Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Mac
During a break in filming, I see the camera to Ethan’s room is off. I text Di and she says it’s only out for me, sending a screenshot. My mind is set at ease, until a news notification pops up about me.
“Talk Show Host Owen MacKenzie Spotted with Mystery Man in SF.”
In a grainy nighttime shot, likely from the end of the alley, there’s a picture of me holding Ethan’s hand as I drag him from the charity event to my waiting car.
His face is turned towards me, but mine is clear as day.
I didn’t even remember holding his hand as we left, only that I was in my head about what to do with him.
I skim the article and see speculations about my sexuality that I’ve skirted for years.
A message from my publicist pops up and it’s in all caps, so I dismiss it and put my phone on silent again. We go into the next segment interviewing a survivor of fentanyl overdose, and I’m glad the audience surrenders their phones. I don’t need them gossiping about me as a distraction.
That’s what articles about who I’m dating and if I’m into men boil down to. A distraction.
The rest of the show goes well, the audience reacts in expected ways, and before I know it we’ve called cut. I already let the production manager know I’m not available for interviews, but they have a stamp with my signature to put on headshots for them.
Waiting until I’m in my dressing room to check on Ethan is a mistake. When I finally open the app, after washing my face and changing my clothes, I find a surprise. I hate surprises.
Di is sitting in a chair facing Ethan in the guest house bedroom. I’m glad to see he’s got his lap covered, something in me possessive over the man I’ve kidnapped. A primal part of me screams MINE. I tell myself it’s just that I want to use him to catch his father, I push the thoughts aside.
The fact she brought him food isn’t the surprising part. It’s that she left her house at all. I bought the bungalow down the hill from my current place with my first paycheck, and she rarely leaves. I don’t blame her, after her ordeal, but I’m shocked she ventured out for my little captive.
Ignoring my publicist’s calls and the production team’s request I stay to discuss tomorrow’s show, I leave the studio and am glad I drove myself today.
My Audi A6 was my other luxury purchase besides the two houses.
I buy nice clothes to keep up appearances, but most of my money goes to hunting the people I kill.
Plus, Di skims from their offshore accounts to supplement our activities.
Zipping through town in the normal afternoon traffic, I get honked at and a few middle fingers, but I’m not the first asshole they’ve seen in a luxury sports car in LA. Probably not even the first they’ve seen today.
Pulling into my driveway, I don’t bother with the garage, parking behind Di’s classic, yellow Volkswagen Beetle. She won’t let me buy her something newer, but she also rarely drives.
Di drove today. And she’s liable to drive me crazy.
Right when I reach the door to go outside, I see Di closing the door to the casita. I meet her in the middle by the pool as the sun shines down on us, and I don’t even need to say anything before she’s answering my unspoken questions.
“Yes, I blocked your signal so I could sneak in, but the cameras were never offline. I can’t find anything on him that says he’ll try anything to hurt me or anyone else,” she adds, knowing of every person on the planet, hers is the only life I care one iota about. “Be nice to him.”
Narrowing my eyes, I take a deep breath. She wasn’t hurt and Ethan is still inside. “Why should I be nice to him?”
“Honestly?” Di asks with a scoff. “He's innocent.”
“That boy—man, is not innocent,” I insist, thinking of how he begged to suck my cock and got off on my degradation.
Di takes off her glasses to rub at her eyes in frustration. “I mean he’s never done anything to hurt anyone, besides sleeping with people he shouldn’t,” she added pointedly.
She didn’t know about what happened on the plane, she couldn’t since it was chartered and there were no cameras on board, but apparently she guessed. Or did Ethan say something… “What did he tell you?”
“Not much I didn’t already know. He has no training in fighting or any skills that make him a threat.” Di hesitates and then adds, “His dad is an asshole who left him alone a lot, so he hates being confined.”
So Ethan didn’t tell her I’d crossed a few lines.
He didn’t tell me about his aversion to being locked up, but maybe it is one of those things I assume all people dislike and don’t think about how one person feels more strongly about it than others.
I’m not good at caring about an individual's emotions unless it affects me.
Tuning back to Di, she has one judgmental eyebrow raised. “So, are you going to keep the poor man locked up in there forever?”
“Not…forever,” I hedge.
With most people, I would have been plotting how to dispose of him so my secret was safe without a second thought, but that same instinct to protect him I got when I went after Di’s abductors is niggling at me.
“At least let him walk around a bit,” she suggests, patting me on the shoulder before making her way to the house. Di knows I’m not big on touch, and she isn’t either, anymore. “I’ll only monitor the outdoor cameras when you’re home.”
Her parting words have me frozen in place. Di definitely suspects something is going on between me and Ethan, which I don’t even know how to quantify.
Waiting until I hear the car start from the front of my house, I pull out my phone to watch her leave, then go to the tracker app I have for her.
I watch as the dots representing her phone and her car make their way out of my neighborhood.
When I can tell she’s safely at home, I put my phone away and head into the casita.
Ethan is still sitting up in the bed, one arm outstretched to grip the bed frame over a pillow, I imagine to make the cuff more comfortable. He stops with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth when he sees me. “Um, hi. Do you want some? It’s delicious. Di told me her recipe.”
He offers me food like we’re friends. Like he’s not my captive chained to a bed. Fuck, he really is an innocent.
Without thinking over my decision, I pull the key from my pocket and move to stand between his legs. Ignoring his eye contact, I reach over and remove the cuff from his wrist, leaving it to dangle from the bed.
“Come sit at the table,” I tell him, leaving the room without checking that he’s following. I pull out silverware and a plate from the cabinet in the casita kitchenette. I’ve got the table set for one by the time he comes out with the food container.
He sees the place setting and his face scrunches up in confusion. “I already ate half of it, I’m fine if you have the rest.”
“Come here,” I command, and like a good little pet, he listens, shuffling closer as I remember he doesn’t have any clothes on. Taking my seat, I point at the rug under the round table. “Sit.”
Ethan blinks at me, then plops himself down at my feet. He looks up at me through those impossibly thick, dark lashes, “Like this, Sir?”
His obedience is so ingrained in him, it’s a beautiful thing to behold. “Good pet.”
“Is that what I am now?” Ethan asks, licking his lips. “Your pet?”
Without answering right away, I start dishing up food onto my plate. “Well, I can’t very well let you walk free, now. Not with what you know. Can I?”
Ethan’s brows bunch up in thought. “No. I guess not.”
“It’s settled then,” I state, even though it’s not. I know who and what his father is, but I don’t know if Ethan does.