22. To own is to…. Possess
Chapter twenty-two
To own is to…. Possess
W arrick
The moment Stuart informs us Andres and his wife had entered the town car that brings all guests to the central estate, Pup was practically vibrating with excitement to see the other woman, and fucking hell, I’ve already got a headache. Despite my displeasure, she stayed up well into the night to practice on the piano, stopping every so often to have a complete breakdown. Every time I urged her away, she’d dig her heels in, stating that this deal was important to me, so she wanted to make me proud, as if she hadn’t yet somehow, as if her impressing the couple would somehow make things go smoothly. I didn’t bother explaining to her that the moment it stopped going smoothly, I’d put a bullet in them both; it was…nice seeing her so excited about something that obviously caused her so much distress. She plays fucking beautifully; even out of practice, the philharmonic would be desperate to obtain her. I couldn’t give a single fuck about the piano. I finally carried her from the room when I watched her begin to pick and prod at the wounds on her palms. Whatever was done to her before she was taken was…beyond damaging.
My teeth clack together so loudly, it gets her attention, and her wide doe eyes fill with excitement. Even trying to tamper down on it for my benefit, my little pet has no poker face. They really couldn’t have picked a better target that night. November 17 th . Her birthday. Another one had passed in my care without notice, and I’m determined to ignore how much that bothers me. I’ve spent countless hours scouring the internet for every piece of information on her I could find, most of it coming from the socials of others, times she was tagged in other posts, featured fleetingly in the background of a selfie. Her own profile captured the most random things—a flower, a box of dream-sickles, an inchworm on her wrist, books, reality tv musings. She was like me, a bit of a shut-in but normal .
I can find no connection between that woman and the one kneeling at my feet now, desperate for praise, for acceptance from the man who had a part in stripping her of everything she once was. Her wide eyes shine with an innate honesty. It's fucking beautiful, the way she has…reverted, given in to all the things she wanted, needed in the dark. To be cared for, doted on, praised, punished. To be owned.
Pup was perfect for me; she would’ve been mine regardless of how we met.
For that, I almost feel bad.
Her blonde hair is silky underneath my palm as I pet her, letting her lean against me where I would’ve scolded others.
“I love you.”
Stupid fucking dog.
I tug her tighter against my leg as we wait in the foyer, whatever uncomfortable feeling that stirs in me making me both want to shoot everyone here and vomit.
She’s no different.
Not at all.
And you , Warrick, need to get your shit together. Finally, after years, you’re in the perfect spot to do what you set out to do, the reason you took your role as head and shoved, pushed, tormented, and committed acts of fucking terror. All for this. To topple a pillar.
Tyet.
Nothing will impede that.
Not you.
Not any wom— dog.
Sex slave.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” I breathe out, my hand never pausing its adoration of her despite everything in me willing it to.
“I only love you, so you don’t need to worry about me wanting anyone else. I guess, unless you ordered me to, then I’d have no choice.”
My brows knit together, my head slamming down toward her like she just told me a fucking riddle. Her pretty curves are hugged in a tight-fitting royal blue dress, her collar a dark leather, engraved with my crest.
“Oh, Christ,” Stuart mutters from behind us on the staircase.
“I didn’t want you to be jealous when I pay attention to Mahari,” she offers, making Stuart snicker behind us. God help me, I should jerk her over my knee. She gives a little smile, her cheeks flushed as she fidgets with the hem of her dress.
I laugh. It’s a fake one, forced out around the sudden heat creeping up my neck. “You still haven’t learned, have you?” My hand leaves her head, following the alluring path of her jawline until I reach the underside of her chin, tilting her head up fully. “You’re here to serve . Your worth begins and ends with how well you manage that. I couldn't care less for your adoration.”
She just beams up at me, frustrating, infallible woman. “Of course, Sir. Just wanted you to know.”
