Chapter 16
J ax
In my office, I called up the feed from the surveillance cameras in Louisa’s bedroom.
She sat on the edge of her bed, one of the Georgia Jones books open in her lap, but she wasn’t reading.
Her eyes appeared distant and unfocused, and her fingers nervously pleated the fabric of her dress.
The perineal sensor, as always, provided a more intimate look into her state of mind.
Her arousal levels remained low, but her stress indicators seemed elevated—a predictable response to the morning’s events and the looming prospect of being shared with Rudy and Mateo.
I zoomed in on her face. Even in the slightly grainy resolution of the camera, I could see the turmoil in her expressive eyes. She was scared, yes, but there was something else there too—a flicker of determination that I didn’t recall seeing so intensely before.
My phone rang, and I picked it up distractedly, my eyes still focused on Louisa’s face.
Esme’s voice crackled in my ear. “Jax, you there?”
I leaned forward in my chair, glancing at the live biometric feed. “Loud and clear.”
“She’s syncing her heart rate spikes with her muscle tension,” Esme said. “Louisa’s thinking about slipping away soon. Smart, resourceful—just like I warned.”
I muted the monitor briefly. “Is this the same brand of resourcefulness you mentioned yesterday?”
“Exactly,” Esme confirmed. “She’s already plotting. Your Little Lulu is wildcatting at the thought of being shared, just like we thought.”
I unmuted and studied Louisa on screen. Her gaze flitted from the window to her book, then settled on the door. Restlessness. A faint smile curved my lips. “She’s calculating. What would Georgia Jones do, right?”
Esme laughed softly. “She focused hard on that yesterday, the algorithm thinks. Of course she’s trying to come up with an exit. You want my guess, she’s thinking of the fire door in your gym.”
I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. “Her little mind is working overtime. How much leash should I give her when she makes her move? Let Rudy and Mateo give chase immediately, or…”
“Fifteen minutes, minimum,” Esme replied decisively.
“Let her think she’s gotten away. The psychological impact will be far more effective that way.
When she believes she’s escaped, the ambivalence between relief and regret will be overwhelming—and then when she’s recaptured, the ambivalence in the opposite direction will break down more resistance than a quick correction ever could. ”
“Fifteen minutes in this city,” I mused. “Seems risky.”
“Your bodyguards can track her through the perineal sensor. She won’t get far enough to be in real danger,” Esme assured him. “Besides, the tracking signal is broadcasting to your watch continuously. You’ll know exactly where she is, in real time.”
“You’re right,” I conceded. “The lesson needs to sink in properly.”
“Exactly. Let her taste freedom just long enough to make the recapture meaningful. She needs to believe escape is impossible, not just difficult.”
After disconnecting with Esme, I immediately called Rudy.
“Sir?” Rudy answered on the first ring.
“Our little girl is planning to run,” I said without preamble. “Most likely during her gym session today. The fire exit.”
“Do you want us to prevent it?” Rudy asked, his voice professionally neutral.
“No. Let her get out. Give her fifteen minutes head start, then bring her back. Mateo should follow at a distance to ensure her safety, but stay out of sight. You’ll coordinate the actual recapture.”
“Understood, sir. Bring her straight to you?”
I paused, considering. “Yes. Bring her right to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
After ending the call, I returned my attention to the surveillance feed. Louisa had picked up the Georgia Jones book again, but her eyes kept drifting to the door. The determined set of her jaw made something tighten in my chest.
I zoomed in on her face, studying the delicate curve of her cheek, the slight furrow between her brows as she concentrated.
The operation had proceeded exactly as planned so far.
Louisa was responding to the Bad Girl Program protocols with textbook perfection.
Everything was on schedule for the conference with Oscar and Viktor.
So why did I feel this unexpected reluctance? This protective instinct that seemed to grow stronger each time I looked at her?
“Damn it,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. “God damn it, Little Lulu. Do you have to be so smart, let alone so adorable?”
Louisa
When Rudy unlocked the door and entered, I did my best to seem resigned to my life as Jax’s little girl—the way my version of Georgia Jones would be, with the dominant older husband who knew how to use a young bride properly.
“Time for your workout, little one,” he said, his deep voice making my stomach flutter despite myself. “Let’s get you changed.”
I set the book aside, assuming a posture of demure compliance as he approached with workout clothes—the same skimpy sports bra as yesterday and nothing else. My heart began to race, but not from fear. This was it. My chance.
“Yes, Daddy Rudy,” I murmured, standing and letting him remove my dress.
His huge hands worked efficiently to unfasten my diaper, his fingers lingering a moment too long between my thighs. I forced myself not to recoil, remembering that I needed to play along, to lull him into complacency.
“Should I use the toilet first, Daddy?” I asked softly, looking up at him through my lashes.
“Good girl for asking,” he praised, guiding me to the bathroom. “Yes, you should.”
As he watched me pee, I kept my eyes downcast, pretending shyness while my mind raced through the plan one final time. Get to the gym. Wait for a moment when Rudy is distracted. Run for the fire exit. Find help.
Simple. Straightforward. My only chance.
Once dressed in just the sports bra and running shoes, I followed Rudy through the apartment toward the private elevator that would take us to the gym. The cool air raised goosebumps on my bare legs and bottom, but I ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on what lay ahead.
“You’re quiet today,” Rudy observed as the elevator descended. “Thinking about tonight?”
I blushed genuinely, the reminder of what awaited me if I failed to escape sending a jolt of both fear and—God help me—unwanted arousal through my body.
“Yes, Daddy Rudy,” I whispered. “I’m… nervous.”
His large hand came to rest possessively on my bare bottom. “Don’t worry, little girl. Daddy Rudy will be gentle. At first.”
