Chapter 2 #2
Clark Preston’s dark force rolled across the gap separating her from him and settled with a heavy presence on her shoulders. A dark gray Armani suit brushed the tops of his Salvatore Ferragamo dress shoes, and the firmness of his steps echoed in the expanse of the foyer.
Eleven steps—that was how many it took. Not ten, not twelve, but eleven. The number was precise and had been ingrained in her mind since she the age of twelve.
One…two…three…
Each thunderous sound snapped with the beating of her heart.
“Congratulations,” he said.
Four…five…six…
Her heart beat against the cage of her chest, pumping adrenaline through her veins.
Elsbeth squeezed her eyes shut, packaging up the fragile pieces of her mind and locking them away.
She eased her breathing, not daring to show any signs of fear.
He would seize upon her weakness and exploit it, and she didn’t need to give him an advantage, not when he held all the cards.
This was a war she could not win. A battle of attrition, however, that she would endure.
Eleven came much too quickly, and the polished leather of his shoe brushed her forehead. “Give your daddy a kiss, little one.”
Lifting her head, she brushed the top of his shoe with her lips. The ritual disgusted her, but as Forest had said, this was nothing but a channel of time. She would have to get from this moment to the next and through the one following that. That was the path they would take until morning came.
Survive. That was the goal.
Eventually, Clark Preston would tire and take to his rooms upstairs, and as he retired for the night, she would unlock those parts of herself she’d jealously guarded. All would be right.
If only she could find a way to make Clark Preston disappear forever and not merely for the span of a day…
Revulsion rippled through Elsbeth’s body with the press of her lips against the fine Italian leather of Clark Preston’s shoes.
Everything about the man screamed power, control, domination, and terror, especially when he aimed his sick desires upon her and Forest. A rich man, he was deemed a perfect foster father, and the social workers loved that he preferred fostering older children.
They saw his firmness as a strength to help troubled teens find their way through the system and into independent living.
In many ways, Forest’s arrival had been both a blessing and a curse.
He took pressure off the demands that had been placed upon her, but Clark Preston’s carefully crafted threats would turn her hesitation to eagerness.
Whatever it took to draw attention away from the scrawny little boy with perpetual tears in his eyes, she would manage.
And, with those memories swirling to the forefront of her mind, Clark Preston lowered himself into a crouch.
As she suppressed a shiver, Elsbeth’s breathing hitched.
This wasn’t the usual sequence of events.
His slender but unforgiving index finger dug into the soft tissue beneath her jaw, forcing her head up.
She lifted her eyes to meet the steel shimmering in his gaze while willing her body not to tremble at his touch.
“Little one,” he said, “you forgot your collar. Tsk, tsk.” The angle of his gaze cut over her shoulder, latching on to Forest standing at rigid attention. “Did you tell Elsbeth that we were having company?”
“Yes, sir.” There was no hesitation in Forest’s voice.
He couldn’t protect her from the mistake. They both knew this, and to lie to Clark Preston was to invite punishment. Enough pain would come without either of them asking for more.
Clark Preston swept the hair off her nape. The flowing long strands brushed the expensive wool of the carpet. His fingers scraped against her skin, pebbling her flesh. “I am not pleased, little one.”
She gritted her teeth. He was never pleased.
Perfection was impossible. And forgetting her collar was a nearly unforgivable sin.
Begging forgiveness would excite him, and for that reason, she said nothing, not that he’d granted her the right to speak.
Her mouth had only one purpose, as far as he was concerned, and it wasn’t to waste time with unnecessary words.
“It’s a shame,” he said with a sigh.
With her vision glittering behind a veil of unshed tears, the crystal of his watch flashed in her periphery.
“Our guests will be here at any moment. Now, my pets, where do you think we should entertain them?”
“I prepared the basement for you and your guests, sir,” Forest said.
They had assigned tasks. Hers was to turn her body into a flawless tableau for Clark Preston’s amusement.
Forest’s preparations weren’t as extensive, but he was charged with setting up the basement each night.
They would clean up afterward while Clark Preston stumbled upstairs to retire in his rooms.
The one saving grace in both their lives lay within the sanctuary of their rooms. For some reason, that space was inviolate. Not that Clark Preston couldn’t call her out on a whim, but he never violated that space. When she was in her room, Elsbeth could relax.
He stood, towering over her, the gravity of his gaze suffocating. She couldn’t look away, not until he gave permission.
His fingers tugged at his belt, loosening the buckle. “Well, my dear, I think ten strikes shall suffice, and then you will find your collar. In fact, just so you don’t lose it again, you won’t remove it for the rest of summer.”
A whimper escaped her, and she nearly did beg.
Wearing the collar wasn’t an issue. It was a piece of leather, expensive as hell, and despite what it was used for, the collar was comfortable.
It had been the words following his pronouncement that were the most damaging.
For the rest of summer—those words sealed her fate.
If he intended her to never take it off, there was no way she would be allowed outside.
The things that happened inside these walls never left them, and now, she’d be trapped without escape until the school year began again.
She’d tried once to reach out for help. The first week, when her caseworker had come for the obligatory checkup appointment for the newly placed child, Elsbeth had confided in the woman.
But the woman hadn’t believed.
Instead of removing Elsbeth from the house, the social worker had expressed concerns to Clark Preston.
The man was a lawyer with a silky tongue that could charm a snake.
He’d convinced the woman that Elsbeth had fabricated the story because the new house intimidated her, and he’d asked if he could have another day to help Elsbeth work through her fears.
That was the first time Elsbeth had spent a day immobilized in bed.
Needless to say, when the social worker had returned, Elsbeth had retracted her wild story.
Her voice had been contrite as she sealed her future.
Ten strikes?
He was letting her off easy, which served to heighten her fear.
What was he saving her for? Who was he saving her for?