Stuart stalks past us, his ever-sour mood darkening further as he opens up the wide front doors. The early evening light makes the stained glass illuminate in an almost supernatural way. I designed it to do as much. Each window, floorboard, and road here was made to sink into the area, to blend with it seamlessly, as if it was always intended to be right here, in this field.
Andres loudly boasts something about the home while helping his wife from the car. My knuckles pop as I fist my hand, resisting the urge to cage Pup against my side. I give her a command to stand instead, nodding to her to act freely, even though it’s the last thing I want.
I want her bound and gagged in my office, hidden away from them. Away from everyone. That thought compounds immediately. Mahari doesn’t give Pup a minute to remember her rules, to keep a respectful distance. The woman yells with excitement that matches Pups as she crushes my pet into her chest.
“Basilisk, sorry for the at-home visit. You know how women can be.” Andres laughs, shaking my hand.
No, I don’t know how women can be, seeing as I never bothered with them unless they were bought for me, but it seems I’m learning quickly. Already, she’s forgetting herself, beaming up at the woman with eyes that belong to me. Admiration that belongs to me.
Stuart joins us. Ignoring the two women entirely, hoping to avoid a stroke. “Shall I have the chef start dinner?”
“No, that won’t be—”
“Oh yes, dinner! I can get you all dolled up! Surely, he’s got you a fully stocked wardrobe by now,” Mahari exclaims, casting me what I can only describe as a death stare.
Andres nods. “I never conduct business with friends on an empty stomach.” He pats his large belly. “Especially when they invite us to their home, right, my love?”
Friends? I’m fighting the impulse to not kill both of you. I only let you come here because I wouldn’t put it past your wife to steal my pet had we met anywhere else.
“It is one of the old man’s rules,” she agrees, booping Pup on the nose like a fucking toddler.
Pup loves it.
I need Tylenol.
And bourbon.
Maybe a bullet in the skull, depending on how the night goes.
It’s been long enough for my lawyer to finalize the amendment to my will, another bizarre decision that defies all logic. I will ensure she wants for nothing should something happen to me.
Pup laughs at something Mahari says, making me still on our path to the lounge. I’d heard her laugh before, sure, but right now…. Aside from the collar on her neck, she almost looks like the girl in the pictures. It’s a glimpse of who she was. Of Chloe, not Pup. She’s fucking beautiful. Again, I get the slightest tinge of guilt, a tiny pinprick in an otherwise flawless facade of indifference.
“Master.”
I turn, no longer pretending to listen to Andres.
I turn as if I’m on a swivel, because she called, and like a fucking dog, I halted, ready to give her anything she asked.
“Is it alright if—" She swallows past her anxiety, wringing her hands in front of her. “Is it okay if Mahari helps me get ready for dinner?”
“No.”
Her face falls, and immediately, I feel it in my gut, knowing how much it probably took for her to ask.
I sigh. “She can assist you, but you will dress yourself. Alone. If you wish to change your collar, bring it to me.”
Her friend rolls her eyes, shooting me another death glare.
Pup beams, her sleek ponytail bouncing as she runs over to me, lifting on her toes to place a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you. I’ll be quick.” She takes Mahari’s hand, giggling as she tugs her up the stairs, barely giving the woman enough time to hand her bag off to her husband.
My face feels hot as I clear my throat, adjusting my jacket. “How about a drink, Andres?”
“They’ll do that to you.”
Apparently, they will.
Chloe
I sit on my unused bed, the lavish room rapidly filling with trinkets Master has delivered to me. He simply drops them into my palms or has them carted in when they’re too heavy. He acts like it's nothing, just an object he’s throwing around, but I don’t miss the way he watches, gauging my reaction every time. Even with his permission, I can’t shake the feeling I’ll be punished for having Mahari in here. The ray of a woman doesn’t seem to mind, gushing over the wardrobe I’ve never spent much time looking at. Even when she’s excited, there’s a calming gentleness to her that seems to balm something that smarts. I’m not sure what it is exactly that needed balming, perhaps all of me. The parts of me that wake up in the night, drowning in that deep, dark water. The bits of me that break out in cold sweats when phantom hands pull, tug, and penetrate. The little girl who just wanted a hug seems to be most enthralled. Mahari gives good hugs. Even if they upset my master, I’ll soak up each one, knowing how sparingly life has handed them out to me.
