36. Ivy
THIRTY-SIX
IVY
“You can't be fucking serious, bitch.”
Jackal eyed the collars in my hand with obvious distaste, his lip curled in a sneer as he planted his hands on his hips and dared me to try something with those gorgeous, dangerous, expressive as fuck eyes of his.
It’d been a few days since I kicked his ass down by the river after a drunken night of debauchery and fisticuffs. He’d agreed to my terms, my vague demands, and now, it was just like him to try and back out when the time came to pay up.
I cracked a smile of my own as I took a step closer and shook my hand. Hanging from each one was a charm—and since Jackal had a habit of sneaking around when it suited him, I wanted to know when that fucker so much as sneezed. His had been adorned with a pretty pink bell, an accompanying bow really tying off the whole look.
“Look, I even got them engraved with your new names!”
Dingo stepped forward and took one from my hand, his gaze turning from suspicious to indignation in the blink of an eye.
“Oh, this is too good.” Brown curls bounced around his head as he turned his attention back to me and pointed at the leather collar in his grip. “Who the fuck is ‘diva’ supposed to be?”
I shrugged, offering the other two like I didn't give a damn if they wore it right or not. “Hard to say. Maybe the other two names will give it away.”
Now I had Coyote's attention, as well, his barefoot ass padding his way across the room to join in on the intrigue. I watched his mouth form the words on each one, and without warning, he let out a howl of laughter—mixed in with an actual howl.
Just like the dog he was.
“This is mine,” he muttered, reaching out to take the one that had a little whip charm dangling from it. I'd gotten him a collar that matched his eyes because I couldn't get enough of their delightful shade.
The other two watched in speechless awe as he offered the collar back to me with a shit-eating grin and lowered his head, obviously waiting for me to put it on him.
Either this man knew what it was to be a sub, or he was more of a dog than his name suggested.
Despite my annoyance, my hands shook as I collared my first new pet, the metallic clink of the latch making it official. When he looked back up at me, it was with a new fire in his eyes, one that unsettled me in ways I didn't like.
“On your knees, dog,” I growled, and though the fire behind those beautiful lashes didn't dim, he did as I commanded, his hands in his lap, head tossed back, the word Bitch stitched in cursive across the front.
Jackal snorted. “So if he's ‘bitch’, then who's ‘princess’?”
My smile widened as I reached out and let my fingertips caress the side of his clenched jaw, the sharp angles so attractive, yet so distasteful when you considered the man who possessed them, and what he was. “Oh, you know damn well who the princess here is.”
He turned his snide grin on Dingo. “Well, she obviously means you. I'm nobody's princess."
“Dingo has a meltdown if you don't wash the dishes, he spends a half hour treating his curls after a shower, and his pants are all pressed and hung up in his closet like he's got a white-collar job on the side. There's no bigger diva in this house than that man.” My fingers tangled themselves in Jackal's hair, yanking him down to my level. “You made a deal with me, princess. And I don't think I need to remind you what happens if you refuse a direct command from your master.”
“Get fucked, kitten," he spat, baring those sharp fangs of his again. He still hadn't picked up on my total lack of fear at their appearance.
Thankfully, he couldn't read my mind, either, or he'd know how desperate I was to know how they felt on my skin .
“On your knees, dog,” I growled back at him, my lips inches from his ear. “And be a good boy.”
The refusal to drop to his knees, to bow to another human, and a woman at that, was written in every hard line of his taut body. But disobedience was not to be tolerated in my pack. And something about the way he looked at me, almost daring me to force him, had my skin itching to give him just that.
With a well-placed kick to the shin, I knocked his feet out from under him, kneeling before his crumpled body as he struggled to right himself on the floor.
“Stop fighting me, or you won't like how this ends.”
His body stilled, breath halting as I watched him process that maybe this time wasn't the best moment to disobey. Very likely, he was currently debating ways to murder me in my sleep as he struggled to his knees and gripped the carpet in his clenched fists.
When that face turned up to mine, he stared daggers into my soul, baring those teeth like a feral beast as my hands slipped the pretty pink collar almost lovingly around his throat. The whole thing felt a tad more erotic than it had any right being, and a shiver ran down my spine.
“You're all my dogs now. When I say speak, you'll speak. When I jerk on your chain, you'll follow me, or be choked.”
