8. Sawyer
Chapter 8
Sawyer
The last wave of vomit rocked through Fiona’s body, her chest convulsing, forcing out her stomach’s contents onto the ground of the parking lot. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and once I was positive she was fine, I let her hair fall back on her shoulders. Somehow, she still managed to smell like cherries. Sour cherries, perhaps. But sweet, nonetheless.
“Thanks,” she said.
She wasn’t going to protest this time? “Let’s get you washed up,” I said.
I led us back into the nightclub, guiding her with a hand on her lower back. We had done work for the owner earlier that year, and in return, he stepped out of the way whenever I needed his club. The bouncer removed the rope, and I took Fiona to the private bathroom. Elegant, branded toiletries were situated on the counter. The ceiling stretched up, the walls silencing the music. Fiona splashed water on her face, rubbing the makeup away. She dried her face, glaring at me .
“Why did you leave that note on my car?” she seethed. “I know it was you. No one else would know that stuff about me. Or what car I drive.”
I never left our locked eye contact. “What note?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“What did the note say?” I said, my voice stern.
She blinked her eyes, trying to focus. Then she looked at the ground, realizing I was being honest.
“That I dropped out of med school. That I’m studying at Pacific State.”
“That information isn’t hard to find.”
“Thanks,” she said sarcastically. “Whoever it was, wrote that I would probably drop out of Pacific too.”
That hurt. But I wasn’t interested in harassing her like that. If I wanted to humiliate her, there were much better ways of doing that than ridiculing her through a note. I preferred to watch her melt in person.
“Where’s the note?” I asked.
She rubbed her thumbs under her eyes, wiping away clumps of makeup, focusing on the mirror.
“I don’t know.”
The Feldman Farm certainly had the capabilities to pester someone like that. But our specialty didn’t reside in the hunt. We focused on capturing the torture on film. Leaving a note wasn’t in our protocol.
But for a brief moment, I wondered if Hatchcom Focus had anything to do with it. Though their elimination tactics relied on bullets, they sought their targets in a variety of ways.
But there wasn’t any reason for Hatchcom Focus to target Fiona. She wasn’t anyone to them.
Or to me .
“Shouldn’t you be working?” she asked. “Why are you even here?”
“My brother wanted to check on his wife.” And I knew you’d need someone to save your ass.
“Right,” she said, smacking her forehead like she was stupid for even asking the question. She propped herself against the wall, then groaned, putting her face in her hands.
“Why did I even go to medical school?” she mumbled. She slid down the wall until she hit the floor, her dress bunched around her hips, exposing the trimmed hair on her pussy lips. She was too lost in her own mind to notice. “If I hadn’t gone—maybe if I hadn’t even applied—no one would know that I failed.”
I raised a brow. “You say that like you’re unique.”
She studied me. “I can’t tell if you said that to be nice or to be mean,” she said.
“Explain.”
“Are you saying that everyone has moments like I do? Or that I’m being self-absorbed?”
“Both.”
She laughed, and that warmed me, but I frowned, forcing those emotions out. She was only a test for me, a measure of my power and control. I straightened, and she looked up at the ceiling.
“I want to do something right for once,” she said. “I’m finally trying to follow my dreams. Taking that chance, you know?” She shook her head. “But all I seem to do is fail. Miserably. I gave up so much, but I can’t even get my dream right.”
Her forehead creased with tension. I shifted my weight against the bathroom counter, resting my gaze on her. The tears flew down, the trails damp against her cheeks. Tension dropped in my stomach. I wanted to hold her, to make her stop crying, but she wiped the tears with the back of her hand, making them stop on her own.
That was good. She didn’t need me. And I wanted nothing to do with her.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she said. She pushed herself up into a standing position. “It’s not like you would understand.”
She paused, waiting for me to disagree. But what could I say? That I knew exactly how much it killed her to go to medical school when all she wanted to do was to work at the library? How she had worked her ass off to get the best position for her degree, and yet she was barely making more than minimum wage? And now, I was dangling the managerial position in front of her, like a bone in front of a dog, waiting for her to bite.
She was only a game to me. A way to gauge my manipulation skills.
But she still had a chance.
I stepped out of the bathroom for a moment, freeing myself from those oppressive emotions. Wandering to the lounge of the VIP section, I found bottles of water and brought them back to the bathroom. Fiona’s cheeks were pale compared to the makeup she had wiped off. She spat her toothpaste and tossed the disposal toothbrush into the garbage hidden under the counter.
“This is so embarrassing,” she said.