“This is perfect!”
I smile at the one she picked. I’ve never seen it before, but it’s pretty, more…modest than anything I’ve worn in a long time.
“What do you think, Chloe?”
My smile falls, my name slipping off her lips, catching me off guard. “I-I, uh…” My throat clogs, choking off my words. I slam my head toward my lap so hard, it makes something in my neck tweak painfully.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
My hair brushes my dampening cheeks as she rushes toward me, pulling me into her arms, ignoring the shaking of my head. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just- It’s hard to explain,” I sob. It’s my name .
It’s my name, one I was robbed of. Why should I cry when it's given back to me? Why does hearing it make anxiety clamp down on my chest?
She shushes me, rocking us gently. “In many cultures, names have power, meanings aside from just sounding pretty. They themselves are like parts of our souls, parts of us. When we give them to those we can trust, they have the power to hurt or hold. You were stripped of yours, Lord help us. I can’t fathom the things done in that house.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “The men you keep… Were they not from Bloom?”
“Absolutely not. They are simply friends, lovers who needed or wanted to be under my employ, coming and going as they please, serving as they please. They are collared when they are willing to be in the subservient space, much like me. Andres also pays them well for their time with us.”
“Why does he want a spot in the circle so badly?”
She chuckles, pulling me away from her chest to wipe at my tears. “Money and power, like anyone else. We may not be Bloom bad, but we are far from perfect. Even here, making deals with Basilisk, tested every last gray line we had drawn in the sand.” I don’t fight her as she tugs me from the bed, easing me toward my vanity seat. It’s several minutes of me sniffling and her quiet, soft humming, her playing with my hair before she speaks again. “You seem quite….content with him.”
Those ridiculous butterflies fill my stomach again, battering the insides with tickling swishes of emerald wings. “ I love him. ”
The brush pauses in my hair, her breathing quieting, as if to compound the insanity of my statement. I hazard a peek at her in the mirror. Her beautiful dark skin looks even more stunning with the pale hair held in her hands. Her face is unreadable until she meets my eyes, letting out a sigh I’m familiar with, one you release when your child breaks some unexpected news. “Does he love you back, you think?”
I know she doesn’t believe me, probably thinks I’ve gone entirely out of my mind. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’ve lost it somewhere along the way, but not much can be done about that now, I suppose. “Of course not. He’s my master. I’m-I’m a toy.”
It's impossible for me not to smile as her musical laughter fills the room. “I don’t begin to understand the inner workings of a man like that, but I can assure you, sweetheart, he doesn’t see you as just a toy.”
The fluttering of the butterflies turns deadly, scoring and marking up my insides as I lift my hand to my chest, worried for a split second my pounding heart might bruise the skin from the inside. My master hates when I bruise flesh that is his to mar. Her onyx eyes meet mine in the mirror, and she hikes an angular brow at my expression. “Well, at least we won’t need to apply any blush tonight,” she teases, making me laugh.
It almost feels normal.
Like she’s my friend getting me ready to go out.
Like we could walk out and get a cab.
We could go wherever.
My hair is inlaid with thick, artful braids, twisted together into a bun. Loose strands hang in ringlets around my face, not too different from how Mom would style it when I was little. I swallow hard, pushing the woman from my thoughts, a worm of guilt swathing me. It's getting easier, not to think about them. Mom and Dad, my job, like what’s happening now and my life before happened to two different people entirely. It’s getting easier to swallow the idea of never going back, of never leaving him, never being set free.
I listen intently as Mahari tells me about her life as a model, of all the places she went and promises she’ll see that Master lets me visit them all one day, maybe even with her, of the way she met Andres at an afterparty and fell in love with the way he laughed so loudly, it hurt her ears.
