Chapter 13 Wyatt #2
She thought she was hiding. She thought those blankets were a secret.
He pulled up his secure terminal, opening his encrypted personal messaging app.
He had her number locked into his primary directory now.
He picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over the keys as he formulated a directive.
He didn't want to spook her before Monday, but he needed to establish a digital tether.
He needed her to know that even when she was out of his sight, she was still under his perimeter.
Wyatt: You're off the clock until Monday morning. Keep the laptop closed this weekend, get some real food in you, and stay inside out of the cold. I expect you at the office at nine sharp. Don't be late, little one.
He sent the message, watching the status icon shift to Delivered.
He didn't expect a reply—not immediately.
She was likely staring at her phone right now in some dark corner of the city, panicking over how to structure a response that sounded sufficiently professional.
Let her stew in it. The boundary had been set.
Wyatt stood up from his desk, the mental weight of the data layer requiring a physical release. He stripped out of his tailored shirt and trousers, changing into heavy black athletic shorts and a sleeveless compression shirt before heading down the short corridor to his private home gym.
He didn't waste time on a warmup, moving directly to the barbell and loading the sleeves until the total weight sat at three hundred and fifteen pounds. Wedging his massive shoulders under the knurled steel, he lifted the bar from the rack with an efficient, explosive grunt.
He dropped into a deep, methodical squat, his core locked tight as he drove the weight back up.
One.
He dropped again, the rhythmic strain of his muscles providing the exact mental clarity he needed.
Two.
With every repetition, his mind tracked back to the logic of her security structure.
He was going to have to rebuild her from the ground up.
On Monday, his first priority would be her banking details—he would ensure her funds cleared by noon so she had immediate liquidity.
By Wednesday, he would have his real estate team source a secure, high-end apartment within a four-block radius of the Enigma compound.
He would handle the security deposit and the first year’s lease completely out of his own private bank accounts.
He didn't care about the cost, and he certainly wasn't going to make her pay him back a single dime.
She just needed a safe harbor, and he was going to give it to her, whether her pride liked it or not.
Ten.
He racked the bar with a heavy, metallic crash, his breath coming in steady, controlled bursts as he wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. He didn't pause. He walked directly over to the heavy leather punching bag that hung from the center of the room.
He wrapped his hands with thick black cotton strips, tucking the loose ends secure against his wrists. Then, he began to throw.
His jabs were sharp, precise, and heavy, the leather of the bag groaning under the impact of his knuckles.
He followed with a brutal, thunderous right hook that sent the hundred-pound bag swinging violently toward the ceiling.
He caught it on the rebound, anchoring it with his forearms as he leaned his forehead against the cold leather.
She was going to be a project. He didn't treat people like software parameters—but she needed structural intervention.
She needed discipline, she needed food, and she needed a complete wall of authority to lean against so she could finally stop running.
And he was uniquely qualified to provide all three.
Wyatt unwrapped his hands, letting the cotton strips drop to the bench before walking back into his master suite.
He stepped into the massive, slate-tiled walk-in shower, turning the rainfall overhead valve completely to the right until the water blasted down in a steaming, high-pressure torrent.
He stood beneath the heat for twenty minutes, letting the water wash away the sweat and the tension of the long day, his mind firmly locked onto the evening ahead.
The impact play demo at the Enigma club theater tonight was an exclusive event for their inner circle and premium tier clients—a controlled, safe environment designed to showcase the precise intersection of dominance, submission, and absolute physical trust. It was the world he and the other three men had built to survive the grinding, chaotic reality of Bridgeport.
A world of rules. A world of complete clarity.
He dried off, wrapping a thick black towel around his waist as he walked into his custom wardrobe.
He selected a crisp, tailored charcoal shirt, a pair of dark pants, and a black structured blazer that accentuated his massive frame.
He slipped a sleek leather-strapped watch onto his wrist, checking the time. Eight-fifteen. Perfect.
He grabbed his keys and his phone from his office desk. As he walked out the door, he checked his notifications one last time. There was no text back from Bitsy.
Wyatt smiled slightly, a dark, dangerous expression that boded both well and poorly for the little hacker come Monday morning. She was hiding. But she couldn't hide from him anymore.
He took the elevator down to the private garage, climbed back into his SUV, and navigated the dark, neon-lit streets of Bridgeport toward the secure executive lot at Enigma. The night was just beginning, and he had an empire to run.