Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
NORTH CAROLINA
B ryson stared out the window across from Dr. Kellman. Despite his hatred for Adria, Bryson found the good doctor days were his least favorite. The guy asked way too many questions and didn’t seem to care how Bryson responded.
In the beginning Bryson lied, but lately he suspected his non answers gave something away. So, his new plan was a commitment to zero talking.
Kaydon and Seth had settled into things. Kaydon insisted there was no point in hating her. Which wasn’t surprising, since Kaydon had crushed on her since they were kids. Seth maintained his dislike, but Bryson saw the two of them. They had a vibe. Sometimes, he was certain that his brothers were even having fun.
Bryson, on the other hand, was counting the minutes to their release.
One million, three hundred fourteen thousand.
One million, three hundred thirteen thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine.
One million, three hundred thirteen thousand, nine hundred ninety-eight .
While it seemed far away, the looming deadline presented a new string of challenges.
“Time’s up, Mr. Winters.”
Bryson stood. He was halfway through the door when Dr. Kellman spoke up. “I look forward to our talk next week.”
Fuck that guy.
Sulking down the hall, he made his way to Kaydon’s room. The three of them had free use of the grounds. Everywhere except the north sector and Adria’s bedroom were free game. Their wrist bands, paired with his father’s contract, made them a very low flight risk.
In the beginning, they had been glorified slave labor. Gradually, play sessions had been introduced, both planned and impromptu. Recently, her engagement with Bryson had died down significantly. Bryson didn’t mind. The woman had a special knack for getting under his skin. But the tradeoff was she spent more time with Seth and Kaydon. He tried to not let it bother him. Why should it? But every day that passed, it was impossible to get away from her. Whether it was her lingering scent of flowers on Seth, or the marks left on Kaydon. Her marks.
Kaydon was playing NHL on the PS5.
Bryson flopped down next to him.
“How was quiet time?” Kaydon asked, still looking at the screen.
Not ready to break his silent streak, Bryson put his feet up on the coffee table.
Kaydon shook his head. “I don’t know how you sit in silence for fifty-five minutes.”
“Well, his hair was already braided from your session yesterday,” Bryson quipped.
Kaydon snorted. “Better than doing nothing.”
“That’s what she wants you to think.”
The game ended .
“Four months we’ve been here. What has she really done?” Kaydon asked.
“She’s—”
“Besides not letting you come, which does suck,” Kaydon interrupted.
Bryson didn’t understand how Kaydon could be so casual about this. They were being forced into therapy. If his brothers wanted to spill their guts to a stranger hired by the devil herself, that was on them.
“That’s what I thought,” Kaydon said when Bryson didn’t answer.
“Whatever,” Bryson said.
“You know there is a silver lining here.”
“And what, pray tell, is that, Dr. Phil?”
Kaydon started another game. “We have a little over a year to figure out what we are going to do about your dad.”
Kaydon hissed as his opponent scored a goal.
Bryson bristled. Kaydon was right, and for some reason that irritated him further. “Stop worrying about my dad and start worrying about what’s happening now.”
Kaydon looked at him, concern written all over his face. He set the controller down, his player going limp on the screen.
“Bryce, I don’t have to remind you about this, but you’re the heir to the Winters family. Your father doesn’t think you’re fit to lead. The families don’t think that you’re fit to lead. That’s not a safe position to be in.”
Bryson’s cheeks flamed as months of anger simmered inside him.
“Is that what she is telling you to say?”
Adria had been one step in front of him since they had gotten here. It was an obvious play to try to turn his brothers against him, but Bryson didn’t think she would do it so easily.
Kaydon sighed. “No, I was talking with Eric. He thinks maybe while you’re here, you could learn a little about running a family. He’d be willing to show?—”
“WHAT THE HELL WOULD HE KNOW,” Bryson exploded, hands flying in the air. “He’s an outsider. She picked him up in an alley. And you—” he poked his finger into Kaydon’s shoulder, “want me to learn about the business from some G.I. Joe who thinks he knows something I don’t.”