“His money was nice too,” she adds, winking at me.
We both sputter, trying to choke back our laughter. We fail quickly, laughing until my stomach aches as we try to focus on getting my makeup done so we can head downstairs. Henrietta came up at least fifteen minutes ago, letting us know our food was ready.
She stands me in front of the long mirror in the bathroom down the hall. My eyes trail over the off-white dress hugging the swells of my body. The neckline is high, the bottom half splitting up my thigh. I look…regal. Expensive. Mature in a way Master rarely leaves me feeling. I don’t mind it; I enjoy feeling small with him, but this feels good too.
“I’m sure your master would’ve preferred you in the shade from earlier, but this was just too gorgeous. Valentino is a god.”
I tug my brows together, digging my teeth into my lip, wondering if I should change into something blue. “Sir seems to prefer me in blue, especially if we go out.”
She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Men and their bizarre secret society shit.” When she meets my confused look in the mirror, she continues. “Colors have meaning in their world, especially when it’s on women. Red speaks for itself, and they save black for common people in the...trade, ones who can be shared but not…too roughly. White is innocent, unbroken and unplucked women, sometimes wives, but blue … Royal blue is reserved for those who are untouchable, not to be approached, owned and reserved for only their master. It’s a rare sight, but one taken seriously. It's a cherished companion, one the master has raised to their station.”
My lips part, swaying a little as the blood rushes through my body.
Cherished.
My breath halts in my lungs as she presses a kiss to my shoulder. There's nothing sexual about the look in her eyes or the way it makes me feel, just a soft, maybe even a little sad maternal expression that makes my throat clog again. I don’t think when I spin, throwing myself into her arms so hard, it nearly knocks us both off balance. She laughs softly, snuggling me tighter. I don’t know how long we stay like that, but I’m sure it’s a while.
“Pup...” His warning voice jolts me as I jerk away from Mahari, dropping to my knees.
“Master.”
“Ms. LaMonica, your husband is already on his third glass of bourbon and waiting for you downstairs. Henrietta will escort you.”
Mahari hesitates, stepping close to me. My chest clenches for her, for her protection, even if it is unnecessary. Sure, I’m terrified of disappointing him. His punishments are often brutal, but I’m not scared of my master, not truly, even with the memory of last night fresh in my mind.
I give her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right down.”
She returns it, even if it is tense, before leaving the bathroom. The swish of her dress acts like a beacon of color in the dark home.
Master signals for me to stand, and I do, hesitantly lifting my eyes to his. It’s an act of disobedience he has never reprimanded me for. His stare is a physical thing I can feel every bit as much as I can his hands…or mouth. My nipples peak underneath the fabric of the dress as I press my thighs together.
“You are stunning, my pet. The collar doesn’t match, though. I have a new one I think would work well.”
I smile widely at him. A new collar, even after yesterday.
“Would you like that?”
“Yes, Sir. Very much.”
He nods, his jaw tense. “Come.”
I follow him, the smell of sage and oak making my mouth water as I inch closer, as close as possible without bumping him. When we reach my jewelry box in his bedroom, a large chest more than anything, my eyes scan lovingly over all the collars there. Most of them are lavishly inlaid with diamonds and rare jewels. My smile only falters a little when he passes over all of them and goes for a thick leather box underneath the velvet trays.
My lips part as he opens it, my stomach sinking.
It looks…painful.
I rip my eyes away from the daunting collar up to him, looking for any sign, any answers, reasons why, but I only find those thunderous hazel eyes, the quiet anger in them growing louder. I swallow hard as he places it over his wrist, letting it hang there as he removes his key, stepping behind me to unlock and remove my current collar. His warm hands tickle my flesh. “Master? ”
“Hm?”
“Am I in trouble?” I breathe out, forcing myself not to hold my breath.
“Did you think I’d allow another’s lips to touch you without repercussions?”