8 - Olive
I stand at the bottom of the steps, looking up at Ean as he climbs. I stay right where I am until he disappears into the thick foliage of trees. Then I let out a breath, hug my jacket close to my body, and turn away.
Back inside, the place is busy now. There’s no music, or customers, for that matter, but there are at least two dozen employees buzzing around getting ready for the day. I know them all, in a casual way. Since Brose and I are both in charge of this operation, I was there when they were all hired. They are mostly women, since it’s kind of a strip bar, but there are some men too.
Everyone is from CORE. There are no outsiders taking part in this operation. It’s way too important. And that’s why it’s in the woods. This is federal land. Part of the parks system.
But that’s not the only reason why only CORE people work here. There is no way Brose and I would get approved to build such an elaborate operation just to snag my brother and his friends. It’s more than that. Much more than that. It’s a base of operations for what’s to come. That’s why there was a new train station built.
Collin, by himself, isn’t important enough to warrant all this special attention. But combined with several other factors, he’s the most important asset in the world. And Trinity County is worth the trouble. Jim Bob Baptist thinks he can get away. He thinks he can get out of his contracts. But no one gets out of their contracts with CORE.
I make my way down the stairs, across the room, and into the back hallways, heading for the office Brose and I share. But when I get there, it’s empty.
Turning, I go back the way I came and enter the kitchen, assuming he probably went to get a cup of coffee. But he’s not in there, either.
“Hey,” I say to one of the servers as she hurriedly rushes past. “Have you seen Brose?” She doesn’t even slow down her pace as she pushes her way through a set of double doors, but she acts like she doesn’t hear me. I ask a few more people as they rush around, getting things set up for the day, but no one answers back. They’re all too busy, so I take that as a no.
I look everywhere. I check every room.
He’s gone.
And he’s not answering his phone.
Which means he’s mad.
Mad that I followed Ean out? Or… mad that I told him to meet me somewhere else?
Brose shouldn’t know that I told Ean to meet me outside of the club because we were all the way over by the stairs. I know we have cameras out there, but there are no microphones close enough to where I was standing to hear what was said. I know that for sure because Brose and I signed off on the placements. I know where every single camera is, both inside the club and out.
But what other reason does he have to be mad?
And if he’s not mad, why did he walk out and leave me here without saying anything?
It’s just past noon, so… I guess it’s possible he went to get lunch?
Possible. Just not probable.
No. He’s mad and he left.
He left me.
Externally, I scoff. Because it’s so like him. Jealousy is a thing with Brose. It’s a flaw in his character, even he knows this. That’s why he’s always trying to maintain control, even when I push him to lose it.
But internally I wince. Because if he needed to walk away from me in order to control himself, he’s more than mad. He’s furious.
Inside the locker room I change, ignoring all the girls around me, who are chatty and friendly with each other, but not me. Once that’s done, I put on my coat and go down the stairs to the train station. For a moment, I have a hope that I’ll find Brose there. The train doesn’t stop here every twenty minutes like some stations. In fact, I’m not even sure what the daytime schedule is, since I’ve never left work at noon before.
But Brose is not in the station. There’s no timetable here to check to see what time the train came and when it will be back, either. So I get no answers to any of my questions. Only more questions.
All I can do is sit down on a bench and wait.
Three trains go by before one stops. It confuses me and I don’t understand what it means.
Are they bypassing me on purpose?
Did Brose report me to management?
Am I in trouble?
When I hear the familiar sound of wind displacement to indicate another train is coming, I almost panic that it won’t stop. Or worse, there will be a team of OIS agents on board, sent to retrieve me.
OIS is short for Operative Integrity Service. Which is really just the military police for CORE. If you fuck up bad enough, they come for you. What happens next, nobody knows, because no one comes back from that.
Did I fuck up that bad when I told Ean Shephard to pick a place to meet outside of the Mule Pit? Surely not. I mean, Brose didn’t even give me a chance to explain.
Still, my chest is thumping when the train slides to a stop in the station and the doors open.
I can’t move and I almost don’t get on. But when the chime starts, indicating that the doors are about to close, I step forward and go inside.
There are people there, about a dozen. All of them alone, like me. Most are engrossed in private conversations with whoever is on the other end of their phones, and a few are sitting silently, looking at the window screens.
I take a seat by the door, feeling very out of sorts because I’ve never taken the train alone before. I’ve never had to. I’ve been with Brose every moment of every day since we became partners two years ago.
I get off in Winchester to change trains, then I’m home, in the station below Grid-21. I get off, and again, a sense of displacement washes over me. What if Brose isn’t here?
What if he really did leave for lunch and came back to find me… missing ?
But that’s not what happened. It took almost two hours before the train finally stopped to pick me up and no one came down looking for me.
He left. More importantly, he left me behind.
And at any point, he could’ve contacted me through our encrypted CORE phones, and he didn’t.
