Chapter 19 Bitsy
The plush leather seat of Wyatt’s massive SUV swallowed her up, but it did nothing to cool the intense, lingering sting in her bottom. Every tiny bump in the road was a sharp reminder of his heavy palm, keeping her trapped in that strange, hazy space between sheer panic and complete surrender.
Her mind was a chaotic, whirring blur, spinning over the sheer impossibility of the last hour.
Daddy. The word still vibrated in her chest, a heavy, grounding weight that felt terrifyingly permanent.
He had claimed her. He had dismantled every single one of her survival lies, stripped away her dignity, and spanked her until she was weeping into the couch cushions.
And then he had handed her the keys to a high-rise apartment she couldn't dream of affording.
Trust didn't come easily to Bitsy. It never had. People who offered help always wanted something in return—a pound of flesh, a debt to be collected later. Wyatt’s large, warm hand slipped over hers, his fingers weaving between her knuckles in a steady, grounding squeeze that broke through the remnants of her panic.
He didn't say anything immediately, just kept his eyes on the road, his grip a solid anchor that didn't let her drift too far into her own head.
"We're going to take things one step at a time, Bitsy," Wyatt rumbled softly, his deep voice filling the quiet cabin.
"Starting tomorrow, your routine changes.
No more hiding, no more skipping meals. You work your hours at Enigma, and the rest of your time belongs to your recovery.
And to me. We are going to establish a structure that keeps you safe, whether you think you need it or not. "
"Yes, sir," she whispered into the collar of her coat, her voice tiny and thick with the remnants of her regression. She didn't have the strength to fight him, and honestly, a small, exhausted part of her didn't want to.
When the SUV pulled into the executive lot at Enigma, the harsh reality of the corporate world started to bleed back into her consciousness. In the distance, near a sleek black sedan, Lennon and Silas were standing by the open passenger door.
Bitsy tensed instantly, her fingers twitching against Wyatt's palm. She tried to shrink back into the heavy fabric of her coat, suddenly hyper-aware of her red-rimmed eyes and the lingering sting beneath her slacks.
Panic flared hot in her chest, but Wyatt didn’t let go of her hand. He kept his grip firm as he turned off the engine, his thumb rubbing a reassuring circle over her knuckles that anchored her right to the spot.
"Stay put," he commanded softly, finally releasing her hand.
She watched through the glass as he stepped out into the bitter winter air, his long, heavy strides carrying him around the front of the SUV.
He opened her passenger door, his towering frame instantly blocking out the worst of the wind.
Instead of just letting her step down, his large, warm hands reached up to catch her securely by the waist, lifting her effortlessly from the high cabin and setting her on her feet.
Before she could stumble or retreat, his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders, tucking her closely against his side as he guided her toward the pair.
"Wyatt, Bitsy," Lennon called out, a warm, easy smile breaking across her stunning features as she leaned against the sedan.
Silas stood just behind her, his expression unreadable but relaxed, nodding a quiet greeting to Wyatt.
"We were just heading out for the evening. How are the diagnostic logs coming?"
"Taking a bit longer than anticipated," Wyatt said, his voice level as his hand shifted to rest firmly on the small of Bitsy’s back.
Bitsy instinctively pressed closer to his hip, her eyes fixed firmly on the asphalt.
"We had to take a detour to handle some domestic adjustments.
Miss Bitsy here had a backlog of consequences to sort through. "
Bitsy’s heart nearly leaped out of her throat.
A mortifying flush rushed up her neck, staining her cheeks a vibrant crimson red.
He didn't just say that. She wanted the pavement to open up and swallow her whole.
Her fingers clutched frantically at the edge of her coat, her breath hitching in pure embarrassment.
"Oh, don't even worry about it," Lennon said, her tone laced with a warm, easy comfort.
She adjusted her weight slightly, wincing just a fraction with a faint, amused smile.
"If it makes you feel any better, Silas put me over his knee last night because I decided to climb all the way onto the kitchen counter to reach the top cabinets instead of just asking him for help.
I'm practically dreading the drive home.
