Chapter Five
Caleb shut the girl’s door behind him and locked it, putting the key in his pocket.
He put his forehead to the closed door. He saw her body again, laying face down on the mattress, welts crisscrossing the back of her body from shoulder to ankle.
He wanted to trace each one with the tip of his tongue, leaving no part of her untouched.
Through the door he could hear her muffled crying, and a strange shiver ran through him.
Tension coiled inside him, manifesting in his entire body, his muscles tight.
He stretched his hands and then fisted them tightly, knuckles popping then relaxing.
He loosened his body further, forcing himself to unwind.
It was three in the morning. He was wired, sweaty, and in need of something, anything — a woman maybe.
He looked away, the soft hue of the lights muted but illuminating enough.
He liked this house. He liked it more with each passing week he spent inside it.
From what he was told, it was once a sugar plantation until the Mexican revolution put an end to slave labor.
The land was barren now, but the house still stood.
The owner had spent hundreds of thousands remodeling the home, allowing for electricity throughout, though many things were still incomplete.
The large, square kitchen still looked like it was falling apart, but you could see flashes of the new and modern.
It had a fire stove, but a state-of-the-art microwave.
The ceramic tile under his feet was probably original, but the fireplace was electric.
In fact, the only room in the house that was completely finished was the one he currently occupied — the master suite.
In the background the girl continued to cry, and the sound of her sobs seemed amplified to his ears. When he shut his eyes his brain immediately sought the memory of her flushed body tied to the bedpost — open, at his complete mercy.
Caleb let out a sigh and adjusted himself.
Perhaps he’d visit the bar up the street and find a more than hospitable woman to take his mind off the girl behind the locked door.
He raked his fingers through his hair and expelled another rush of air as he made his way across the kitchen.
He opened the fridge door; the cool, swampy air felt good against his skin, too good.
Every nerve ending in his body was alert at the moment.
Even the clothes he wore added a friction when he moved.
Propping his elbow on the refrigerator door, Caleb leaned in and wrapped his fingers around a bottle of Dos Equis.
The condensation on the bottle instantly reminded him of sweat.
He thought of the girl again, and other girls, past slaves; he never tired of their salty taste, and sweet smelling sweat.
Only women could boast of such a thing. Only women were capable of being so fucking sexy you wanted to lick them clean when they considered themselves dirty.
He shut his eyes, leaning his forehead against the freezer as he indulged in the base sensations that coursed through him.
He smiled, faintly to himself, before it slipped away.
He opened his eyes and pushed away from the fridge, shutting it softly.
He had conquered and she had submitted. A small victory, but it was a start.
Caleb popped off the cap on the bottle, letting the metal skid across the granite counter.
He brought the beer to his lips. Strong, cold, carbonated fluid rushed down his throat dissipating some of the heat in his body.
There was no denying how good he felt. He felt powerful, and nothing was more important than power.
Even the girl seemed to know it, or she wouldn’t have tried to defy him at every turn.
Caleb leaned against the counter, drink in hand but not drinking.
The girl is absolutely crazy. His mouth tilted up at the corners, the smirk threatening to become a full blown smile.
If she knew who she was dealing with, she wouldn’t try to provoke him so much.
She was downright adversarial. He winced, remembering how her knee had collided with his balls.
Fuck! She was lucky he hadn’t put a belt to her ass right then.
Yet, if he had, perhaps the food incident might not have happened.
A short burst of laughter escaped his lips as he recalled the look on her face when he told her to call him Master.
Her eyes had said it all in that moment.
He was going to have to break her down to her foundation before he’d have any chance of building her back up.
The challenge was intriguing to say the very least, truly, unexpected.
Abruptly, Caleb’s smile faded. He stared down at the drain as drops of water fell slowly from his bottle.
Some of the drops hung from his fingers for dear life before falling and slipping toward the drain.
He stood up, taking a long pull from his bottle.
Yes, he would break her down and build her up—for Vladek.
She was his and Rafiq’s instrument of revenge. Through her, they’d get close enough to kill that motherfucker. He needed to put a swift end to her rebellious nature, not admire it. He needed to bring out the Submissive he’d observed. A submissive is a survivor.
Caleb had underestimated the girl in some regard.
For weeks he had observed her, and for weeks she had played the would-be chameleon.
She had made it a habit to wear masculine, shapeless clothing when walking in her own neighborhood.
At first, he’d thought it was simply a fashion choice, but it hadn’t taken long before he’d become less convinced of his original assessment, especially when he observed her wearing flirty skirts and bright colored shirts through the fence of her school.
After that, he pegged her as woman who understood how important it was to adapt to her surroundings.
She knew she lived in a man’s world, and she reacted accordingly.
It was important for girls in her position, in this kind of situation.
To her parents she might have been the teenage daughter they didn’t need to worry about, because she didn’t wear provocative outfits to entice the young horny boys.
In her neighborhood, she was the invisible girl, no one of interest. But inside, she was still her—whoever she was.
And whoever she was, she’d appealed to him under her camouflage.
It had felt unavoidable at the time, selecting her.
She had been the only one to command his attention, though he didn’t completely understand why.
Then, that day on the sidewalk, during their strange encounter, he’d known he had to have her.
She had made an impression on him; she would make an impression on others.
Perhaps he’d made a mistake in that regard, choosing someone he had found indefinably appealing.
Instead, the mystery had drawn him nearer, and now he found himself only further confused, further drawn in.
It suddenly seemed such a waste that such a gift was meant for Vladek.
He turned around, leaning against the counter, the edge digging into his spine.
One hand gripped the edge of the counter, the other holding the bottle, quickly cooling as veins of water cascaded down his arm.
He drank. A lot rested on the girl, and in turn, him.
Aside from his own vengeance, he could not fail Rafiq.
Vladek Rostrovich had to die. In this, Rafiq and he had never disagreed.
Upon how to execute each step, that was something else.
He took another mouthful, rolling the liquid in his mouth before swallowing and feeling it fill him.
Destroying lives was something he was good at, this was no different, of course. Or was it? He drained the bottle, tasting little, but wanting more. He turned around and rinsed it out, watching the water rush out.
The girl was genuinely terrified of him, that much he was sure of.
He had to use it to his advantage. Under his tutelage, she would become whatever she needed to be in order to survive.
She would accept the hand she was dealt and make the best of things.
She would find whatever good there was in the bad, for however long it’d last. She would fight him, that was a given, but he would convince her despite herself.
He finished his bottle, which had done nothing for him. He was still restless. He walked over to the fridge again, cracked open another. Repeat. Another taste, another gulp, the thirst just growing.
New thoughts distracted him. What would he do with the girl when this was all said and done?
He stood still, listening to the house, listening for signs of the girl, but there was nothing, no clamor from behind the locked door.
No desperate shrieking, just a girl, plotting her time.
He walked to the table and noiselessly pulled out a chair.
Another long pull of beer, his gaze passed around the room.
He sat. What would he do with a girl who’d never trust him?
Caleb drank, set his bottle down on the table then sat deeper in his seat, head back and breathing in through his nose, eyes closed.