Everything was wrong.
Kaydon picked up his controller. “Nah, man, I’m just looking out for us, for you.”
Adria certainly had played the game better than he anticipated. Bryson thought it would be all whips and pussy worship; he hadn’t considered the mind fuckery.
He stormed out of the room without another word.
Bryson stalked the halls, searching for Seth.
He needed a distraction.
A good verbal tongue-lashing with Seth would do the trick. He could always count on him for that.
Trust wasn’t something Seth handed out easily—if he didn’t trust you, he hated you.
It was dysfunctional, sure. But today, that little hang-up worked in Bryson’s favor.
Then he heard it.
A small, broken sound—like a wounded animal.
Bryson’s feet carried him down the upper hallway, toward Adria’s quarters.
He stopped outside her office.
A sharp crack split the air.
Bryson moved closer, careful, silent.
Then he saw.
Seth, prostrate on a golden rug, hands bound behind his back. His bare chest heaved, and a blindfold covered his eyes.
Adria stood over him, her dark heel dragging slowly along the inside of Seth’s thighs.
Bryson’s breath caught.
She was wrapped in a tight, red vinyl suit, her curves accentuated in a way that made his stomach twist.
Completely naked, Seth looked fucking wrecked.
His swollen lips parted, a low groan escaping as the point of her shoe crept higher.
Bryson went instantly hard.
Seth had that effect on him.
Such a cocky hotshot outside the bedroom—he always looked deliciously pathetic in it.
Adria’s voice wrapped around the room like silk.
“Such a good boy today, hmm?”
Seth’s breath hitched. “Yes, Mistress.”
Bryson scowled.
The word sat wrong in his chest.
An honorific was earned, not manipulated out of someone.
Something the demon witch would never understand.
Adria’s angle shifted, the sharp point of her shoe pressing into the soft flesh of Seth’s inner thigh.
Seth whimpered, struggling to stay in place.
"Hold still, little one."
Seth obeyed instantly.
Bryson watched as she toyed with him, her shoe grazing his skin, testing his control.
And Seth panted for it.
Then, Adria lifted her foot, bringing the leather to his lips.
Seth lavished the shoe in kisses.
Bryson rolled his eyes.
He wasn’t mad at Seth—Seth was clearly enjoying himself .
He just didn’t get the appeal.
Adria’s voice cut through the air.
“We have a guest.”
Forgetting the blindfold, Seth’s head jerked toward the sound.
Crack.
The crop landed.
Seth cried out.
Bryson stared.
They weren’t supposed to look.
Adria reminded them regularly that when sold, they would be expected to avert their eyes.
Submissives don’t get privileges.
Not unless their Dominant grants them.
But Bryson wasn’t a submissive.
And no contract could make him one.
So, he looked at her.
And she looked back.
Her black hair was secured in a tight bun. Her lips painted a deep, commanding red.
Her stare was steady. Assessing.
He wondered if she ever tired of being so put together.
If she ever just let the mask slip.
If he were Kaydon, maybe she’d invite him in.
Not that he wanted to be invited.
They stood there, locked in silent battle. Two opponents sizing each other up.
Bryson had underestimated her.
Round one to Adria.
But it wouldn’t happen again.
Seth whimpered beneath her. The sounds clawed at Bryson’s restraint, his own body betraying him.
Fuck.
If he stayed, she’d see.
He turned, giving her his best sneer before stalking away.
Loud, punishing slaps echoed behind him, each one punctuated by Seth’s cries.
Bryson walked faster.
But the damage was done.
His mind had already betrayed him—Seth, bent over his knee, his ass flushed red. Bryson’s fingers stretching him open, teasing, tormenting, his perfect freckled face wet with tears.
Then—
Buzz.
His wristband vibrated.
Fuck.
She would know now.
