28. To own is to… Demand
Chapter twenty-eight
To own is to… Demand
C hloe
“There are eighty-eight keys, each one with an equally important part to play. Every key is unique too, and just not outwardly. It’s the way they vibrate the cords that makes them different, the style in which they’re hit that makes them resonate. When done right, they hum beautifully, melding together to create something…special,” I mumble to the Echis Carinatus , otherwise known as the saw-scaled viper as it perches on its sunning rock in the elaborate habitat. Its stunning scales are raised away from its body slightly, unlike other snakes, like the jagged teeth of a saw. Its slightly bulbous flat head watches me with interest. I glance down at one of the hundreds of textbooks on snakes at my feet, the pages slowly drying from the tears that graced it a little while ago. The viper seems to glance down at it too, as if to figure out what was so interesting that it interrupted our conversation.
“I think I’m starting to understand, Remus.” Remus, because that’s what I named him. “I get why they thought it was easier to send me away than keep me home. It hurts seeing something that hurt you, being forced to love it despite the dagger it wedges in your heart at every glance. What ifs and all that. I suppose I should’ve known; I was being silly, really. None of this was ever going to end up being okay.” I huff, leaning my forehead against the glass. “My head feels weird again today, like I’m not really in it. I wonder why that is.”
It has been almost two weeks since Master got home from his overnight trip, two weeks since he paid me any real mind at all. Other than giving me my daily tasks, keeping me occupied, I guess. Even those only last me until the afternoon. My heart feels perpetually wretched, but I’ve stopped crying for the most part. Now, I just…don’t feel much at all, if I’m being honest. It’s the closest I’ve felt to her , the Chloe from before. The gray area I seemed to thrive in feels jarring and uncomfortable now. Almost two years, two entire years of servitude, of fucking and crying and being thrust to lows and heights I never thought capable, and now I’m…leftover, entirely at the will of my own devices.
It’s not freeing like I’d imagined it would be in those early months at Bloom.
In fact, most days, I can’t breathe.
I drag my eyes back to the viper, watching his desert-toned scales work as he coils himself tighter on his rock. A bite from the bug-eyed dude can cause anything from random bleeding and heart palpitations to brain hemorrhage and lots of other lovely stuff. Despite his small size, he’s a deadly mix of hemotoxins, neurotoxins, cytotoxins, and cardiotoxins, affecting more or less every type of tissue in the human body. He watches me with rapt interest as I reach up, unlocking his habitat. The dry heat warms my skin instantly as I reach in. His scales make their odd sizzling sound, a warning I ignore. I’m not supposed to touch them, not even allowed to join in for their feedings. His scales are rough like callouses as I run my finger along him. The viper tightens its coil further, letting its head move off the rock.
“Thank you. We shouldn’t be long.”
I jolt, my head whipping toward the archway as Stuart passes, a curvy brunette following quickly behind him. Her red heels clack on the hardwood. My heart does a somersault, plummeting to my stomach. A yelp escapes me as I turn back to the viper in just enough time to watch his strike narrowly miss my suspended hand. Scrambling, I lock his habitat, trampling over textbooks as I bolt up the stairs, only in time to see Stuart usher the woman into Master's office, shutting the door behind her. When he turns to me, his eyes are as hateful as ever, but with an inkling of amusement.
I open my mouth, my chest blooming with an uncomfortable heat that spreads to every limb, vomit curdling my stomach. I take a moment to find the words, but Stuart seems content to watch me flounder. “Who is—"
“It’s not your business.”
“Stuart—"
“It’s about time for your daily run, is it not?”
Tears well in my eyes as they dart toward the closed doors and the man guarding them. I could try , maybe even reach the handles. We both know that Stuart, even with his advanced age, would shut that down quickly.
I think I’m going to be sick.
“Get changed. I’ll wait.”
I turn, bolting inside my room, the walls rattling with the force of the slamming door.
He has me . I’m his .
She wasn’t dressed like that, though, was she? Her outfit was well curated, expensive. Tight but modest.
She’s in there with him, in the place we spend so much time together. Our place.
My heart wrenches, my body shaking as I quickly dress myself in my exercise clothes, not bothering to clean up the mess in my room. I haven’t in days, and he has yet to say a word about it. He doesn’t care.
Why would he?
