Chapter 31 A Life in Velvet & Chains
A Life in Velvet & Chains
Summer
They drag me out of the office like I’m nothing but luggage. My heels skid across the floor, wrists bruised from where they’ve been gripping me. The black SUV waits by the door like a hearse.
“Get in,” Donnie barks, shoving me forward.
I stumble, slam into the metal, the chill biting straight through my skin. The door yanks open and I’m shoved inside. Donnie slides into the driver’s seat, keys already in his hand, humming like this is just another job.
Jackson climbs in beside me. Too close. His dark curls fall across his face, eyes catching mine like hooks. He doesn’t look tired. He doesn’t look scared. He looks thrilled.
He's seen me bare, and since that very moment his pupils have exploded—his eyes not leaving my body for more than a second.
Vince leans against the front passenger door.
He’s grinning, already lighting another cigarette.
“I’ll catch up later,” he drawls. His gaze slides past me to the cluster of women still huddled on the sofa inside.
His tongue wets his bottom lip. “That brunette’s still got a little fire in her. I’ll put it out.”
My stomach lurches. Acid burns my throat. I want to scream, to claw his eyes out, to drag her out of this hellhole myself—but the door slams and he’s gone. And I’m trapped.
The SUV rumbles to life, gravel spitting under the tyres as Donnie pulls us away. My pulse hammers so hard I feel it in my teeth.
Then Jackson leans back, stretching out like he owns the world. His arm rests against the tinted window. The other hand drops low—landing heavy on my thigh.
I freeze. Every nerve in my body screams at once.
His thumb strokes once, slow, a mockery of tenderness. “You’re prettier up close,” he murmurs, voice dripping heat and rot. “Thought maybe he exaggerated.”
I snap before I can stop myself. I spit—hot, fast—right into his smug, flame-blue eyes.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then his palm cracks across my face so hard the world tilts sideways. My cheek burns. The sting echoes through my skull.
But he’s smiling. Wide. Wicked. “Mmm,” he hums, leaning closer, breath hot against my ear. “I love a woman with fight.”
I press back against the door, ribs aching, the taste of iron on my tongue. My voice shakes, but I force it out anyway. “Don’t touch me.”
He laughs. It’s soft, almost sweet—and that makes it worse.
“Touching you is just the start, sweetheart.” His hand snakes higher, gripping, squeezing.
“Where we’re going? No one will hear your screams. Not the cops.
Not your sheriff. Not a single soul. There won’t be an inch of your body that I haven’t had in my hands. ”
Donnie chuckles up front, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm with my heart. “She’ll learn,” he mutters.
And I know he’s right. Out here, no one can hear me.
No one but them.
Jackson’s hand presses back on my thigh like he’s staking his claim. The leather of the seat squeaks with each bump of the road, the SUV growling low as Donnie takes us further from anything familiar. My cheek burns where he hit me, the heat crawling into my jaw.
My voice comes out raw. “Why?” I manage. My throat tightens, but I force it out again, louder. “Why take me there? Why dress me up like some—” I choke on the word. “—like some whore?”
Jackson turns his head slow, like a cat who’s already decided the mouse has nowhere left to run. His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it culminates.
“Because, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice sliding under my skin like oil, “you needed to look the part when you arrive. First impressions matter. When you meet the staff, they’ll expect you polished. Perfect. Not rocking up wearing another man’s pajamas.”
My blood goes cold. “Staff?” The word scrapes like glass up my throat.
He leans closer, his curls brushing my shoulder, breath hot against my ear. “Oh yes. Staff. Who’ll take care of your daily needs in your new home. The kind of place where ladies like you stay nice and safe… as long as they behave.”
His fingers tap-tap-tap against my thigh, a rhythm as steady as a metronome, each beat a threat.
“And if I don’t?” My voice is too quick, too sudden, but I can’t swallow the question back.
His eyes spark like blue flame. He tilts his head, amused, almost gentle—like he’s explaining bedtime rules to a child.
“That little warehouse you just saw? With the lingerie racks, the bruised-up pets, the ones too broken to lift their heads?” His smile widens, but there’s nothing human in it.
“That’s where you’ll end up. Passed around until there’s nothing left worth selling. ”
The air punches out of me. My stomach twists so hard I think I’ll vomit right there in his lap.