The monitors sent daily reports. But they had quickly learned that they also sent her real-time alerts when arousal was detected.
Another control tactic. Another way to keep them humiliated. Isolated.
No sex. No touching. No release.
Not without her permission.
Seth and Kaydon sometimes got to partake.
Bryson, never.
Four months.
Four fucking months.
Bryson tensed his jaw, forcing the thoughts away.
He needed to run.
He needed to fucking move.
Eric was in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, of all things. Bryson couldn’t believe Kaydon was suggesting he learn from him. He was so old.
“I’m going for a run.”
Eric didn’t look up from what he was doing. “Again? That’s the fourth time this week, and it’s only Wednesday.”
“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business,” Bryson said, slamming the double glass doors behind him.
He would get in trouble for the disrespect, but frankly he didn’t care. These days punishments were his only source of physical contact and, oddly, he had started to crave them, the pain becoming a much-needed distraction.
Running brought his heart rate up—one of the many reasons he had to alert Eric beforehand.
The backyard was a carefully curated illusion.
Fenced for privacy. Contained for control.
Like the house itself, the grounds were pristine. Well-manicured, simplistic. A pool stretched beyond the back porch, leading into a small wooded area. Everything designed to look natural, but it wasn’t.
Nothing here was real.
The worn trail circling the property told him he wasn’t the first to overuse it. A three-mile circuit, endless in its predictability. He completed the first lap, then the second.
By the third, his breath was ragged, his hands bracing against his knees as he struggled to catch air.
He lifted his gaze toward the estate.
From this angle, the house looked… normal .
Less menacing.
A casual observer would think a rich heiress lived here. Someone with too much time, too much money, too much space.
His eyes scanned the upper windows.
And then?—
He saw her.
Adria stood in her office, freshly showered, wearing an oversized white T-shirt and gray sweatpants.
Bryson should have ignored her. Should have kept running.
But something about her held his attention .
She looked different.
People normally did when they thought they were alone.
She was pacing, arms waving as, Bryson realized, she argued with herself.
He chuckled.
It was the first hint he’d seen that she wasn’t a cold, soul-sucking robot.
Her wet hair curled around her face, strands sticking to her neck.
Without the makeup. Without the Domme clothes.
She looked…soft.
His gaze traced over her. Objectively, she wasn’t terrible to look at.
Curvy body. Full breasts. An ass that would make anyone jealous.
When he did pursue women, they usually looked like her.
He avoided the delicate ones, the too-thin, too-dainty. His rough edges didn’t mix well with breakable things.
Something nagged at him.
Something about her face.
It was familiar.
He strained to place it, but then?—
She noticed him, and their eyes locked.
For a single, ridiculous moment, he wanted her to stay in the window.
To hold his gaze.
To watch him like he was watching her.
But without hesitation, she turned and disappeared into the room.
Leaving him staring at an empty window.
Alone .
Again.
His jaw clenched.
Instead of going inside, he launched himself down the path, pushing harder .
And when he reached the start?—
He went around again.
The rhythmic pound of his feet against the dirt should have drowned out everything else.
But all he could hear was Seth’s screams.
All he could see were her fucking green eyes.
He hated her.
Hated that Seth screamed for her.
Hated that Kaydon was comfortable.
Hated how his brothers were slipping further out of his grasp.
Kaydon was supposed to be the voice of reason.
The one who called out bullshit. The one who warned him about situations like this.
But whatever this place was doing?—
It had thrown Kaydon’s compass completely off.
Bryson was supposed to be the leader.
So why the fuck was everyone questioning him?
Why did he feel so fucking low on the totem pole?
His feet slammed into the ground harder. His heart rate spiked.
He hoped Eric was watching.
One of the many cameras placed around the property would have caught him by now.
Maybe his extended workout had fucked whatever plans the old man had.
Good.
He’d run all night just to put that fucker out.
Maybe it wouldn’t matter.
Because no matter how far he ran?—
He still felt trapped.