Stepping in front of the mirror, I’m met with panicked, teary brown eyes. The freckles on my face stand out against my pale, lifeless flesh. Even to my own eyes…I look rough . My lips are raw from constant chewing. My chin wobbles as I quickly brush my hair, tossing it up in a messy bun. I’m frantic, sobbing as I try to right my appearance, doing skincare for the first time in a week, like it’ll fix the gaunt puffiness in my face. For a moment, I’m in the concrete room, staring at the piss-soaked girl in the mirror, the one without the name. Anxiety grips me, clamping down hard on my lungs as I gasp, sobbing.
I can see my trainer’s snake-skin boots, hear the harsh buzz of the prod, feel the lap of saltwater as it burns my eyes and pulls me under the tide. I can feel her , gripping me with uncoordinated panic.
She’s pulling me down too.
We’re both going to drown.
I think we do.
I think maybe, I never stopped .
Back to Black by Amy Winehouse (Performed by Oscar and the Wolf)
It took an hour for the panic attack to subside, for my screaming and gasping to end. When I open the door, I’m careful to crack it, not wanting to get in trouble for trashing my room. Stuart is waiting, wearing the same smug expression, although now slightly perturbed. “Ready?”
My eyes dart to the doors down the hall, swallowing past the fist-sized lump in my throat as I nod, following him down the stairs. I hold my breath until I sway on my feet, listening for the sounds of pleasure, begging, pleading, but I hear none. The armed guards that escort me on my run pay me no mind, just like every other day, entrusted to keep a respectful distance. The ducks watch me longingly as I pass them, but I don’t bring bread anymore. My lungs burn by the time I’ve looped my path, slowing to a light, halfhearted jog as I hit the paved section of the driveway. I bow over, bracing myself on my knees, willing the sick feeling deep in my gut away as I pant. Even exhausting myself on the run barely took the edge off this ungodly feeling. Despite spending most of the run trying to reason with myself, I only came to one conclusion.
Master has always been honest with his stance, and I’ve never been anything but the dog .
My collar today is a medium-sized one, made from expensive brown leather. It chafes as I sweat. The doggy bone engraved with the house emblem dangles, catching the sun with each taunting swing. My tight, long-sleeved athletic wear jacket is sweltering today. I’ve got no idea what part of the US or world I’m in, but the usually foggy, mild climate is in the throes of a heatwave. The guards adjust their positions, pulling their guns around from their backs, getting my attention as the front doors of the estate pop open, the curvy woman stepping out, her watery eyes squinting at the sun.
I’m going to be sick.
She walks over to me, adjusting her makeup before giving me a smile I don’t return. “Is there any way you could let Stuart know I’m ready to go? I couldn’t find him; this place is like a maze.” Her soft chuckle grates at my ears like the drums are being run through by a blender.
I stand to my full height, ignoring her, stripping my jacket off and tying it around my waist. The woman shifts on her heels, clearing her throat uncomfortably. I follow her gaze as her eyes dip to my sports bra, the yellowish bruising that litters my flesh, then my collar for a moment. The silence drags on and on, but I can barely tell; my mind is buzzing. My pounding heart acts as percussion. I’m not me , more like a spectator. An uninterested audience member.
“He’s in the garage,” I offer, my voice calm as I nod my head toward the building. “You can tell him yourself,”
I don’t know why I lie.
She looks taken aback. She’s pretty .
She has been crying too.
“Yeah.” She makes an annoyed sound. “Thanks.” Her eyes dip to my collar again, unlike everyone else in this world. They don’t notice them any more than they’d notice someone wearing a nose ring. She turns her round, plump ass working overtime in her fitted skirt as she heads toward the garage.
I follow her.
She notices, but she’s uncomfortable or annoyed enough not to say anything.
Of course, people rarely bat an eye when a family pet follows them.
My hands that never seem to stop shaking still just as she steps inside, looking around before spinning on her heels. She gasps as she almost runs into me, laughing it off, but I don’t. I don’t even think I could . “He’s not in here.”
“Did he fuck you?”
She pauses, her smile dying. “What?”
My fingers skim one of the iron tools that leans up against the inner wall of the garage. Its porous texture is a lot like Remus the viper. “Master. Did he fuck you?”
She frowns, swallowing hard, taking a few steps back. Her eyes dip to my collar again. “….Master. You mean Warrick?”
Warrick.
“Did you sleep with him?”
She scoffs, indignation taking the place of shock. “Are you serious?”
I lean in, making her yelp as I inhale her. Looking for any traces of sage and oak, any traces of him , even the alcohol he’s been so fond of lately. She stumbles back as my hand tightens around the tire iron at my side. She turns toward the inside of the garage again, like Stuart will somehow magically be in there now.
Stupid.
You should never turn your back on an aggressive dog .
