Chapter 16 #2
I remember the heat of her shoulder brushing mine, the pulse in my throat so loud I could barely hear the laughter around us.
I wanted to wrap my arm around her waist right there, pull her close for the picture—claim her, show every bastard in town that she was already mine.
But I didn’t. Because that’s not what Sheriffs do.
That’s what monsters do. And I couldn’t afford to be the monster back then—not in a town that looked to me for protection from men like Jackson Moore and his rotten network.
I had to be the law here. The steady hand.
The face they trusted when everything else turned to chaos.
I needed Rosefield to believe in me—to love me, even. To look at me and see safety, not sin. Respect was my shield, and I wore it like armor. Because if they ever saw what I really was, what I really wanted, they’d know I was no better than the devils I swore to keep from their doors.
I let out a slow breath, tension crawling up the back of my neck. A flicker of something—concern, maybe—pushes through the calm I’ve tried to hold. I don’t know how she’ll react when she sees what’s inside that folder.
She reaches into the drawer and lifts the photos carefully, fingertips grazing over the glossy paper like she’s afraid they’ll burn.
She pauses on the one of us together, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
Watching her, I can’t help but wonder—does she regret it?
Does some part of her wish she’d given herself to me back then, before everything went to hell?
I clear the space on my desk and pull the folder free, the edges worn from how many times I’ve gone over it. My voice drops low, steady but edged with the weight of what’s coming.
“Summer,” I start, eyes fixed on her. “This landed on my desk at eight p.m. the night I took you. By nine-thirty, you were in my truck.” I pause, letting the words sink in. “I did what I did because I had to save you. You need to understand that.”
I glance down at the folder, then back at her.
“I tried to do it the right way first. I went to your parents. I begged them to let me keep watch, to stay close after those first photographs started showing up. When more surfaced—worse ones—I told them you needed to come here, stay where I could protect you. But they said no. They said they could keep you safe.” A dark laugh slips from me, low and humorless.
I tap the folder, the paper inside whispering like a secret that’s waited too long. “And then this came in. The moment I saw what was inside, I knew.” My gaze hardens. “I wasn’t asking anymore. Whether you wanted to or not, I was taking you.”
She slams the photographs aside, the sound razored enough to slice through the silence.
“Show me,” she snaps.
I hesitate for a heartbeat, then flip open the file and pull out the stack of papers inside. Each sheet is a screenshot, printed straight from a case file—evidence pulled from somewhere I wish I’d never had to look.
“It was buried on the dark web,” I tell her quietly. “Hidden behind layers of encryption. But it wasn’t hidden well enough.”
She takes the first page, brow furrowing.
The photo of her sleeping is pinned to the top of the page.
At first glance, it looks like a simple booking site—ordinary, sterile.
Then her expression changes. Her eyes catch on the text, scanning the list of “appointments,” and I see the moment the meaning sinks in.
Her confusion dissolves into horror.
She doesn’t speak. Just stares, eyes wide and unfocused, as though the words themselves are poison. The paper trembles in her hands.
DARK WEB LOT LISTING — SUMMER MILLER
LOT #A-017 — THE VIRGIN DAUGHTER OF THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY
Status: Fresh Acquisition — Unbroken
Condition: Virgin, restrained, compliant with handling
Age: 20
Pedigree: High-value lineage. Daughter of DA Michael Miller. Law enforcement connections make this a premium, one-time opportunity.
BASE SESSION PACKAGES
30 Minutes (Single Participant Only) – $12,500
60 Minutes (Single Participant Only) – $20,000
Note: Rates listed are for ONE participant.
Any additional man present in the room incurs an immediate surcharge of $10,000 per
head.
No exceptions. No negotiation.
OPTIONAL EXTRAS (Subject to Handler Approval)
-Virginity Claim (verified)
-Impact Menu: whips, canes, paddles, riding crop
-Electric stimulation / electroshock
-Restraint variations: cuffs, belts, spreader bar, suspension
-Blindfolding, gagging, sensory deprivation
-Filming permissions (premium surcharge applies)
-Multiple-participant rotation (requires advance approval + surcharge)
This list is not exhaustive. Custom requests may be submitted directly to the handler.
RESTRICTION NOTICE
-Participant must remain conscious unless unconsciousness is included in the approved request.
-No disfigurement damage permitted during paid sessions.
HANDLER NOTES
-Subject is high-value due to lineage, age, and virgin status.
-Currently untrained, but responsive.
-High market interest.
-Buyer discretion recommended — this product will not remain available long.
I can’t look at it again. I fix my gaze on her instead—on the way the color drains from her face, on the sound of her shaky breath as she covers her mouth with trembling fingers. Tears slip down her cheeks one after another, silent and unstoppable.
That’s when she finally understands. What I took her from. What I’ve been fighting against all along.
“Jacob… this can’t be real,” she whispers, her voice breaking somewhere between disbelief and pleading.
“It is,” I say, the words rough in my throat. “And it was fully booked—a month straight—less than an hour after it went live.”
Her head shakes, slow at first, then faster, like she’s trying to erase what she’s seeing. I drag a hand over my mouth, remembering the moment I found it—the way the room seemed to tilt, the way everything inside me went black.
“Summer, I saw that, and I lost it. I couldn’t stand there and do nothing.”
She flips to the next page. The paper trembles between her fingers as she stares, then lifts it higher, her breath catching hard.
Her voice comes out as a broken whisper, wet with tears. “Well… it shows how wrong they were.” She laughs, but it’s hollow, shattered. “I wasn’t even a virgin.”
The sentence hangs there, jagged and cruel, and I can’t tell if she’s trying to reclaim something or destroy it. All I know is that I can’t breathe.
