12. Fiona
Chapter 12
Fiona
I slowed the car as I approached the address. Grassy pastures. Metal fences interspersed with wooden beams. White pine trees stretched out as if guarding the place. My sister’s rose red hair fluttered in the afternoon breeze. She adjusted her tank top and waved to me. She seemed so comfortable here. She was never like this at home.
Inside the car, she squealed: “You’re here!” She leaned over the console and hugged me. “All right. Down the dirt path. You see that gravel area? You’re going to park there.”
I moved the car forward. “Go through the dirt?”
“If you get stuck, we’ve got plenty of people who can get you out.”
Luckily, we made it through. As I killed the engine, Maise turned to me. “You know you’re the first person I’ve invited here?”
“Bambi?” I asked.
“I didn’t invite her,” she smirked. “That girl invited herself.”
That seemed like Bambi. But the same could be said about me. I had spent the last day begging Maisie to let me see the place, claiming stuff like—it would get our parents off of my back, it would ease my conscience, that I needed a break from graduate school and the library. But in reality, I wanted to understand Sawyer. I wasn’t even sure if it had to do with our game or the library anymore. I just wanted to know him better. To find something that told me if my attraction was either good or bad, so that I could find a way to eradicate it. Because I needed to put the library first. It was my only dream.
Because I didn’t understand my attraction to Sawyer, but I couldn’t deny it either.
A classic barn, complete with red paint and white beams, was across from the parking area, as well as some smaller, similarly painted storage sheds.
“You got married here?” I asked.
“It was really pretty,” she said. I had seen the pictures, though we had both lied to our parents about it. Maisie had told them it was a small affair at the courthouse, since she felt guilty about not inviting them. But I understood. At that point, when she got married, we hadn’t spoken to Maisie in five years. Why would she have invited us?
Men in long-sleeved shirts and jeans traveled gruffly across the property, bowing their heads at us as they led the cows and calves in and out of the barns. An owl hooted from the trees. Down a way, there was a huge house: two stories with yellow paint and white trim. Bright and fiery, like Maisie.
My jaw dropped. “This is your place?”
“Wilder had another house, but we’re using it for supplemental housing,” she explained. “This house, we designed together. And I decorated the inside. It was fun.”
And it was so much more grown-up than I expected from Maisie. Rugs over the hard floor in some rooms, lush and clean carpet in other areas, a quaint kitchen with a round table, a metal dish drying rack, and a turquoise toaster on the counter, a flash of bright color amid natural, muted tones. I guess I still saw the teenager in fishnets and jelly bracelets, not the married adult in her mid-twenties.
Wilder bounded downstairs. “Fiona,” he said, offering his hand.
I shook it. “Thanks for having me.”
“We’re having steak,” he said.
“Sounds great. Is your brother joining us?”
Wilder’s eyes flicked to Maisie. “No,” he said.
“I thought this was supposed to be a family night dinner?” I asked.
“That was a few nights ago,” Maisie said.
“I missed out then,” I said, trying not to let the disappointment shine through.
“Well, honestly, we—” she shrugged, “—okay, I would like to do them, with all four of us, regularly. So maybe we can make it a thing?”
“I’d love that,” I said. And I meant it honestly, even if Sawyer wasn’t in the picture. It was good to be in my sister’s life again.
We drove in a side-by-side UTV through the property together, Wilder driving while Maisie sat beside him, orchestrating the details of the tour. I sat in the back row.
“That’s the main house,” Maisie explained. “Mostly used for housing the ranchers. And there’s the Calving Barn.”
“Do you have any baby calves right now?” She nodded. “How many?”
“Twenty or so, I think.”
Something didn’t add up. Twenty baby cows seemed like a lot, but it seemed like they had three to six men for every cow and calf pair. I didn’t know much about livestock farming, but it seemed excessive.
“Housing for how many men?” I asked.
“Over sixty,” Wilder said.
I let out a gasp, and Maisie quickly jumped in: “There’s a lot to do here.”
Were they doing absolutely everything by hand? They couldn’t be.
“Why so many?” I asked.
Wilder stiffened, and Maisie put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s hard to explain,” she said.
I fell silent. I respected when she wanted to keep things to herself, so we kept it at that.
We drove through the pastures. Some of the mama cows and baby calves were grazing together, one last bite before settling in for the night. One large barn, half painted, with streaks of red and white, loomed in the distance. The sliding front doors looked bigger than the other barn’s.
“What’s that?” I asked. “More room for calves?”
“Sort of,” she said. “It’s the Dairy Barn.”
“Dairy Barn?”
“My father wanted to switch to dairy cows once,” Wilder explained.
“And did you?”
