Chapter 12
HER
“I came as soon as I could get away,” he said the second Langer was gone, holding me at arm’s length, clearly examining me for injuries. “Are you?—“
“I am. Nothing happened. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
“But we—“ he protested, gaze fixed darkly on where Langer had disappeared.
“Listen to me,” I said, reaching up to push back a lock of his shimmering moonlit hair, something a second ago I didn’t believe I’d ever do again because I didn’t believe he’d ever see moonlight again. He relaxed into the touch ever so slightly, which gave me hope and let me breathe. “ We’re okay .”
“For now,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Now is good enough,” I murmured, moving toward him, exhausted and more than ready to collapse in his arms and maybe his lips, but he gestured for me to step into the shadow under the eave of the house.
I shrugged, confused.
“Camera,” he explained, pointing upward. “I cased it ahead of time to be safe, and I’ll disable it as soon as I get the chance. We got lucky this time, Lou. Really lucky. But if this is going to work,” he said with a resolute sigh, “we have to be more careful.”
I looked closer. In the moonlight, he’d looked almost angelic; up close, though, he was clearly exhausted. He probably hadn’t had a moment’s rest, or maybe even a bite to eat, since I’d left him downstairs. The stress of walking the thin line between praise and a flogging—or kisses and the mines—hadn’t been easy on him, either. Hell, I’d been willing to throw myself to the wolves so he wouldn’t have to walk it anymore. But when he finally pulled me close, his expression had given way to pure enchantment. I relaxed. He was okay.
“So this is it,” he breathed into my ear, his lips ghosting over my neck, composure suddenly regained.
“So do you like the dress?” I whispered shyly.
I quivered as his hands slowly, methodically slid around the open back of my dress, under the edges of the fabric, brushing the lace of my black lace panties and tracing the perimeter of my waist, exploring all the places I’d hoped they would end up when I’d slipped into that dress what felt like a million years ago.
“You know damn well I’ve been waiting for this moment all fucking night,” he murmured.
“Well, start believing, Rocket Boy.” I covered his scarred, graceful, powerful hands with mine, intertwining our fingers as they gently came to rest on my hips. “Speaking of rockets, I think Corey’s planning to launch one directly at your head.”
“That means it’ll probably come down somewhere in Outer Mongolia, so I think I’ll be fine.”
I giggled, then sobered. “By the way, never, ever do that again, okay? You scared the shit out of me out there. I thought I was going to have to watch—well. By the way, you didn’t find it worth mentioning that you speak German?”
“No less worth mentioning than that I speak French.”
“What? Wait.” I counted in my head, so stunned that I forgot to ask him what Langer had said. “So that makes?—“
“Four,” he said as if it were no big deal. “Well, five, if you count ‘back to work, slave’ and ‘yes, sir’ in Romanian.”
Jesus. I scanned his face to make sure this was dark humor before proceeding. All clear.
“Eh, bien, merde,” I exclaimed. “Je le parle aussi. On aurait pu converser en francais tout ce temps, n’est-ce pas?” ? 1
Without warning, he effortlessly scooped me up and dipped my head low enough that my curls brushed the lava rocks, making me giggle in surprise.
“Bien s?r, ma chérie, mais tu ne me l’as jamais demandé.” ? 2
“Let’s see,” I said. “Modern languages, rocket science, and camera demolition. What else? Music?”
“Actually, I used to play some piano.”
And just as I was wondering how he’d managed to find multiple new ways to turn me on just tonight .
“Are you okay, though?“ he asked, of all things.
I took a deep breath. It was time to reveal what I’d kept from him earlier.
“I heard the gardener threatening you the other night,” I said. “And he—he cornered me at the top of the stairs. That was what started this whole thing.”
“I fucking knew it,” he growled. “I knew it. Did he hurt you? I’ll fucking kill him.“ It’s like he was trying to get ten thoughts out all at once while simultaneously looking for a sharp knife.