He notices. Of course he does. He drags his hand higher up my leg, squeezing until I can’t tell if I’m shaking from rage or terror. “I wanted you to see it,” he says softly. “I wanted you to know what happens when a woman thinks she’s braver than she really is.”
My nails dig into the cracked leather of the seat until I feel them bend. My chest heaves, but I keep my chin up, keep my eyes locked on the blur of road outside the window. If I look at him again, I’ll break.
Jackson doesn’t need me to answer. He leans back, satisfied, his hand finally retreating. But his words cling to me like smoke.
A home.
Staff.
Behave, or rot with the others.
Others who shouldn’t be there.
It feels like we’ve been driving forever. Roads blur into each other, long ribbons of black hemmed in by trees that look the same no matter how far we go. Time doesn’t move normally anymore. It stretches, warps, coils around my ribs like barbed wire.
When the SUV finally slows, my heart stutters. Gravel crunches under the tires, louder than gunfire. I lift my head, eyes straining past the smear of my own reflection in the window.
A country house. Not a house—a mansion. Pale stone, sprawling wings, windows that gleam like eyes. At the gates, tall and electric, a buzzing sound splits the silence before we even stop. They swing open like jaws, welcoming us inside.
The driveway is long enough to feel like another trap.
Lined trees bow inward, their branches clasped like skeletal fingers.
A fountain rises in the center—three tiers of carved marble, water spilling endlessly into a pool wide enough to drown a dozen bodies in. The SUV circles it, gliding to a stop.
“Welcome home, Summer,” Jackson murmurs.
I shudder before I can stop myself, and his grin widens, like he’s felt the tremor run through me.
The engine dies, and I can’t tell if it’s better or worse that I’m not trapped in that warehouse with the broken girls. I know I should feel relief—lucky, even—that I’m not already bleeding out on a stained mattress or crumpled in some basement corner. But the thought curdles in me.
Because if Jacob hadn’t hidden me, if he hadn’t locked me away in his twisted idea of safety, then maybe the other women wouldn’t be there. Maybe if he’d kept investigating instead of protecting me, fewer of them would be whispering prayers into their own wrists tonight.
The guilt crushes me, bitter and black, still, I choke it back before it can show on my face.
My voice cracks when I speak. “Why now? Why come for me now? My parents. You killed them. Isn’t that enough?”
For a moment, silence stretches. Donnie twists the key out of the ignition. The ticking of the engine cooling fills the space, like a clock running out.
Then Jackson leans forward. His arm drapes along the back of the seat, casual, like we’re just on a late-night drive. His eyes gleam in the dashboard light, too blue, too bright.
“You want to know why?” His voice drops low, soft, almost tender. “Because, sweetheart, I’ve been counting the days.”
He taps a slow rhythm on the seat, each knock deliberate, like the tick of a metronome.
“Months in a cell. Every second of every fucking day, I swore two things. First, that I’d kill Michael Miller for putting me there. Second….” His lips curl, wolfish. “That I’d get you.”
My throat dries, tongue heavy. “Why?”
He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Don’t play dumb, Summer, you know why.
Your fucking father is the reason I went to that hell hole, Jacob was the one who put me in cuffs.
Originally, my men were going to take you, sell you.
Make a bit of money. But after my time inside, and with him protecting you… well… I’ve had time to plan this out.”
His hand lifts, hovers, then brushes against my cheek—the same side he slapped earlier. My stomach lurches, but I don’t pull away. He leans closer, his breath tinged with smoke and something metallic, like the tang of blood.
“Here,’’ he says, gesturing toward the house, his voice smooth as silk, “is a life where you won’t have to want for anything again—as long as you follow my orders.
” He leans closer. “This place dresses itself in velvet and chandeliers, but don’t be fooled.
Every gilded room has its predator. And darling… you’re looking at him.”
Donnie snorts as he steps out of the truck, but Jackson doesn’t glance at him. His eyes stay pinned to me, burning.
“I told myself every night, when the lights went out in that cell, that I’d find you. That when I did, I’d make sure you’d be mine. They thought the bars kept me in. No. They just gave me time to plan.”
The SUV door clicks as Donnie pushes his door open. Icy air spills in, cold enough to sting my lungs.
Jackson leans back finally, giving me space. “Now,” he says, gesturing toward the door with a flick of his hand. “Time to meet your new home.”
The words hang in the air like smoke, impossible to breathe, impossible to escape.
And I know that this is only the beginning.