I squinted my eyes. A lock was on the front doors. Apparently, whatever it was, was kept secret and separate from the rest.
“No,” he finally said.
Maybe the Dairy Barn would have the answers I was searching for. “Can we go in?” I asked.
“It’s just storage now. Nothing interesting.”
They were both being dismissive, as if it was nothing. And that piqued my interest. They must have been hiding something. But I dropped it, letting it go again. There would be time to investigate on my own; I would make sure of it.
At dinner, I pressed the wineglass to my lips but didn’t take a sip—just enough to pretend like I was getting tipsy.
After bread pudding, I gave a deep sigh. “Where did you learn to cook?” I asked Maisie.
“You learn things,” she laughed. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Actually,” I paused, “Do you think I could spend the night here? I drank too much. I want to sleep it off.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “You gotta learn to pace yourself.”
“I know,” I groaned.
She motioned down the hallway. “We’ve got the room.”
Wilder’s eyes followed us as we moved through the house. She led me to an empty guest room downstairs.
“I’ll get you a towel,” she said. “Bathroom is attached.”
“Thanks,” I said. As she left the room, I pinched my cheeks until they were red, trying to look the part. When she returned, she handed me a bright white towel, then stopped in the doorway.
“There’s one thing I should tell you,” she said. “If something’s locked, then don’t go in.”
I laughed, trying to play it off. “You don’t want me to see you going pee?”
She cocked her head to the side, unamused. “Seriously, Fiona,” she warned, patting the doorframe. “There’s a lot that goes on here that will cause you nightmares. You’ll thank me for it later.”
I rolled my eyes. “Geez. Is it like a haunted house or something?”
She shook her head. “Goodnight, sis. ”
“Night.”
Once I washed up, I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the footsteps on the second level to calm. After it had been silent for a while, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the front door, creaking it open.
The Dairy Barn was dark on the grassy pastures, but the property was silent, and no one stopped me. I ran toward the barn as fast as I could. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got there, but there had to be a clue. Something that would tell me why there was no information on the Feldman Farm. I needed to know what Sawyer was up to.
A sinking sensation swarmed my lower stomach, but as I approached, the lock had been removed. The door was even slightly ajar. Had someone left it open for me?
According to Maisie’s rules, I could go in.
I slid the door to the side. Wooden crates lined the corner closest to me, some hay bales on the opposite side. Tall metal fences rounded each pen, and in the back, there was a shower stall and sink. An empty trough. A red stain on the cement. An oversized incinerator gleaming under the lights, big enough to fit two couches. And the lights were on.
It didn’t seem like storage, like Maisie had claimed. It seemed like they used this space.
Then I saw the video cameras, held up by tripods, aimed as if each of the pens were a stage. But why would they film the cows?
Red lights hummed on each of them. They were on.
Someone was here.
“I thought they warned you about this place,” a deep voice said. I spun around, looking up at Sawyer. My heart palpitated.
“Sawyer,” I whispered. “I was just?—”
He grabbed my chin. “Why are you here? ”
I blinked up at him. “The door was unlocked.”
“Do you know what happens when you think you’ve outsmarted your enemy?” he growled. “You get caught.”
He wrenched a hand in my hair, pulling me down to my knees. He tightened his fist, and I grunted, my pulse pounding through me.
With his grip firm, he pulled me along on my hands and knees. My palms dug into the cement, tiny granules biting into my skin. He shoved the metal door to the side, then led me into a pen. I pushed back, fighting him, but he railed me forward, forcing me like I was an animal. Once I was inside, I spun around to face him. His breath was heavy as he stared down at me. Then he swiveled, messing with a video camera that was aimed at me. What was this?
I had to do something. I had to.
I raced forward, jumping on his back, wrapping my arms around his neck. He grunted in surprise, then threw me off of him like I was nothing. I stumbled to the ground, standing as quickly as I could. He went back to the video camera, huffing to himself like my actions were a minor annoyance.
What was going on?
“What are you doing?” I stammered. “What is this?”
“You like games, don’t you, Fiona?” he asked. “You like winning. Knowing that you’re the best. Proving yourself to everyone around you.”
My mouth dropped open. “What are you talking about?”
“Let’s play another game. If you can hold this—” he picked up a bucket of water, “—in front of you, with your arms out, for one minute, I’ll let you go without a fight. But if you don’t,” malevolence shimmering in his eyes, “I’ll show you what happens when you snoop where you don’t belong.”
“What?” I gaped. “I was just?—”
“Trespassing. Now,” he nodded toward the bucket, “pick it up. Like a good girl.”
The bucket was deep and filled to the brim. How much did it weigh?
“Come on,” I said. “This isn’t funny.”
