CHAPTER ELEVEN
MATHIAS
We arrive at the private airstrip twenty minutes later, and that’s when Allison breaks the quiet contemplation she fell into after we left her apartment.
“Why are we here?” she asks, nervously sipping the bottled water I gave her earlier.
“To fly to Boston.” I finish emailing my lawyers that we need to push our meeting to later tonight. Once we arrive in Boston, I’ll need to get Allie settled before heading into the office.
“What? I thought we were driving to a new apartment complex. Not leaving the state! People will worry. My coworkers, friends.”
“You mean friends like Bailey who take advantage of you, or the ones from Paris who deserted you after you were fucking shot?” I don’t pussyfoot around with laying out the facts. Allie’s life needs an overhaul from the living situation to her friends.
Although a group of men known as the Blackchapel Bastards may not be a good replacement, it’s what she’s got.
“Oh my god.” She drops her head in her hands. “Those were my coworkers, and they came to the hospital after you left.”
“They should have been by your side from the start,” I retort. “You gave yourself to me, remember? My job would be impossible with hundreds of miles between us. In Boston, I can make sure you’re properly taken care of.”
“So… what? I remain holed up at a hotel for the foreseeable future?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoff as a text vibrates with confirmation for the evening's meeting time. “I’m not stashing you in a hotel. You’re staying at Blackchapel Manor with me. And it’s not like you’re a prisoner. You have two million dollars in your bank account. Figure out what you want to do, and do it.”
“This is too much,” she groans. Her knee bounces, bumping into the door with a rhythmic thump, until I drop a hand over her lap to stop the movement before she bruises herself.
Our driver unloads the trunk and gives Allie’s suitcase to Kurie, the flight attendant, who rolls it to the undercarriage storage. The pilot greets us at the bottom of the short staircase leading into the fuselage, and soon we’re buckled into the large leather seats as the plane speeds down the runway.
Once we’re airborne, I signal Kurie for snacks.
“Have you eaten today?”
Allison’s curious gaze roams around the cabin before landing on me. “Yes, of course.” She says it like it should be obvious, but there’s a shift in her demeanor, and immediately, warning bells go off in my head.
“Let me rephrase: What exactly did you eat? And don’t lie to me.”
She fidgets uncomfortably in her seat, so I reach across the empty space between us to unbuckle her seatbelt and drag her into my lap. It’s an awkward tug of war as she wiggles beneath my hands in protest.
My fingertips dig into her soft love handles hard enough to leave marks.
“Enough,” I command. “If I want you in my lap, then that’s where you’re damn well going to be. Perhaps it’ll make you think twice before trying to lie to me, either outright or by omission.”
She freezes in my arms, her lush body conforming to my sharp angles, and I fight the temptation to forget my plan for food and skip straight to devouring her . It’s been a while since I last fucked a woman—I’ve been too busy brokering the Petit deal to bother with sex—but Allie’s generous weight in my lap, her sweet scent teasing my nose, has me ready to break months of celibacy.
“I’m not your roommate or whoever else required kid gloves. I’m the man you’ve relinquished control to. In every aspect of your life, Angel, and I don’t do anything in half-measures. Something you ought to learn quickly unless you’re ready to face the consequences of disobeying me.”
Despite the warning, one of these days, she’ll do exactly that. It’s inevitable, and I can’t wait to see the red imprint of my hand on her ass.
Today, Allie is too raw and fragile from what she’s been through. She needs time and space to adjust to her new circumstances.
But there’s a limit to what I’ll accept, and Allie lying to me is a hard one.
"A frozen breakfast burrito and coffee."
"And lunch?"
I can tell she doesn't want to tell me. It's in the way she tries to curl into a little ball as if making herself smaller will ever be able to hide her from me.
“Lunch?” I repeat more firmly.
"A handful of trail mix," she mumbles. "I was in the middle of emptying the sink and didn't want to mess up my groove by stopping. Then I got distracted because the dishwasher was already full which meant I needed to put those dishes away first. And... I couldn't bring myself to make lunch. It felt like too much work."
My palm cups her jaw, and the anxious clenching of muscles there is a beacon for my thumb as I gently massage the area. A woman as soft as Allison shouldn't be consumed by tension. Shouldn't be rigid and strained.
She should be languid and relaxed because of how safe and content she feels.
And that’s exactly my goal.