I’m feeling very shaky and out of sorts, not to mention holding my breath, when I key in the code to our door and open it.
That breath comes out because he’s here. Standing in front of the massive window, hands in pockets, with his back to me.
“Brose? What the fuck? Why did you—” But I stop there because he’s turning and even though he’s backlit and I can’t really see his face, I can tell. He’s furious.
There’s a moment of silence between us and in my mind, it feels like it goes on, and on, and on forever.
He takes a step forward, and for some reason, I back up.
“Close the door, Olive.” This is not a request. It’s a command.
I suddenly feel like I’m gonna throw up. Adrenaline spikes, instantly rushing to every part of my body, and I have an almost overpowering urge to run .
But there’s nowhere to go, and I know this, so I reach behind me without taking my eyes off him and tap the door closed.
Again, there is a very ominous moment of silence. His hands are still in his pockets when he takes a few steps towards me and I force myself not to take the same number of steps back. Not because I’m brave—he scares the fuck out of me when he’s like this. Just because I already know that it’ll piss him off even more.
Instead, I smile. “I made progress.”
He sneers. “I bet you did. Did you suck his dick too?”
I want to be offended, but I’m not. But only because I’m used to his jealousy and telling him what he wants to hear—with slight embellishments that simultaneously calm him down—is the only way forward.
“Was it big and hard, Olive? Was it bigger than mine?”
“I would never do that, Brose. Not without your permission. And anyway, if I was going to do that, I would want you to be watching. And how could you be watching if I was outside at the bottom of the stairs where there just happens to be a blind spot in our surveillance?”
He’s very calm when he answers. “Trust me, Olive. That blind spot no longer exists.”
I smile again, nodding. “Good. I told you we’d need a camera there.” Which isn’t even a lie. We ran out of equipment that last day when the cameras were going up and he made the decision to omit the bottom of the steps from the grid so we could have one along the coke ovens.
He takes another step forward. “Do you want to suck his dick?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m a Silent Intelligence Operative and you’re my Personal Operations Director. You think for me, I act for you.”
He takes one more step forward. “You say that, but do you believe it? Do you really believe that your wants and needs are secondary to mine? If they are allowed to exist at all. And really, under Directive 1 of the SIO Code of Conduct, they’re not, Olive. You have no free will. I think for you, you act for me. You agreed to this.”
“I know that, Brose. That’s what I just said. Why are you mad? I didn’t do anything wrong. I set up a meeting?—”
He picks up a vase and throws it across the room, making it shatter against the wall. I flinch back, putting my hands up to cover my face when the glass shards go flying, but still, I feel the sting when some of them hit me.
Then he’s here. Right in front of me. His hand on my throat, pushing me backwards. I hit the door, looking up at him, afraid of what he might do next, but also—and I can’t even admit this to myself without feeling shame—turned on. I close my eyes, moaning. Wanting him to choke me. Wanting him to fuck me. Wanting him to turn me over across his knee and slap me on the ass until it’s so sore, I can’t sit.
But the pressure on my neck from his hand is almost nonexistent, that’s how light his touch is. He won’t do it. He won’t do any of that. Not in anger.
What he does is lean into my face. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes and find his staring back at me, maybe an inch away.
“Tell me, word for word, what happened outside in the blind spot, Olive. And if you want me to choke you, and fuck you, and spank you, then don’t you dare leave out a single fucking thing.”
So I tell him. I leave nothing out. My debrief takes less than a minute. It was a very short encounter. And this is not quite enough time for Brose to fully pull himself together, so he stands there, glaring at me, for another few minutes as I wait—my lust for him manifesting as a pool of wetness between my legs—as he internalizes everything I’ve said.
Finally, he lets out a breath and the pressure on my neck increases. I close my eyes, again moaning.
“Tell me how much you want it, Olive. Beg me to choke you.”
“Please,” I whisper, leaning into the pressure of his hand. “ Please .”
His fingertips close down, just a little. Just enough to make me hiss. Then his hand is popping the button on my slacks, forcing itself inside until he finds my lust. His fingers slide back and forth across my sweet spot and this almost makes me come.
But he’s there—always there—cautioning me not to do it. “Hold it in, Olive. Because if you let it out, I’ll never touch you again.”
That’s the thing about Brose and me. He’ll throw a vase across the room, shattering it into pieces, but he would never hit me. Because I’d enjoy that too much and what is the point of punishment if I enjoy it?
No. The violence is my reward .
It satisfies a sick need inside me that craves pain.
The next thing I know, I’m on the floor, waking up. He did it. He choked me. I practically come just thinking about it as he drags me across the floor and over to the couch. Then he picks me up, bends me over the back of it, and fucks me in the ass.
I come so many times, I lose count.
And when that’s over, he sits, puts me across his lap, and slaps my ass until I come some more.