The elevator doors opened, and I followed him into the hallway, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he must hear it. The gym doors loomed ahead, and beyond them, freedom.
Rudy pushed them open, revealing the now-familiar space with its state-of-the-art equipment and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. And there, just as I remembered, the glowing red exit sign above a metal door.
“Let’s start with some stretching,” Rudy said, moving toward a closet. “I’ll get the yoga mat.”
This was it. My moment.
As Rudy turned his back to open the closet door, I bolted. My running shoes made almost no sound on the padded floor as I sprinted toward the fire exit. I hit the push bar with both hands, throwing my weight against it.
For one heart-stopping moment, I feared it would be locked, that my one chance at freedom would be thwarted before it began. But the door gave way with a click and the bang of the push bar, swinging open to reveal a concrete stairwell beyond.
I slipped through, pulling the door closed behind me. The stairwell was dimly lit, emergency lights casting eerie shadows on the gray walls. I paused, listening for sounds from below, but heard nothing except my own ragged breathing.
Freedom. I was actually doing this.
I flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Three flights down, I paused on a landing, my mind racing. Rudy had already reached the door, I felt certain. I needed to put as much distance between us as possible.
I heard the echo of the door from the gym opening.
“Louisa, honey,” Rudy’s voice echoed from somewhere above me, unnervingly calm. “You’re already in a lot of trouble. Don’t make this worse.”
My heart leapt into my throat. He’d moved faster than I’d hoped. I continued my descent, stepping as quietly as possible now, my palms sweaty against the metal railing.
Two floors down from Jax’s penthouse, maybe the building’s fifteenth or sixteenth floor, I eased open the door, peeking into a hallway that looked like it belonged in a luxury apartment building.
Plush carpet, elegant wall sconces, numbered doors—this wasn’t a commercial area.
These were residences. 1653, 1651, 1649… yes, the sixteenth floor.
I slipped through, closing the door silently behind me, and began walking down the hallway as calmly as I could manage.
I was painfully aware of my state of undress—wearing only a sports bra and running shoes, my naked bottom and bare pussy exposed for anyone to see.
But that might work to my advantage. Surely someone would help a half-naked, clearly distressed young woman?
I tried door after door, hoping to find one unlocked, somewhere to hide or someone to help me.
The first four were locked tight. My panic grew with each failed attempt, but the rich people who lived in a building like this one, I knew, were the kind who thought themselves immune from crime. Someone would have…
The fifth door I tried, to Apartment 1648, turned under my hand.
Relief flooded through me as I slipped inside, closing it softly behind me.
I found myself in an elegant apartment, tastefully decorated in neutral tones.
From somewhere deeper in the space, I heard voices—an older couple discussing their plans for the day.
“I think we should take the long route through the park,” a woman’s voice said. “The cherry blossoms are at their peak.”
“Whatever you want, dear,” a man replied indulgently.
They were coming closer. I darted to my right, finding a bathroom and ducking inside just as the couple entered the hallway. Through the crack in the door, I watched them pass—a distinguished silver-haired gentleman and his elegant wife, dressed for a morning walk.
“Did you leave the front door unlocked again?” the woman chided gently.
“I must have,” he replied. “Sorry, dear.”
I listened as the door closed behind them, my heart racing so fast I could hear it pounding in my ears. How long would I have before Rudy realized I’d slipped into an apartment? How many doors would he check? I needed to move quickly.
First things first—I needed to block the perineal sensor Jax and Esme had mentioned during the humiliating fitting.
If what I’d overheard was true, they were tracking me through some kind of device placed inside me, somehow.
The thought made me shudder with violation, but I pushed the feeling aside. I had to focus on escape.
I raided the kitchen, frantically opening drawers until I found what I needed—aluminum foil.
I’d read somewhere that metal could disrupt electronic signals.
I tore off a large piece and, blushing furiously at what I was about to do, fashioned it into a makeshift diaper.
The foil was cold against my skin as I pressed it between my legs, covering the area where I imagined this invasive sensor might be.
Next, I needed clothes. I crept down the hallway to what I hoped was the bedroom, wincing at every creak of the hardwood floors beneath my feet.
The master bedroom was immaculate—a king-sized bed with an elaborate duvet, matching nightstands, and a large dresser.
I went straight for the dresser, pulling open drawers until I found women’s underwear.
The panties were enormous, obviously belonging to the older woman I’d seen.
I took off the aluminum foil and slipped them on anyway, grimacing at how they sagged around my hips.
Over these, I carefully repositioned my metal shield.
In another drawer, I found sweatpants with a drawstring waist. I pulled them on, tightening the string as much as possible.
A closet yielded a plain t-shirt that hung loosely on my frame.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
I looked ridiculous—swimming in oversized clothes with aluminum foil crinkling between my legs—but at least I was covered.
The collar still circled my neck, a damning reminder of what I was escaping.
I tugged at the buckle, but it seemed to have some kind of high-tech lock that only opened to Jax and his men.
All the more reason to take it off, since it, too, probably had some kind of location device.
I went back to the kitchen and found something I’d seen earlier, a pair of poultry shears. I returned to the mirror. Carefully I maneuvered the shears until I had the leather of the collar between their blades.
I hesitated, barely able to think straight.
If Jax caught me, and I’d destroyed my collar this way, he would punish me, I felt certain.
He would go way beyond my daily whipping—I was sure about that, too.
A distant part of me understood that the idea of ruining the collar held something else, too, though: fear of a different kind of consequence from Jax’s huge hand or his savage belt on my bare bottom.
I would also ruin the strange, but real bond I’d started to feel with him, the affection I had crazily developed for my daddy.
All the better , my logical mind said. Do it.
I cut through the collar. A whimper escaped my lips, the sound coming from so many conflicting emotions that I could never have listed them all.