She realizes what she’s just said. Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide, breath catching. I can’t tell if she’s trembling because of what she’s seen—or because she knows what she’s just confessed.
“I’m sorry, Jacob,” she squeaks, voice breaking as tears spill down her cheeks. “I wanted to tell you—truly I did, but—”
She reaches for my forearm, and everything inside me stops.
Her hand is warm on my skin, but it feels like a brand. A lie. A betrayal I didn’t see coming. My pulse roars in my ears, drowning her out, drowning out everything except the single fact detonating through my skull—she wasn’t mine first.
Something cold slides down the back of my neck. A flicker—sharp, metallic—cuts through my breathing. I can’t tell if it’s jealousy or grief or something darker that I’ve never had a fucking name for.
Then the images start to morph in my head.
Her, bent over. Her mouth parted. Some other man—some fucking no one—inside my girl. Touching what I’ve starved myself for. Taking what I kept myself from having, year after goddamn year.
A crack tears through my chest so violently my vision goes white around the edges.
Someone—fuck knows who—some bar rat maybe? One of Carlton’s cowboys? The thought of her, moaning for someone else—
It doesn’t just hurt. It splits something in the marrow of me.
And that’s when the rage hits.
Fast. Total. A wildfire crawling up my throat before I can contain it.
It rips through me, a hot animal that takes over my chest and claws for release. Words I don’t even mean spill out.
“You mean to tell me,” I roar, pacing like a trapped thing, “that I brought you here to keep you—and you’ve already given yourself to someone else? Who the fuck is he?” My fists curl until my knuckles ache. “Tell me.”
She looks me in the eye, but says nothing.
I don’t think. I act. I yank the desk chair up and hurl it across the room; it slams into the desktop and the monitor explodes onto the floor in a shower of glass and plastic.
“Jacob,” she sobs, her voice small and splintered.
Tears streak down her face as she takes a step back, hands raised like she’s trying to calm a wild animal.
“I was going to tell you. I—I was scared.” Her words trip over themselves, frantic, trembling, “that you’d react like this…Please, Jacob, you’ve just dropped all this on me. Please don’t do this now.”
Her chest heaves, her whole body shaking as she presses herself against the wall, eyes wide and glistening. Every inch of her is pleading with me—not just to listen, but to stop.
“I haven’t touched another woman in years,” I snarl, pacing like a caged animal. “I’ve had them throw themselves at me—half this town whispering, asking if something’s wrong with me, if I’m broken. And all this time, I thought I was doing the right thing. I was keeping myself for you.”
My voice cracks, harsh and unrecognizable. “And then I find out—by accident—that you’ve already opened your legs and given yourself—the most precious part of yourself—to some little fuckboy?”
I slam my hand against the desk, the sound echoing through the room.
“I can’t—God, I can’t—Summer.”
The words keep coming, raw and furious.
“I thought I kept you pure. Thought I kept you safe. Thought I kept you mine.” My jaw tightens, breath shredding in and out. “Fuck… what more could I have done? I was everywhere, Summer. Watching. Waiting. When I wasn’t, my men were.”
Then the thought hits—slow, poisonous. “Was it one of my men?”
Her eyes widen. She sees the shift before I even move. Fear blooms across her face.
“Was it one of my fucking men?” The roar rips out of me before I can cage it, my fist driving straight through the drywall beside her head. Plaster explodes. Dust rains down between us.
“No!” she sobs. “It was Tyler… the night of the drug raid.”
I laugh. A hollow, broken sound. There’s no humor in it.
“Tyler.” His name burns like acid on my tongue. I remember that night—how she was supposed to be safe, tucked away at a friend’s house. Instead, she took the wrong goddamn street.
“Do you have any idea what I’ve done to protect you? The lines I’ve crossed? The deals I made just to keep Jackson’s men from touching you?”
I drag a hand through my hair, a bitter laugh escaping.
“You think they just disappeared? No. I brought you here and I turned a blind eye. I stopped investigating. I let them have what they wanted—anyone but you. And for what?” I meet her eyes, burning.
“For this? For the one thing I thought I’d kept untouched to already belong to someone else.
And now there’s women locked up in warehouses, being raped, tortured and murdered because I stopped investigations. Because I let it slide for you.”
The silence that follows is heavy, trembling, the kind that feels like it might break the walls apart. She meets my eyes like a dare, calm and cold enough to cut. My chest tightens around the words as they fall from her lips.
“I never asked for any of this. But fine. You’ve made your point. Save the others,” she says, voice steady, frightening in its steadiness. “Get them out. Get them living again. I’d rather—” Her voice breaks, just for a second. “—I’d rather hand myself over than have this on my conscience.”
For a second the room tilts. The idea of her choosing to disappear into that darkness to ease my guilt somehow lands heavier than any blow. Anger spikes—at her, at myself, at the world that keeps producing monsters—but under it is something worse: a cold, searing clarity.
No.
“No,” I say before I can stop it, and the single syllable carries more than denial. It carries the promise of everything I am. “You will not be anyone’s bargaining chip. But Summer I—”
“Yes, Jacob,” she interrupts, her voice trembling but steady enough to land every word like a blade. “I did sleep with Tyler. I did lose my virginity. But it wasn’t—” she swallows hard, shaking her head “—it wasn’t anything like this.” She gestures between us. “Not even close to what we’ve shared.”
I can still taste the fury in my mouth, bitter and metallic, but her words hit something I can’t quite name—something between shame and relief.
She draws in a slow breath, straightens her shoulders, and takes a cautious step back.
“Right now, I’m going to shower,” she says quietly. “You need space, Jacob. Time to calm down.”
For a second, I think she might look back. But she doesn’t. She just walks past me, her footsteps light but defiant, leaving me standing in the wreckage of everything I thought I controlled.