Chapter Seventeen
Lyra
Every corner of my life flashes before my eyes, all at once.
My job. My salary. The prizes I’ve won. The industry friends and connections I’ve made which boost my career prospects. Everything I’ve worked for that has led me to this moment…
I’m frozen with shock and horror. Trembling uncontrollably. Lost in a disastrous spiral of existential dread.
Killian King has a recording of him doing atrocious things to my body. I thanked him for each time he hit me. I begged him for an orgasm. I did everything he asked me to do in hopes that the scene might end.
And it did end—with one hell of a bang.
“I can see you’re understandably afraid,” Killian says, tapping the phone and pocketing it. “So, now, I believe it’s time for us to talk.”
I’ve become mute—I want to say something, scream something, but my tongue can’t formulate any words. I think I might be in shock.
“I have a recording of you in extremely compromising positions.” He pauses, letting that sink it. It lodges like a knife between my ribs, surpassing all the other pain he’s inflicted on me tonight.
“I will not use it as long as you’re a good girl and follow my rules.
If you try to contact anyone from my past without first asking me, I will edit this recording to take out my voice and hands, and I will send it to your management team and coworkers.
If you disobey me repeatedly or refuse to follow through on a task I give you, the same thing will occur.
If you try to piece together some sort of ridiculous conspiracy on me, I will ruin you.
I held your life in the palm of my hand from the moment you walked into my office; now, I hold your livelihood in the palm of my hand.
I can and will destroy you. I don’t want to, but I will. Do you understand me?”
I’m shivering so profusely I barely have any control over my body, but the shivering abates just long enough for me to offer him a single nod.
“Good. Believe it or not, this tape is for your safety. You haven’t just pissed me off; you’ve pissed off some of my associates, who are far less interested in keeping you alive.
” He rakes a gaze over my body, eyes heating with desire.
“I hope you know that the recording is multipurposed. I expect I’ll be using it for personal pleasure for whatever remains of my measly life. ”
“I—I—I—”
“Shh,” Killian whispers. He reaches out his hand; I flinch so violently, it rattles me from head to toe.
That doesn’t stop him from trailing a finger down my cheek and wrapping it around my neck.
“If you’re a good girl, we won’t have any problems. I’ll have no need to use it.
My advice is for you to use me during our time together.
I’ve made it clear the benefits I can bring to your personal and professional life—use them.
And, when I treat you like a woman I’m courting, I expect you to start acting like one. Are we understood?”
A tear rolls down my cheek, followed by another. Killian possesses a level of cruelty that’s both profound and unhinged. If he has emotions, he certainly doesn’t adhere to them. I’ve seen no evidence of genuine empathy from him.
He truly is a beast. A brilliant, heinous beast.
“I will see you Saturday afternoon. We will be interviewing over lunch at Le Bronte. I expect you to bring with you a five-thousand-word sample of writing on a topic of your choosing, written in a manner of your choosing. If you do well, the piece will be passed onto several high-level individuals in your fields. Do you understand me?”
I’m so confused, stuck in such an endless sea of turmoil, that I barely register his words. He wants me to write something for him before Saturday. Something he might use to advance my career. But his offer is wrapped in unbelievable cruelty and tied with a bow of destruction.
I nod mutely, wondering how I’ll ever press my fingers to a keyboard again. How I’ll navigate the shitstorm that my life has turned into—how I’ll live with myself, let alone sleep in my bed at night.
My bed—a sacred space that Killian has effectively ruined.
“Very good. I do appreciate your cooperation tonight, Lyra. You’ve been such a beautiful mess for me.
If I though you could take it, I would be fucking you into complete incoherency right now.
” He leans down and brushes a kiss over my cheek, then lifts my upper body and unlocks my hands.
They fall limply to my sides. He takes my ankles from the spreader bar next, and exits the room.
Leaving me here, with all the toys to taunt me with my degradation and impending demise.
He simply… leaves me, and for some reason, that makes the aches in my body intensify.
I don’t want him here, but I don’t think I should be alone, either. I need someone to cling to, someone to get comfort from. Right now, I’m so lost I might take that from anyone—even the man who put me in this position.
Maybe it’s best that he’s gone.
I wait for the sound of the front door to slam shut, but instead, I hear footsteps.
My trembling intensifies as Killian appears in the doorway.
He’s completely put together, tie straight and posture regal, while I’m falling apart at the seams. I can feel every thread of who I am unraveling, forming a pile of useless knots on the floor.
He holds a suitcase in his hands. My breaths stutter as he approaches the bed, props the suitcase on the side of my mattress, and opens it.
He begins gathering the whips and toys, neatly folding them inside.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my head in my knees.
I’m glad he’s taking the mementos of what I endured with him tonight.
Now, if only he could also take the memories from my brain, I might actually be able to live with myself.
“Would you like anything?” he asks, closing the suitcase and peering at me. “Tea? A snack?”
I want a hug and a shoulder to cry on; I just don’t want it from you. “I’d like you to leave,” I whisper.
Killian nods thoughtfully. He steps back, picking up the suitcase. “I’ll see you on Saturday. Five thousand words, Lyra. I look forward to reading them.”
The battle to get out of bed the following morning is nearly unbearable.
I almost, almost call in a sick day, but I can’t afford to slack off—not right now.
I force myself to go through my morning routine, feeling like I’m a zombie.