The tire iron feels so light in my hand as I swing it at the back of her head. The resulting crack echoes in the garage as she folds, falling to the ground, but I don’t stop, bringing it down on her head again as the guards around me erupt in a flurry of activity.
Warrick
I watch as Lenora stalks out of my office, my temples pounding. Every time I buy a new property, she insists on delivering the keys herself, celebrating the fact that I just again made her obscenely rich. I endure because she’s good at her job, but this is the first time she has left in tears. I jerk my glasses off, pinching my brow as I shut my eyes, willing the foul mood and headache to pass. It was irrational on my part. All she did was touch my thigh. I don’t even think it was meant in a sexual manner. Only, it pissed me off; it’d been over two hours since I had a chance to watch Pup. That combined was enough apparently to threaten to scalp her. Why not add one more ember to the fucking dumpster fire the last few weeks have been? I clench my fist, fighting the urge to pull up the security feed. Lately, I spend more time obsessively watching her than doing well, fucking anything.
The sound of running and jingling combat wear jolts me, anxiety needling my chest as one of my security men rounds the corner. His face riddled with shock, no small feat for an ex-SEAL. “She attacked the girl with a crowbar.”
Bile churns in my gut as I round my desk, heading for the hall. “ Who ?”
“Your-the girl you keep. She killed that lady.”
“Is Pup okay?”
He breathes in and out before answering, making me want to strangle him. “I mean, yeah, I think.” He jerks his hat off, running his hand through his hair. “She just beat a woman to death in your garage, though.”
I exhale, relief allowing my chest to finally expand as I head down the stairs, rushing outside about the same time Stuart does, a guard also behind him. I make it out the door first, my eyes immediately finding Pup’s heaving form as she gently rests the bloody crowbar in its normal resting place, Lenora’s skull cracked open like a watermelon as blood coats the ground.
I grip her roughly, spinning her wide, pretty doe eyes to mine. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head, her eyes lighting up. “Master.” The ridiculous woman sounds excited .
I’m hyper aware of Stuart's and everyone else’s eyes on me as I crush her to my chest, burying my nose in her hair.
She stills for a moment before snuggling deeper into my chest. “I’m sorry, Sir. I-I, oh my God , I don’t know why I did that.”
“Everyone leave. Now!” I bark, turning around to glare at Stuart as he frowns at the scene before him. “I made myself clear.”
His jaw clenches as he nods, heading inside with the guards.
Pup is sobbing now as I capture her head between my hands. It’s not enough to have her wrapped around me. I need her. I need her closer, need to know she’s okay. “I- Master, I killed her. J-just… I thought you fucked her.”
I don’t waste any time trying to rationalize around the sick fucking thrill coursing through my veins at what my pet has just done. She killed, for me , however misguided. I shake my head. “Never, never make me worry about you like that again,” I scold her, watching as her pretty eyes widen further, her sobs quieting. She tries to look away from me, but I don’t let her. I can’t.
Can’t stand her eyes on anything but me right now.
Just for a moment.
“I killed her,” she whispers.
“No, I killed her, remember? Just like the others. You did nothing wrong, baby.”
She nods, sniffing. “Yeah. Okay. Oh, my God .”
I lift her, holding her against me harder than necessary as I carry her inside, petting and stroking her, all the while convincing myself it’s to keep her calm. To prepare her, because I need her mind intact for the party in just a few days. I lie to myself because right now, I’ll take any reason to keep her close. When I strip her clothes off her beautiful figure, I tell myself I have no choice but to follow her into the shower. I have no choice because it’s what she needs.
A broken dog can’t do tricks.
Right?
That’s why I kiss her, shoving her back up against the shower wall. I was wrong to push her away, to hurt her. I was wrong to buy her that night, to keep her so close, to let it go on this far, to let her suffer. She gasps as I enter her, my hands holding her up by her ass as her core grips and clamps around my cock. She’s fucking perfect, and she’s mine .
I’m hers. Hell help us all, I’m fucking hers.
If she’d gotten hurt.
If something had happened to her… The thought makes me sick.
“I’m sorry, Pup.” My lips dusting her neck. “I should’ve paid you more attention.”
We still our fucking, watching each other as water trickles over our electrified skin. We’re suspended, both trying to bend time to our will, to stretch and prolong this moment when nothing else is going to matter. Not the plan, not the party, not the House of Serpents, not the collar on her neck.
For a moment.
None of it exists.
She smiles, that wide smile that crinkles her eyes. “Don’t be sorry, just fuck me.”
I do.