“Calm down,” I said, placing my hands on his heaving shoulders, not sure whether to be scared or ridiculously turned on. “Nothing happened. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. He’s gone now. We’ll never see him again.”
“ I’ll s ee him again because I’m going to track him down and strangle him with his own garden hose as soon as I get the chance. And anyone else who hurts you.”
“Wait. Really?” No one had ever said that to me before. Then again, I’d never lived the kind of life where anyone would have to.
But that was the only kind of life he’d ever lived.
“Really,” he said, pulling me closer, hands snaking protectively around my waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And somehow, it was. “I didn’t get that ‘dangerous’ label for nothing, you know,” he murmured cheekily into my ear. “Anyway, the real question is, why is this the first time you’re telling me about this?”
“I just … I didn’t think it was anything you wanted me involved in.”
“Well, frankly, no, it wasn’t. But now that I know you know, why didn’t you tell me? I could have warned you to stay away from him, and this whole thing never would have?—“
”I always stayed away from him,“ I said, bristling slightly. “I’ve been dealing with him a lot longer than you have. And yes, it would have happened because he had a fucking video feed set up in the goddamn basement! Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. What I want to know is if you … had some kind of agreement with him.” I kicked the grass, not sure I should even mention this and risk killing the moment we’d been fighting all night for and just won. “He said something about keeping your word.”
“There was no agreement,” he said immediately. “He tried to get me to do something for him. I refused. He wasn’t happy.”
He didn’t mention anything about the map printout Langer had handed him, and I decided not to, either. For some reason, I doubted I’d get a satisfactory answer. I hugged myself and stared at the lava rocks my heels were digging into. “You’d better be telling me the truth.”
“Or what? You’ll whip me?”
I was horrified to realize how domineering my tone had sounded—one I hadn’t used with him in a long time. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just—I’m worried about you.”
“It’s not your job to worry about me, Lou,” he said, then added, “It’s no one’s job to worry about me.”
I groaned. “Haven’t we had this conversation before?”
He sighed and turned away. “Yeah. We have.”
“Well, then you know that this isn’t going to work if you’re going to be like that.”
“Oh, if I’m going to be like that?“ he demanded. “What about you ?”
“I said I’m sorry!” Then I buried my face in my hands. “Why do we always start arguing at exactly this time of night?”
To my relief, he laughed. “I’m sorry, too. And now I’ve made more genuine apologies in the past twenty-four hours than I have in my entire life, and you’re right. We seem to do much better in the daytime. In bedrooms. And basements.” He covered my hands with his and gently pried them loose from my face, and there, at last, was that beautiful smile again, right in front of my eyes, and completely, totally for me. But his expression turned serious again just as quickly, and now here we were, tempting fate and kissing all over again as if we hadn’t had our first taste of each other’s lips earlier that day.
But he pulled back, tucking a curl behind my ear. “From now on, no one touches you but me, yeah?” He was half-telling, half-asking.
I nodded. “But remember,” I teased, “you’re not allowed to touch me either.”
He leaned in close, exhaling two words. “Watch me.”
And he took my lips between his teeth, his mouth almost as aggressive on mine as his urge to kill the gardener had just been.
Well, shit. He was claiming me.
It seemed absurd, given who he was, but I still melted into his claim, letting his tongue explore the hollows of my mouth as if I were an empire to conquer. When he finally pulled back, satisfied, he nipped at my lip one more time, grazing it just enough to make me gasp for more.
“In fact, I suggest we find a way to get back there as soon as we can,” he said.
“To a bedroom,” I breathed, “or a basement?”
“Well, they each have their advantages.” His head was back where I wanted it to be—in the crook of my neck, his hair mussed and brushing softly against my skin as he nibbled and licked his way down my jawline.
“Like what?” I said, my hand grazing down the buttons of that black dress shirt and over his belt, plunging lower, mildly terrified at what I would find. But he had already decided I needed to know, and his fingers curled around my wrist to guide me lower, then lower, until my fingertip rested over the hardness straining against his pants. And miraculously, thrillingly, I started to wonder if the moment I’d dreamed of since I’d left him in the basement might actually happen right now .