It’s Friday. I have exactly thirty hours to pull together five thousand words for Killian, not to mention the work I’ll need to do in the office.
I have to review several pieces from junior staff writers, re-review three articles I wrote last month for final adjustments, and deal with a whole bunch of administrative bullshit.
I have never felt less excited to go into the office. I have never dreaded it more. It’s possible that Killian’s already released the video he made last night, and that anxiety causes my heart to race like I’m running a marathon as I navigate through NYC’s subway system to get to work.
My first step into the office feels like a step on a plank hovering over the deep ocean. I don’t know whether or not I’ll survive this day. I don’t know how to move on from what Killian’s done to me. I can’t move on—not until these disastrous eight weeks are up.
Annalise is standing at the elevator. Blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, grey eyes sparkling, body clad in a sensible work dress that does nothing to detract from her otherworldly beauty.
“Hey,” she greets me with a smile. “Are we still on for drinks tonight?”
I nearly drop to my knees in relief. If Killian had released the tape and circulated it around The Empire Journal, I would be getting a much different greeting from Anna.
When Annalise arches an eyebrow at me, I realize I’m yet to answer her question. I clear my throat. “I’m so sorry—”
“If you’re canceling again, I’ll be pissed,” Anna says, frowning. Even the downturn of her lips and crease between her brows doesn’t make her any less pretty.
“Anna, it’s not that I don’t want to. Mr. King…
” ah, fuck, what do I say? I can’t admit that I saw him last night, because she’ll want details, and talking about what happened will send me hurtling into a panic attack.
“Mr. King wants a 5k word sample of my work tomorrow during our interview. I got the email about it last night.”
“Oh, shit,” Annalise says sympathetically. “I’m sorry. Yeah, C-suite guys can be a little ridiculous in situations like this. Do you need help brainstorming or a second pair of eyes as you work?”
The elevator arrives, and we both step in.
She hits the button for our floor, while I lean against one of the railings hugging the wall, trying to regulate my breathing.
“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.
Thank you, though. King has just made a ton of unreasonable demands, and I’m scrambling to keep up. ”
Anna’s eyes sharpen on me, gaining the hawklike quality that tells me I’ve slipped up. She must’ve heard something in my tone. Fuck.
“What do you mean?” she demands. “Are you okay, Ly? Do you need help?”
I try to laugh it off, though I think my giggle is more shrill than convincing. “I’m good. It’s just… I’ve dealt with high-profile people, but no one as high profile as Killian. I’m still trying to figure out how to handle him best, how to appease him without earning his wrath.”
There. That sounds semi-normal.
Anna’s still frowning when the elevator doors open. “Alright,” she says, but I can hear the doubt in her tone. “Hey, if anything ever happens, you know you can tell me, right? I’ve got your back, no matter what.”
I smile warmly at her, giving her arm a squeeze. “I do.” I wish I could tell you everything. “Thanks, Anna. I’m good.”
She examines me for several moments as we step out of the elevator, then finally gives me a single reluctant nod. “As long as you’re sure.”
We part ways, each heading toward our respective office. I stop in my tracks when I pass Sarah, who offers me a completely out-of-character beam.
“Lyra,” she says. “Just the woman I’ve been looking for.”
Um… what? We haven’t really spoken since the day she made it clear I have no say in the Killian situation. I’ve been avoiding her to give her time to cool down… either she’s cooled down completely, or something’s going on here.
“Killian King reached out to me last night,” she says animatedly.
My heart sinks. I doubt he reached out about the sex tape—otherwise, her greeting to me would come in the form of firing me. No, something else is afoot here, and I’m not sure what it is.
“He sent an email detailing your stellar performance this far. Said he’s never worked with a more enthusiastic journalist, someone who’s committed to putting their best foot forward.”
A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck, dampening my shirt.
Killian’s review on my performance isn’t an act of kindness; it’s a reminder of his control over me.
It’s a way for him to tell me that he can make or break my career with a few lines of text on a screen… or a video involving me, tied down—
“I’m so glad to hear that.” I manage to make my tone far more even than I did with Annalise. “That’s wonderful news.”
“It is,” Sarah agrees, nodding animatedly. “I knew you were the right woman for this gig. And to think, a week ago, you were asking for me to pass off the job to someone else.” Her chuckle is tense, and her eyes flash with warning.
Killian’s review might have helped me get back into her good graces, but she hasn’t forgotten my attempt at defiance.
I want to scream at her that Killian has assaulted me, drugged me, and generally treated me like his property.
He’s crossed every line there is to cross.
She didn’t put me with a good client, she put me with the man who’s threatening to destroy me.
Even if he doesn’t kill me and doesn’t kill my career, he’ll kill me with trauma.
“It was my mistake. I was intimidated by a man of Mr. King’s caliber.” The lie rolls off my tongue with frightening ease.
“Well, seems like it’s all working out. Keep up the good work.” She flashes me another smile, this one seeming genuine.
I trudge my way to my office, sit at the desk, and power up the monitors. I stare at the computer screen blankly, trying to sort through my thoughts and emotions.
One of my favorite professors in college once told me that the best writing is done when emotions are high. That raw pain, fear, or anger are some of the best conduits to a fantastic story, whether it be for journalism or a novel.
I pull my personal laptop from my bag, open up a new document, and let my emotions spill onto a blank Microsoft Word page, watching as a strange, dark story begins to take shape.