Jackal tossed his head back and cackled, the Adam's apple of his throat bobbing as that tongue lolled to the side of his lips, hanging out of his mouth as he stared at me from the corner of his eye.
“What if we like being choked, kitten?”
I frowned, fighting the very real and very unwanted urge to kiss the stupid smirk off his dumb face.
“Next time we go out, I'm buying you a fucking shock collar.”
“Don’t threaten him with a good time,” Dingo muttered, staring at the floor like he’d given up on making sense of his future, his fate, stuck with me. “Well, let’s get this over with. ”
I moved to him after checking to make sure Jackal didn’t have immediate plans to bail, securing his collar around his throat without much fanfare or fight. A simple huff of annoyance and a flash of something foreign in his eyes was the only indication Dingo gave that any of this affected him at all.
And then I reached into the bag beside the couch and pulled out three chain leashes, and then all three of them collectively started to protest.
“Oh hell no?—”
“I draw the line at the fucking collars. What could you possibly need a leash for?”
“Um—”
I held up a hand and waggled the chains in their direction. “Part of my victory is showing the world whose dogs you really are. Remember?” My eyes cut to the door behind which the preparations for a fancy dinner party the Guild hosted for the mayor’s birthday were in full swing. “You’re going to arrive with me in style to that party tonight.” I let my eyes roam over each of them in turn, lingering just enough to let them know I was enjoying this. “If you’re good dogs, I might let you off your leashes to socialize with the other animals.”
“You’re fucked in the head,” Jackal spat, but for some reason, I sensed his heart wasn’t in it. “I suppose you plan to make us wear fucking monkey suits to this shindig tonight, too, don’t you?”
My grin widened. “Oh, no. I’m not a monkey suit kind of girl. But I do have something for you all to wear tonight.” I gestured to the bag I’d pulled the collars and leashes from with my toe. “Go ahead and take a look. You’ll find your outfits for the night go wonderfully with your new jewelery.”
Inside the bag they found a trio of rhinestone-studded leather harnesses to wear, each of which coordinated with their collars. Jackal’s eyes practically danced as he turned his over and over, musing at the workmanship as only a sadist could do. Dingo looked disgusted, of course, while Coyote just looked . . . confused.
Which was par for the course for him, all things considered. Some people might assume he’d grown up under a rock because of the way he acted.
I’d have to ask him if his parents were some sort of super evangelicals or something. His life had to be sheltered.
“Here,” I commanded, holding out a hand for him to place it in. “I’ll help you put it on.”
Jackal snorted. “Are we supposed to wear these over our clothes or something? It kinda clashes with my style.”
I set Coyote’s harness to the side and slipped my fingers to the zipper at the top of his hoodie. “Not exactly,” I hedged, dragging the noisy little piece of metal down the front of his torso so he could slip out of it. “You can wear them over a button-up, if you want, but they also look pretty good against bare skin.”
Which I demonstrated by slipping it over Coyote’s taut muscles.
When the last belt on the damn thing was cinched, all the bells and whistles in their place, I stepped back to admire my handiwork.
Each harness was different—Coyote’s went over his chest, Dingo’s criss-crossed over his torso in a fun pattern, and Jackal’s wrapped around his whole torso and met at his waist, giving him the most dangerous air.
It wasn’t a mistake. In fact, the selections I’d made for them were tailored to their attitudes. And very, very soon, I’d be hooking them to the end of some leashes and taking them for a walk.
My dogs.
Mine.
When had I come to think of them as mine?
It must’ve been a gradual process because it happened so smoothly that I didn’t even notice the transition. Now, here I was, about to walk them like they were actual animals at the ends of these leashes, in front of every person they worked alongside. I was going to emasculate them for the world to see.
What kind of person had I become?
Apparently, the kind who took a slow revenge out on the people who hurt her.
And while they were busy licking the salt from their wounds after the party, I’d be busy sneaking into the archives in search of their contract files pertaining to my father’s hit.
The harnesses and collars were just icing on the cake. A bit of fun to piss them off.
Eventually, I’d grow tired of playing with them, and then I’d have to discard them, dispatching their lives like they were no more than a mouse in a science lab.
Why did that fill me with a sense of disappointment all of a sudden?