“Shall I call the cops? Or fire you?”
Was he being serious? I bit my lip, then forced myself forward. I peered down at that water, the liquid surface reflecting my image. It was just another game. What harm could it be? But when I didn’t lift it straight in front of me, Sawyer unbuckled his belt, sliding it through the loops in a swift snap. It whipped into my hips, the leather wrapping around my side, the pain surging through me, causing everything to intensify. The inside of my body was on fire.
“The hell?” I asked.
“Lift it.”
I picked up the bucket, not giving myself time to think. My armpits stunk from the adrenaline and I struggled, holding it straight out. It must’ve weighed fifty pounds.
“Five seconds so far. What a good job,” he laughed. The belt swung into me, electrifying my body, the water sloshing out. “If you spill too much, we’ll have to start over. Ten seconds.”
My arms burned. I closed my eyes, pressing my lips together, waiting for that sting. It was only one minute. I could handle one minute.
“You want to prove that you can do anything, but I’m going to win, Fiona,” Sawyer whispered, “Just like I always do.” I clenched my jaw, and he hit me again. The shock of my pain made everything in my body seize up. I pressed my thighs together. “Thirty seconds.”
“What are you doing?” I whined. “This is so messed up.”
“The way I see it, you’re trespassing on my property,” he said. My arms shuddered, my muscles stinging with fatigue, but I held the bucket up, trying hard not to let it go. But it was heavier by the second, dipping down with the weight. “Your sister might be lacking at times, but she’s smart enough to warn you about coming here. So why did you come?” He checked his watch. “Fifty seconds.”
The belt came down again, this time on my arms, wrapping around me and I cried, my arms shaking, the water sloshing onto my legs and I dropped it, the bucket crashing to the floor.
The water inched across the cement. I hugged myself, keeping my eyes on the ground.
“You were so close,” Sawyer chuckled. “Take off your clothes.”
I blinked at him, but when he raised his hand to strike me with the belt again, I removed my top, his eyes glossing over me. My pants down over my hips. No underwear. Exactly how he liked me. He licked his lips, his eyes on my pussy, his lust radiating to my clit.
“Did you drop it on purpose, little slut?” he asked, his voice low and penetrating.
Why would I drop it on purpose?
Did I want him to punish me?
What did that even mean?
A drop trailed between my legs. It’s just sweat, I told myself.
But I knew better.
I wanted this. I wanted Sawyer to teach me a lesson .
I wanted him.
His eyes burned into me, making my cheeks red, but that gaze—that knowledge that he wanted me—made me shiver.
“Hold on to the rails,” he instructed, gesturing at the gate of the pen. I grabbed on, looking over my shoulder at him. “What’s fair, Fiona?”
I puffed my cheeks. Fair? He wanted to talk about the concept of ‘fairness’ right now? “Sawyer?—”
The belt smacked my ass, the stinging pain sizzling into me.
I gasped. “What the?—”
“Spread your legs,” he ordered. I whimpered, but did as I was told, my inner thighs quaking together, desperate to protect myself. He laughed. “Not so fond of snooping now, are you, little slut?” He trailed the end of the leather strap down my back gently, the sensation tickling me. “Look!” He pulled his belt away, displaying it high in the air. “You’re soaking wet.”
My arousal dripped off of his belt. I blushed furiously, hiding behind my frizzy hair, wanting to die.
What kind of person gets even more turned on by something like this?
Me, apparently.
“You are so damn hot,” he said. And those words made me forget my shame. “Dripping for me. Taking my belt. Letting me do whatever I want to you.” He stepped closer, sliding his hands around me, letting the lazy touch of the leather belt tickle my skin even more. “Doing whatever I want to you is fair, isn’t it, plaything?”
I strained closer to him. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, Sawyer.”
Shock pulsed through me; I was so close to saying those two words. I bit my inner lip until I tasted copper. He grinned, clearly catching my almost -slip-up too. As he stepped back, I stumbled, holding myself up on the rails.
“I would say ‘eyes forward,’ but I enjoy watching your reaction.” He swiftly swung back his belt, it smacked my pussy, everything inside of me blazing. My breath was stolen from me.
Yet it was tender. Sensitive. Electric.
And incredible.
He came forward, rubbing his fingers along my wet pussy lips, and I melted, unable to hide it anymore.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his body brushing against mine. “You did so well, taking that punishment for me. So fucking good, baby.” He spun me around, moving his thigh between my legs, staring straight into my soul with need in his eyes. It was like he had transformed into a madman as soon as he felt my pussy with his fingertips, as if I had the ability to make him kneel. I rubbed my slit against his trousers. “You are dirty. Absolutely filthy,” he growled. “And I’m going to fuck you for it.”