“Pathetic,” I said.
“I know.”
“Sad.”
“I know!” she pretended to scoff.
It should have felt good seeing her like this. Making that progress, knowing that she was sharing this because she was starting to trust me. And therefore, I was closer to controlling her. But that wasn’t as rewarding as it was supposed to be. What else could a woman like Fiona take? How many times would she pick herself back up before she finally fell for good?
What could I do to show her what it meant to be vulnerable like that?
Like how she made me.
This was only a game. Give a little, take the rest.
“Everyone has problems,” I said.
“Then what’s yours?”
“I’m a blood-thirsty leader of an assassin company.”
She blinked her eyes several times, then laughed hard, holding her stomach.
“Is that an inside joke for cattle ranchers or something?” she chuckled. “That’s a good one. You had me for a second there.”
I tipped my head to the side. She thought I was joking.
“Come on. Tell me. I told you I wanted the library. But what do you want?” she asked, shoving my shoulder. “Tell me. What does Mr. Feldman truly want?”
“Power,” I said.
She rolled her eyes at me. “I’m spilling my guts and you’re standing there like this is a big joke to you.”
But that was the point. She meant nothing to me. All I wanted was power over her. To prove my point. To use her until I was bored with her.
“Why am I even accepting help from you?” she snapped.
“No one else was in the parking lot,” I said.
“Exactly. So why you? Unless you were the one who left the note. ”
“Damn it, Fiona,” I snarled. “I don’t care about your degrees.”
“Because you don’t care about anything. ” she crossed her arms. “I hate people like you.”
We both fell silent. Rage burned in her eyes, but then she sunk down inside of herself. I didn’t care? I had just held her hair while she vomited. For fuck’s sake, if I didn’t care, I would have left her in the parking lot to soak in her own misery. I hated this. Hated that I wanted to help her. Hated that I gave a shit if she got puke in her hair.
I should have pushed her down into her own puke puddle. I should have been spinning this situation until I could use her.
Instead, I had helped her clean up. And now, we were having a damn heart-to-heart.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that she had to trust me. This was the perfect opportunity to build that foundation.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said.
“I take it as a compliment.”
“What?”
“It takes a lot to get the perfect Fiona to hate your guts.”
“Don’t call me perfect,” she whispered, near tears again. “Maisie used to call me that.”
No one was perfect, but if anyone came close to that, it was Fiona. She may have had some bumps in the road—medical school, owing her parents money for student loans, a crappy car and studio apartment, perhaps even occasionally drinking excessively, like tonight—but she was still somehow working a full-time job, going to graduate school, and spending nights out with her sister.
All while her boss played games with her and made her compete for her dream job, knowing she would fail .
“Aren’t you going to tell me to stop drinking?” she asked.
Her copper eyes bore into me. As much as I would have liked to tell Fiona exactly what to do, when it came to something like this, it wasn’t my call. It wasn’t in my nature to fix someone; I’d rather manipulate them into submitting on their own.
“You can make your own decisions,” I said. I gestured at the door. “Let’s get some air.”
We went to the garden balcony in the VIP section. It was empty, except for a man smoking on the other end. We stared down at the landscaping: lush leaves waved in purple light, pools of water shimmering, a few people spread throughout. When a server came by, I ordered two more bottles of water and a soda water with ginger and lime for Fiona.
“How did you know my order?” she asked.
“I’m good at reading people.”
“But ginger and lime?”
She had ordered the same drink the first time we met. I took a guess at the reasons. “Soda water for the fizz. Ginger for digestion. Lime for flavor.”
“No alcohol?” she asked.
“No alcohol.”
She sighed. “I think I’m done. I end up getting wasted every time. So I never know how much I can drink without getting wrecked.”
That was amusing. “How old are you?” I asked. I knew the answer, but I wanted to tease her.
“Twenty-six.”
“And you don’t know your limits?”
“You know yours?”
I nodded. I was thirty-one; I had practice with the ranchers on the farm and more with my peers at business school.
She shoved my shoulder playfully. “All right. Stop bragging. I swear I’ve never been that curious to figure it out. I have too much going on.”
I considered telling her to stop talking, but I didn’t say a word. Did I care that she sometimes consumed alcohol? Not in the slightest. Did it make her a lesser employee and candidate for manager? No. I knew exactly what she was capable of.
“Well,” Fiona said, lifting her shoulders. “I better get going.”
“I’ll call you a cab,” I said.
For once, there was no immediate objection.
“Thanks,” she said. “I guess I’ll ask Maisie to help me pick up my car tomorrow.”
