want to take it off.
I take a photo and send it to Sebastian, with the caption: I think I’ve found it .
He calls me a second later.
“Excuse me, I need to take this,” I say to the clerk.
He steps away to give me privacy.
“What do you think?” I say to Bash.
“It’s fucking perfect, man. It’ll look good on her, especially with our come dripping all over it and on her chest.”
“Pervert.”
“Yep.”
“We can get it with a locking clasp, which I don’t think is necessary?—”
“We’re trying to say ‘forever’ to this girl, right?” Bash says. “We should get the lock. It shows her we mean this. You know, in case the infinity signs aren’t enough of a message.”
Chuckling, I say, “Okay, I’m getting it. There might be enough room to engrave the back of the O ring.”
“Our first names, all three of us,” he says. “Nothing else. It’ll go in a circle.”
It’s brilliant. The O ring will be able to spin around—no name will ever be on top. A perfect representation of our relationship.
“On it,” I say, ending the call and turning to the clerk. “I’ll take this necklace. Can you engrave it by Thursday?”
“I can have it done in a couple of hours, depending on the engraving,” he says. “And as for the clasp?”
“We’ll take the locking one,” I say. “I’ll be back before you close this evening.”
The necklace will say everything we’ve been trying to tell her—but in a concrete, tangible way.
And if this message doesn’t get through to her? I don’t know what will.