He hoisted me up by the hips, wrapping my legs around his body, then carried me to a long, metal table. Sitting with my bare ass on top of the cool surface, his blue-gray eyes held me—full of hunger and need, hunting me, like I was a piece of meat he was going to rip apart. It would have been frightening if it wasn’t so hot.
He tore off his pants and boxers, his cock hanging free and heavy and thick against his thigh, and I gulped, licking my lips. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, those hard abs intimidating me, he pinched my chin, making me look into his eyes.
“My girl wants to play with my dick. Is that it?” he said. “You want to suck my cock, baby? ”
“Yes, Sawyer,” I moaned.
He swooped an arm around me. “I’d love to feel your warm mouth, baby, but right now—” he licked my neck, “—all I want is your pussy.”
His cock impaled me, and I choked out a moan, stunned by his length. He thrust in again.
“Sawyer,” I gasped. No, I thought. Don’t say it.
He plowed into me, pounding my cervix, each thrust concentrated. Deliberate. Slow. My walls trembling around him as if he was ripping me apart.
“What, baby?” he whispered. “What? Tell me what you want.”
“Harder,” I cried. “Faster.”
“The magic word?”
I bit my tongue. This didn’t count. Those two words weren’t together. I was only saying one of the words. He couldn’t win like this.
So I let it come out: “Please,” I cried. Satisfied, he growled and pumped into me, my pussy surging with hot pleasure, edging over to that abyss. The bruises from the belt throbbed, the pain changing into pleasure, our bodies slick with sweat. He grabbed my hair, pulling it back until my throat was taut, then he licked the column of my neck and braced a hand around it. I cried, my pussy gripping around him, the overwhelming sensation conquering me. I came, my entire body tingling with pins and needles, and his cock stayed inside of me, ramming into me even harder, making it hurt.
He pulled out, his come marking me in hot gushes on my red thighs. Without thinking, I dipped my hand into it and licked it up. Even as his cock’s last twitch released, his eyes glued to me, his cock thickening again.
He scooped the rest of his come, shoving it across my face, painting me with the depravity, and I licked it up like a hungry slut, knowing how much he liked it, never leaving his eye contact.
“You are so hot,” he said, and I moaned, pleased with myself, trying not to overthink it. This was better than being fired. Better than court or jail. I could let myself off of the hook for enjoying this. There was no true alternative.
Because yes, I liked being at his mercy.
He suddenly straightened, adjusting his shirt until it was buttoned again, then tossed me my clothes. Like I was a laundry hamper. My heart sank. A switch had gone off in him again. What had changed?
“Don’t mistake this for affection,” he said. He switched the cameras off. “You were trespassing, Fiona, and that was my insurance.”
My stomach dropped. I had forgotten about the cameras. Was he blackmailing me, then? With sex tapes?
“I don’t understand,” I said. “You were hard. You came. You enjoyed it.”
“Who wouldn’t enjoy fucking a beautiful, intelligent woman into submission?”
I blinked rapidly. Was he complimenting or teasing me? And was it truly a blackmail sex tape?
“We’re playing a game,” he reminded me. “I’m closer to winning.”
I sucked in a breath, unsure of what to say. He was right, but it hurt.
He was just using me, wasn’t he?
“You should go home tonight,” he said quietly. My shoulders sagged.
“Why? Where are you going?” I asked. I shook my head at myself. It’s not like he was going to let me into his bed. He had made himself clear. I was only a game to him .
“Home,” he said.
Desperation to keep the conversation going filled me. “That’s not here?”
“No.”
He had mentioned a penthouse in passing once. But as I dressed, I tried to grasp the reason I had originally come here. What was there for me to see?
“What do you do with that?” I asked, pointing to the incinerator. “Is it for animal waste? Dead bodies?” I laughed, but Sawyer didn’t move at all. Apparently, he didn’t find that funny. “I mean, for like, when the cows die or something?”
He shifted his weight, a wary expression coming over his eyes.
“You should know that your sister is involved,” he said calmly, his eyes locked on mine. “She’s just as guilty as the rest of us.”
What would Maisie be guilty of? “What are you talking about?” I asked.
“You want proof?” he asked.
He dug through a metal cabinet on the back wall until he found a small file, identical in shape to the one I had stolen, but with a black stripe. He put it into my hand.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Your proof. It should help with the encryption of the file you stole.”
My stomach tightened. He had noticed, then?
“What do I do with it?” I asked.
“You’re a librarian, right?” he said, escorting me back to my car. Technically, I was an assistant, but the confidence he had in me reminded me that he did respect me. “You’ll figure it out.”