“Well, for starters,” he said, his voice somewhere between a purr and a growl as his tongue lapped at my collarbone, “in a bedroom, we could actually lie down.”
“And in a basement?” I breathed, not sure how the mere idea of being horizontal with him was exciting me so much.
“Less chance of the rest of the house hearing your screams of ecstasy.”
“Mine?” I whispered. “What about yours ?“ I demanded, stroking him through the twill fabric. “Can’t you see I’m trying to even up the score here?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, young lady. It’s not a competition. But I am ”—his yawn interrupted him—“winning.”
Shit. “Look at you,” I scolded gently, pulling away. “You’re too exhausted for sex.”
“Well, we both know that’s impossible,” he joked.
“I’m serious! And let me guess,” I continued. “You haven’t eaten tonight, either.”
“That’s not true. I had two grapes.”
“Dammit,” I muttered, cursing myself. An hour ago, there had been more than enough food left. If only I’d found a way to save him one of the sopapilla cheesecakes or chili shrimp cups or whatever the hell they’d been serving. Something. “I’m sorry. You need food . I should have brought you something. I can?—“
“I’m not your pet to feed, Lou.”
I gasped at the implication. Was that really what he thought I wanted him to be? The thought of the box of pralines, still untouched in my desk drawer upstairs, flashed in my mind. “No, you’re a human being who gets hungry like anyone else. And I?—“
“It’s fine,” he insisted. “I’ll get some leftovers from the housekeeper.”
Still, I knew why he was wary. I’d been both horrified and insanely jealous of that condescending old bitch, the wife of his owner, slipping him sweets through the chain-link fence like biscuits to a caged puppy. But at the same time, there was some part of me that desperately wanted that to be me .
But he didn’t want that. He’d been owned enough. Before I could think about it any further, he grabbed me and pressed himself against the side of the house, pulling me in with him. I turned my body around to look where he was looking, my back still nestled tight against him, heart pounding in time with his.
“It’s Langer,” he muttered. “He’s headed out to the garden.”
“So what? Maybe he’s just admiring the landscaping. What is your problem with him, anyway?” I demanded.
“What do you mean?” He pulled back.
“He gave us the tablet. He left and made sure the gardener left, too. He saved us. And he didn’t tell Daddy.”
“That’s because he doesn’t care. Not about what we did, anyway. You think Max Langer, with his aged tequila and private jets and fucking … banana farms , gives a fuck about me touching you? That he’s like your dad? Or like Corey the Douche?”
“Well, no, but?—“
“We’re a bargaining chip to him, that’s all. And mark my words, he’s going to cash it in. Maybe not tomorrow, or the day after, but he will. And he’s going to make a fuckton off it because he’s not a billionaire by accident.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Come on, Lou. You’re not that naive.”
I folded my arms. “I am pretty naive, actually. But—think about tonight,“ I pointed out. “Were you not there at the dinner table tonight? Did you not hear what I heard?”
“Not only did I hear it, I believe I was saying most of it,” he remarked. But his eyes softened minutely as if he almost wanted to believe I had a point.
“I know, and you were absolutely brilliant, so what are you so concerned about? I mean, the guy treated you like—like?—”
“Like a person?” he finished. “Oh, wow, he let me look him in the eye and call him by his name. Let’s give him the Nobel Peace Prize.”
I buried my head in his chest, chagrined. As usual, it had taken him seconds to completely call me out on my biases. “I’m sorry.”
He laughed a little and kissed my forehead. “Don’t be. You were doing it before it was cool.”
“He might even find a way to get rid of slavery altogether,” I said in a small voice. “He might?—“
“He’s not what he pretends to be,” he interrupted. “Trust me on this.”
“Why should I, when you won’t even tell me how you know?”
He paused. “Because it’s safer for you if I don’t.”