Or I could order one of my men to take it back for her now, but I didn’t offer. In this state, she wanted some responsibility to prove that she could handle herself.
The little games we played with our own minds. Fiona was constantly battling herself.
And I wanted to conquer that.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Or whenever you come to the library next.” She flipped around and added under her breath: “Mr. Feldman.”
Mr. Feldman. As if she didn’t know my first name. Like we had no family relations. Like we had nothing to do with each other. Like I hadn’t just saved her from her own personal humiliation.
She was using my name as a barrier.
But I was going to destroy every barrier and make her as vulnerable as she had made me.
With one sharp movement, I pushed her against the wall, pressing every bone in her spine against the gray marble, watching her throat twitch as her breathing hitched. Her eyes focused on my lips. The minty toothpaste was cool on her breath.
I should have been repulsed. She was so damned emotional. So desperate. But my cock twitched awake, her body against mine.
“My name,” I said slowly, keeping my eyes on hers, her lips quivering, “is Sawyer.”
“It doesn’t turn you on when I call you ‘Mr. Feldman’?” she whispered. She pressed her leg against my hard dick, teasing me with her touch. My cock pulsed. It didn’t turn me on. In fact, it enraged me. But imagining every way I wanted to torment her to make her understand that, turned me on.
One day, I would make her beg, with tears on her face and her pussy drenched. And she would have no choice but to do exactly as I said.
I put a hand around her slim throat. “We’re playing a game, Fiona,” I growled. “Don’t mistake my kindness for affection. I’m simply looking after one of my assets.” A tremor shot through her body at those words. “Yes, Fiona. I know exactly how valuable you are. And I’m going to use you. Again and again, until there’s nothing left.”
“Then use me,” she whispered.
She licked her bottom lip, grinning as she watched my eyes flicker to her tongue. Her tongue ran over her teeth, and I resisted the urge to growl.
“I’m going to bite it off,” I murmured.
“Then bite me.” She pressed herself into my chest. With one hand firmly on her throat, I grazed her ass with my fingertips, pulling up the ruched fabric. Her smooth curves. Her supple flesh. I gripped her ass, pulling her into me .
“Say ‘please,’” I said.
Her lips pouted. “Please.”
“Good girl,” I said into her ear, and she shivered down to her toes. So desperate to please. To prove that she was everything she wanted to be. And soon, anything I wanted her to be.
“I bet you would let me do anything to you right now,” I murmured.
Her chin bobbed, her eyes glazed. “I don’t know why I want you.”
“Because I’m as ambitious as you are,” I said. “And I know what I want. I want you.”
Her pupils dilated, her breathing slowed.
I shouldn’t have done it.
I should have stayed still.
But I wasn’t going to stop myself anymore.
My hand squeezed her throat, and she swallowed. I bent down, pressing my lips to hers, tasting that minty flavor in her mouth. I sucked her tongue back into my mouth and opened my eyes as she melted into my touch, wanting more. I sucked harder until she squirmed against me, pressing herself in deeper. Fiona had been easy to read since the day I met her. She never tried to hide herself. I knew exactly what she wanted, and she knew she could find it in me.
I bit down hard on her tongue. She pulled back, but I didn’t let go. She squealed, the sound muffled by my mouth. Finally, I relaxed my jaw and her hand went to her face.
“You bit me,” she said, surprise in her voice.
She must have forgotten asking me to bite her. “You said ‘please.’” I showed her the arrival text message from her temporary driver. It wasn’t a cab, but someone that worked for me; he knew to take her home safely. “Go on. Your ride is waiting. ”
Her chest expanded, and she bit her lip. She opened her mouth, perhaps to say ‘goodnight,’ but didn’t know what to call me: Mr. Feldman, or Sawyer. Finally, she twirled around and walked down the stairs.
“Fiona?” I called, stopping her. She flipped around. “Make sure I’m available the next time you want to go out.”
She smirked, a twinkle in her eye. Facing the stairs again, the hem of her dress rode up, exposing the cups of her ass. As she pulled down the fabric, she quickly glanced back at me, to acknowledge that she understood why I wanted to be available every time she went out again. I was the only one who would see her like that again. Even with that possession, or perhaps because of it, her eyes were full of lust. She loved being looked at, knowing that I wanted her all to myself. That I was in complete control.
And one day, I was going to use that desire to break her.
Despite my best interests, I called my own driver, making plans for the rest of the evening.
First, make sure Fiona had gotten home safely.
Second, kill the man who had tried to touch her.