I’ve fantasized about having something of my own. Growing up with six other boys in a strict prison-like environment, it was one of my favorite dreams to pull out and examine before stuffing the desire deep inside.
The problem with owning something— or someone —is the worry over losing it.
Conrad refused to let us get attached to anything. Even the brotherhood that formed between us had to be carefully concealed with apathy and nonchalance.
I don’t have Conrad waiting in the wings to snatch Allison from me, but I do have enemies. All of the Blackchapel Bastards do, yet I took her anyway.
What’s the point of being the master of my world if I can’t do whatever the fuck I want? If that means claiming Allison completely and owning her submission, then I’m damn well going to do it.
Kurie discreetly unfolds the hidden table to our right and delivers a circular charcuterie board filled with fruits, cheeses, and a variety of meats before retreating.
Plucking a purple grape and a triangle of gruyere from the selection, I raise it to Allison’s mouth.
“That won’t happen again. If I’m not around to personally ensure you’re eating, one of my brothers will be, along with our housekeeper, Mrs. Shandy. Now, eat.” Allie stares between me and the food hovering in front of her before tentatively accepting the offering, her lips parting an inch to let me feed her.
“Good girl,” I murmur, warmth spreading through my chest with each bite she takes from me.
I’ve never fed a woman with my own hand before. I’ve limited my desire for dominance to the confines of the bedroom, after specifically arranging for women who understood the score—no-strings-attached sex.
Let me control the scene, and I’ll guarantee your pleasure. But nothing extended past the four walls of whatever hotel suite I reserved for the evening.
The type of relationship I’m interested in isn’t for the casual hook-up, and frankly, it hasn’t been a priority to explore that side of myself within something more permanent. I have my father to take down, along with the rest of The Syndicate. Revenge has been the motivating factor in my life—not settling down.
I wasn't lying when I told Allie how starved I am for an arrangement like this. We skipped the slow build-up of trust and dove headfirst into what amounts to a binding verbal contract in my mind.
Allison proved her trustworthiness by saving my life.
I will repay the favor tenfold by tending to her every need.
In return, the beast inside me that craves the privilege of a woman’s submission—craves Allie’s submission—will be satisfied.
I will finally have something of my own. Someone who is all mine.
For the next few minutes, we continue the process of me choosing her next bite, and Allie quietly accepting it, until she hesitantly stops my wrist and reaches for one of the small bottles of water Kurie left behind with the food.
She swallows a couple of gulps. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“I know you’re on the board of Blackchapel Inc., but is that all? Maybe I’ve seen too many movies, but that drive-by seemed meant for you, and it worries me that I might be getting involved with someone who’s…” Her teeth nibble her bottom lip as she searches for the right words. “Bad for me.”
“Make no mistake. I am bad for you, but it’s too late to turn back now.” You're mine. The decision to bring her into my life might as well be written in stone, but I debate how much to share about my world.
She’ll learn soon enough at the manor.
“My brothers and I run Blackchapel Incorporated, but that’s just a means to an end. Our true purpose is more complicated. The incident in Paris was targeted toward Luca, the man who was with me. His dad arranged it.”
Allie jerks back. “His dad? Isn’t he your dad, too?”
“No. None of us are blood-related, except for Dmitri and Aleksei. Our bond goes deeper than blood because of how we were raised. We’re the illegitimate sons of men who run an organized crime ring known as The Syndicate. I'll spare you the details, but my brothers and I are determined to bring down the organization and ruin our bastard fathers.”
At my admission, her brows practically reach her hairline as she fidgets in my lap.
“I understand the need for retribution after a troubled childhood, but wouldn’t it be easier to move on? It seems too dangerous to challenge a crime ring when there are so few of you. I mean I don’t know how many brothers you have, but I doubt it’s enough to crush something as ominous sounding as The Syndicate.”
“There are seven of us, and we’re known as the Blackchapel Bastards because of our ruthless reputations,” I say. “Blackchapel Inc. is the legitimate side of our dealings. Its criminal underbelly is Blackthorn, a legion of men loyal to us and our cause, so you don’t need to worry. Decades of training is in our veins. You’ll be kept safe. I promise you that.”
We’ve turned Blackchapel Manor into a monolith of security measures. No one is getting within an inch of the property without us knowing about it.
Which is why my little angel will remain behind its ivy-covered walls until I arrange for her security detail.
I’m not taking any chances of someone stealing her away from me.