I gave up, for now. I knew that the notion that he’d failed to protect his mother and his sister— as if there was anything he could have done—still haunted him. It wasn’t surprising he’d prefer not to add me to the list. No wonder he’d reacted violently when I’d told him about the gardener threatening me—he was violent. The proof was all in his file.
Still, as privileged as I felt to be on any list of people he gave a damn about, which I suspected could probably fit on a Post-it with room to spare, he had to know I didn’t need it. Right? Hell, I’d come this close to throwing myself on the sword for him . “You can’t protect me from everything, you know.”
“I know,” he said. “All too well.”
“Even if you were free, you couldn’t.”
He still stared out into the darkness, at the beyond. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
HIM
By the time I dragged myself back to the terrace, I’d long since seen Louisa safely off to bed, assuring her I was perfectly fine and not to worry. Speaking of hidden talents, I should have mentioned acting, considering I was ravenous, my entire body ached, and I was about five seconds away from collapsing in a heap on the tile. Worst of all, it had cost me my chance to get off.
Just as frustratingly, the other slaves had devoured most of the leftovers while I was outside, leaving only some squash on a small plate the housekeeper apologetically handed me. I almost preferred nothing. I choked it down and scolded myself for being awfully picky for someone who used to subsist on gruel. But it did zero to take the edge off and I was already kicking myself for declining whatever Louisa had been about to offer.
But I was also glad I had because, from her, it would mean something. Because what I had with her meant something—the kind of something I didn’t even have a name for yet; the kind where her tiny but steel-plated voice piping up across the dinner table was enough to make me momentarily forget that I was likely seconds away from being taken out back and flayed alive. Plus, I didn’t want her thinking that from now on, she’d have to worry about my diet, my sleep habits, and my sexual satisfaction—naturally, just the third one would be more than enough.
Oh, and I didn’t want her to feel betrayed when she found out everything I still hadn’t told her: like that her father was probably helping Max Langer with some diabolical plan to torture slaves, that Max Langer had my sister, and that my sister thought she had joined some revolutionary movement to free us all. If Louisa knew all of that and heard what he’d said to me in German, maybe she’d understand why I still thought he was evil.
Nice tits, but seems like a handful. If you ever need any pointers on how to handle her …
No wonder he and the gardener got along. Still, he’d saved us. Without him, I’d be on my way to a mine already, and Louisa would be on her way to either ruin or slavery. And that outweighed all the crassness and misogyny in the world.
For now.
As I passed by the lounge chairs, the redhead who had been eye-fucking me earlier, whose name I’d overheard as Pauline, crooked her finger at me, the pink cocktail in her hand sloshing dangerously as she leaned back, a sly smile on her lips.
“Ma’am?”
“Come here, sweet boy,” she drawled, holding out one of the chili-chocolate truffles between her purple enameled fingernails. “I know they never feed you guys properly at these things. Go on, take it.”
I froze, eyeing the treat. My stomach twisted and not just from hunger.
“Come on now, don’t be shy,” she cooed, waving it just inches from my face. “Kneel down and take it like a good boy.”
I knew what she meant and it was demeaning as fuck, but I’d done it before, and God, what about my life—up until recently—wasn’t? It was right there, the sweet cocoa aroma irresistible, the hunger unbearable, but I couldn’t. There was no way.
And I wondered what Pauline would think if she knew why.
Thankfully, I still knew how to handle these bitches so they wouldn’t make trouble for me. “It’s very tempting, ma’am, don’t get me wrong,” I managed along with a half-smile, hoping the flattery would be just enough to shut her up, “but I’m not allowed to eat while I’m working.”
Her smile turned into a smirk. “Suit yourself,” she said, popping the chocolate between her rich-girl-red lips.
Back to the kitchen, where I actually dared to hope I might be done for the night. No such luck, as usual. The housekeeper sent me to bring the rest of the liquor bottles from the outdoor bar, blow out the candles, and flick off the torches and lanterns, which she hoped would gently suggest to the remaining guests to get the hell out.