These men have absolutely no patience for broken rules. "
Silas let out a low, amused huff from behind her, his arm sliding around Lennon's waist to pull her back against his chest. "You earned every bit of it, love."
Bitsy’s mind completely stuttered. She blinked, her gaze darting from Lennon’s immaculate, high-fashion winter suit to the powerful grip Silas held on her.
The image of the breathtaking, confident woman in front of her being turned over a man’s lap and thoroughly spanked was almost impossible to process.
The sheer normality with which Lennon spoke about it shattered Bitsy's mortification, replacing it with a bewildered, overwhelming sense of relief.
She wasn't an anomaly. She wasn't just a broken girl being singled out.
"I... I'm sorry about your bottom," Bitsy murmured, her voice small and entirely too honest in her lingering little headspace.
Lennon let out a bright, genuine laugh, her eyes crinkling. "Don't be, sweetie. It keeps me grounded. You take care of yourself, okay? Don't let Wyatt boss you around too much outside of hours."
"Get some rest, Lennon," Wyatt replied, a rare, faint trace of amusement touching his tone.
After a round of brief goodbyes, Lennon and Silas slid into their sedan, leaving the parking lot in a quiet purr of luxury engineering.
Wyatt guided Bitsy toward the private executive entrance of the club.
As they moved through the sleek, dimly lit corridors toward the upper suites, the heavy security doors slipped open to reveal Hudson, who was adjusting his coat as he prepared to leave for the night.
"Wyatt. Bitsy," Hudson nodded in passing, his ex-military status bearing evident even in his relaxed stride. He didn't linger, his focus already on the exit. "Zane cleared out an hour ago. See you both in the morning."
"Good night, Hudson," Wyatt replied as the heavy doors clicked shut behind the enforcer.
The executive suite was entirely quiet now, the bustling energy of the workday completely absent.
Bitsy followed Wyatt into their shared office space, feeling the adult part of her brain clawing at the edges of her awareness, trying to assert control.
The safety of the apartment and the validation from Lennon only deepened her little headspace, cocooning her in a vulnerability that felt dangerously exposed against the sharp, sterile reality of the office.
She stood by her desk, her fingers working to unbutton the heavy coat. "I should leave this here," she said, her voice stronger now, though still vibrating with tension. "It doesn't belong to me."
Wyatt stopped packing his briefcase, turning his massive frame to face her fully.
He crossed his arms, his dark eyes locking onto hers with the non-negotiable dominant authority that made her knees want to buckle all over again.
"The coat stays on, Bitsy. It is freezing outside, and until I buy you one that fits you properly, you will wear what keeps you warm. "
He stepped around his desk, grabbing his heavy keys.
"We are going to gather our things, and I’m walking down to your car with you to get absolutely everything out of it.
We're putting it into my SUV so we can take it to your apartment.
After that, I am taking you to eat dinner, and then we are going to the store so you can get a few more things you need. "
Bitsy swallowed hard, trying to summon her independence as her normal headspace fought to take over. "Sir, you really don't need to take me to the store. I have what I need in my car, and I can just take my bags straight to the apartment myself. I don't need you to buy me anything else."
Wyatt didn't listen to a single word of her protest. He simply gave her a stern, warning look that left no room for further discussion, opened the office door, and gestured for her to precede him. "Moving forward, little girl, I make the rules. No more arguments."
They headed down to the secure executive parking garage, sliding into the plush interior of Wyatt's heavy SUV. He drove the short distance around to the main employee lot, pulling up directly beside her battered, thin-metal sedan. The contrast between the two vehicles was painful.
When they stepped out into the biting winter air, Bitsy walked to the rear of her car and popped the trunk.
As the lid lifted, a heavy wave of shame washed over her.
The trunk was crammed with plastic storage bins, loose duffel bags, a stray pillow, and the messy, disorganized remnants of a life spent hiding in the backseat of a vehicle.
It was pathetic. It was proof of her failure to survive on her own.
She kept her eyes glued to the concrete, her shoulders hunching as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice choking up. "It's a mess."