Chapter 37
COLE
Kate picked a disaster of a day to break out.
I’ve sent a new employee, Tyler Orbach, up to Boston to handle Fiona Moran’s account, recalling the too-laid-back Jalen Carpenter.
Tyler is under strict instructions to check in three times a day so I can intervene with Fiona at the first sign that anything’s going awry. I hope the kid can save the account.
I received a call from another member of the Diamond Ring, Gage Rider, with an offer of work.
By day, Rider owns Atlantic City’s professional hockey team, the Aces.
By night, he runs Kynk, an underground sex club in Brooklyn.
Kynk needs to update its client management software.
Ordinarily, that type of thing is way below my pay grade, but given the club’s elite clientele and their need for absolute security… I agreed to write the code.
I’m handling a small matter for FirstCayman Limited, reinforcing the bank’s firewall, which must be completed by close of business.
I’m consulting on the in-home computer network for a certain government official who has recently been named director of an agency so secret it doesn’t appear on any official site.
I’m keeping an eye on all the Ice Knights in Winter Reckoning, monitoring the conversation in their new, private chat room. Kate—CyberGhost—has heard about the new in-game status, and she’s demanded admission, but so far she seems content to wait for an answer.
I’m receiving a whole new round of questions from reporters about the client hit list. I don’t know if my blackmailer has released new information, or if the earlier list is simply being shared more broadly.
I sent Nilsson out to clear the walk twice this morning, issuing a blanket No Comment to paparazzi questions.
I suspect the matter isn’t put to bed yet.
Barry Lynch has called six times since breakfast.
And I have ten days left to decide how to respond to my blackmailer’s threat to disclose my fraudulent past.
So I obviously didn’t have time to go chasing after Kate. Not when I’ve expressly forbidden her to leave the premises. Not when the tracker Nilsson placed in the seam of her new jacket went off like a tornado siren in the middle of a conference call with three Swiss bank presidents.
But it’s a good thing I followed her.
My sweet sub is wrestling with the truth. She’s accepting what I’ve known since my palm landed on her cheek in Boston. For the first time in her life, she’s willing to hand over all her power to another person—me—and it scares the ever-loving shit out of her.
Once I understood what she was grappling with, that she wasn’t just testing my rules for the usual hell of it, I was more than willing to buy her a cup of coffee. It was worth losing an hour, to give my wife what she needs.
I lost another hour, though, staring at my computer screen, wondering why it was so goddamn difficult for Kate to admit that her grandmother loves her. Actually prefers her to the seemingly perfect, unbearably dull Breagha.
And I lost one more to the inevitable fallout of Kate’s unsanctioned little field trip. Because there will be consequences. She left the premises despite my specific command to the contrary, and she manipulated Ms. Sutton to do it.
Dinner will be hell tonight.
I linger in my office until five after six, testing a new sorting algorithm I intend to sell to my banking clients.
But I’m just delaying the inevitable. Steeling myself for certain fireworks, I make my way to the dining room, only to find that Kate has not yet arrived.
I fiddle with my silverware. Consider pouring myself a stiff drink.
Decide to keep my head clear for what’s about to happen.
Fifteen minutes later, Kate finally strolls into the dining room. She isn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.
Her hair is loose around her face, every curl springing in a different direction. The scrawl on her chest has faded slightly, but the words are still perfectly clear: Fuck You.
It’s cold in here, or she’s excited: Her nipples stand at full attention, flushed darker than her lips. A clinical part of my brain wishes we were down in the basement. I haven’t used clamps on her yet.
I may not have the opportunity for quite a while.
Her belly rises and falls with her rapid breathing.
She settles her hands on her hips, daring me to comment.
Her legs are spread just enough that I can glimpse the cutting scars on her left thigh.
They range from pink to crimson against her pale, taut flesh.
Her Red Cap tattoo is lost in the shadows.
Meeting her gaze without blinking, I say, “You’ll want to take your plate into the kitchen. Raid the refrigerator.”
“Anna didn’t cook?” She sits on the edge of her chair, as if she always eats without the armor of her clothing.
I should have poured that drink. It would give me something to look at now, something to concentrate on without staring at Kate’s body. “Anna is across the street,” I say. “Sitting with your grandmother.”
She pushes back from the table so fast, her chair screeches a complaint. “What’s wrong with Granny?”
I force myself to smile as if I’ve won a boardroom battle. “Nothing,” I say. “But Ms. Sutton’s replacement won’t arrive until morning.”
She tries to swallow. Can’t. “Why is Ms. Sutton being replaced?”
“Because she let you roam free.”
“It wasn’t her fault!”
“She knew the rules.”
“I lied to her. I made up a story.”
“Rules.”
“Goddammit! Granny liked her!”
“That’s unfortunate. But she’ll get used to her new caregiver just as quickly as she got used to Ms. Sutton. Faster, maybe. Because now she’s had practice.”
Kate throws herself back in her chair. From the set of her jaw, she knows it won’t do any good to argue.
“Go get something to eat,” I say.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need your strength,” I say. “For your punishment downstairs.”
I need my strength too. It’s taking all my willpower not to pull her out of that chair and fuck her on the table. I clench my fists to remind my eager cock that we have our own rules to follow.
She says, “I’m not going downstairs with you.” It’s her turn to fiddle with silverware. I know she’s doing it to avoid looking at my face.
“That’s why you came to dinner naked,” I manage to answer levelly.
“I came to dinner naked, because you planted some sort of tracker in my clothes.”
“I need to protect my wife.”
“You can’t protect me by treating me like a prisoner!”
“I beg to differ.”
“You don’t beg for anything,” she mutters.
“Correct,” I say. “But you will.”
I push back from the table. We can both eat later.