The terrace had gone silent except for some terrible, tinny music coming from someone’s phone and the occasional chuckle from some lounge chairs that had been pushed together in a semicircle. A few mostly male guests still sat by the pool. Cigar smoke drifted through the air.
I tried to go unnoticed as I made my way around the edge of the pool and over to the bar. I’d thought it was empty at first, but in the gloom, the orange glow of the lit end of a cigar was unmistakable.
Corey stood with his face shrouded in semi-darkness, smoke curling around his head, a livid and all-too-familiar look in his eyes. Was it too late to pretend I hadn’t seen him?
“You’re not a fucking rocket scientist, slave,” he said, just low enough that no one but me would hear. “You’re not even a person. You’re a thing. You cost less than my cheapest fucking watch. And you do not humiliate me.”
“No, you seem to be doing all right on your own,” I replied, one of the rejoinders I’d been dying to make all night—and soon to become one of the many I’d instantly regret.
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist over my chain bracelet, pinned it to the counter and pressed the searing end of the cigar to the center of my palm.
“Shut up,” he hissed. “You fight or make a fucking sound and I’ll say you attacked me. A whipping is the least of what you’ll get.”
I desperately shoved down the urge to throw him off. It wouldn’t help. All it would do was attract attention, none of it good. I’d be in the wrong, as a slave always was, and Corey would walk away the innocent victim.
All I could do was blink and breathe against the pain: blistering at first, then strangely, eerily cool as it ate through what felt like a dozen layers of skin, moment by endless moment.
Then it was gone. He released me, leaving behind the red, throbbing mess that had become my palm.
“Next time you forget where you belong, this should help you remember.”
I slumped against the countertop and cradled my hand, the pain stabbing into my flesh as if the lit end were still embedded there. All my wit and cleverness had left me. I was praying now only for the simplest of things: for Corey to leave, for cold running water to salvage what was left of my skin, for food, to rest my mind and body, and let this night finally pass into oblivion. Instead, I followed his line of sight to the full bottle of eighteen-year-old bourbon sitting on the bar; the rare, prized one that a colleague had brought Wainwright-Phillips to celebrate the deal.
He pried off the cap and took a long swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He wiped his mouth, recapped it, and paused, a slow, cruel smirk forming on his lips. “Hey, this is good stuff.” He raised his arm and smashed the entire thing on the granite countertop, tiny shards of glass and red-gold liquor flying to every corner of the terrace and into the water like amber rain. “Now it’s garbage. You can think about that word while you’re cleaning it up.”
Weakly, I watched him plumb around in his pocket. And for some reason, like they always did, my sister’s words came back to me.
Every slave on Earth
Unlike me, Maeve talked about freedom. She may have called it a story, but I knew, deep down, she believed. Believed the same way she believed in white-winged horses that could fly her away. Don’t you ever think about being free, Brudderh?erz? Don’t you care? She would always scold me in idle moments.
Well, sure, I cared. I cared about her . As for me, like I said, freedom wouldn’t hurt. But in the interest of surviving day to day, I rarely thought about it. I never expected to be free. Hell, I didn’t expect to live long enough.
But other people—rich, powerful people—cared a lot. Cared about keeping us slaves, that is. Forever.
“Hey. Slave.” Corey whistled at me as if to a dog.
And I did look up at him from under my exhausted eyelids because what else could I do?
But Corey said nothing. Instead, he tossed a small object on the intricate tile by my feet, where it clattered softly with a metallic sound, leaving a dark mark where it fell. “Here’s something else to help you remember your place. And your sister’s.”
Slowly, I gaped down at the tiny, intact steel chain with its ID tag, etched with a number only slightly less familiar than my own, looking exactly how I remembered it on Maeve’s slim wrist—except for the fresh blood smeared messily across the surface, drying and crusting in the grooves.
“Courtesy of Max Langer.”
Wait, so is Max a villain or isn’t he? Find out in Never Bound: The Unchained Book Two, coming in spring 2025. Turn to the next section for an excerpt!