Owned (Office Intrigue Book 8) Page 6

  “You don’t have to dress up,” he said, his tone amused. “Submissives don’t get to wear clothes.”

  I nearly choked as I swallowed. “Very disturbing, Ransom. And you and I both know, a submissive I am not.”

  “Considering you never gave it half a chance…” He chuckled, quickly tacking on, “Not that you’ll hear me complaining. Last thing I want’s my baby sister to be some Dominant’s play toy.”

  He always said that, and while I suspected there was truth to that statement, Ransom had always encouraged me to do what made me happy. It wasn’t that we’d talked at length about Domination and submission or my curiosity regarding it; however, he had always been there to answer my questions, insisting that if I opted to pursue that sort of lifestyle, it was imperative I understood it. For Ransom, sex was a biological necessity, and he was not embarrassed discussing it the way that I was.

  “Trust me. I tried and failed. I’m beginning to believe there’s not a man alive who can give me what I need, so what’s the point?”

  “Well, if you change your mind…” He laughed again, but this time it was mirthless.

  “I won’t,” I assured him.

  “I’ll send you the address anyway. In case you get bored. Or, you know, in case you can’t reach me and need to.”

  I didn’t bother reminding him I already had the address. I’d finagled it out of him as a joke, and that was how I’d wound up there two Halloweens ago when I’d had an unexpected panic attack when I hadn’t been able to locate him.

  Something I’d purposely never told my brother and apparently no one else had, either.

  “I’ve got plenty to keep me busy,” I told him.

  Such as trying to figure out just what in the world Owned, Incorporated was. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t come up with anything about that company.

  I nearly blurted out the news that I’d been canned from my job, but opted to hold off. No reason to ruin Ransom’s night. Rarely did he go out and enjoy himself, and I knew if I told him, he’d want to come over and console me. In turn, I’d have to tell him about Tiegan Shaw, which would then have him reading me the riot act for not being more careful.

  Neither of us needed that right now.

  “Well, I better get going,” Ransom said, his words coming faster now. “I’ve got some errands to run before I head over there.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I teased.

  “Likewise,” he said, his voice softer than before. “I love you, Brae.”

  A strange feeling washed over me. “I love you, too. Hey, are you—”

  I didn’t get to ask if he was all right because the call disconnected. I set my phone on the counter, stared at it. A minute later, a text with TJ’s address came from Ransom, followed by: in case you need me. Another chill snaked down my spine. Something was wrong and he wasn’t telling me what, which was new. Ransom had always been open and honest with me.

  Maybe he just needed a night out to indulge. He hadn’t been doing much of it lately.

  I spent the next couple of hours doing my best to not think about my brother’s strange behavior, all the while continuing to perform one Google search after another. No matter what I inputted, I couldn’t get a bead on Owned, Incorporated. I even attempted a search on Tiegan Shaw and came up with nothing. I was tempted to hack a few databases but held off. I would give her the benefit of the doubt.

  For now.

  While I stretched, contemplating another avenue to go down, there was a knock at my door.

  Frowning because I wasn’t expecting company, I glanced around, suddenly having the urge to find a weapon. Clearly I was on edge, and I had a feeling it was Ransom’s doing. He always weirded me out when he wasn’t acting normal. And right now, Ransom and normal weren’t in the same hemisphere.

  Another knock sounded.

  It had to be Ransom. He was the only person who knew where I lived. Save for the pizza delivery place, anyway. Maybe he’d decided to skip TJ’s party. He’d never been a big fan of dressing up. I could see him using me as an excuse to get out of it.

  “I’m coming,” I shouted, sliding my hands over my hair to tame it.

  Smoothing my shirt, I put my eye to the security hole. The lens allowed me to see the full width of the hallway, but there was no one there.

  Probably just a kid playing a prank. There were a couple of tow-headed little boys who lived down the hall, and they liked to give their mom a run for her money, sneaking out whenever she wasn’t looking.

  It took a second to unlatch the chain, unlock both deadbolts, but I managed to open the door, expecting to see the little boys grinning up at me.

  No one. I peered down both ends. Not a soul coming or going, either.

  “Strange,” I muttered, walking back inside and closing the door.

  Before it aligned with the jamb, something slammed into it, forcing it open, knocking me back.

  I stumbled, my socked feet sliding on the hardwood. My arms flailed as I grabbed for the bar to keep me upright. A scream was roaring up my throat when a man stepped into my apartment, a big black gun pointed directly at my head. My breath lodged in my throat, stifling my scream.

  “Do it and die,” he growled, his face menacing, his black eyebrows slanted down in a harsh V.

  I continued to stumble back, my feet still slipping and sliding.

  My brain went into hyperdrive, attempting to place him. He wore all black—leather jacket, jeans, shitkickers, even his hair—and sported an unkempt beard and matching disheveled haircut. His face was lean and he had a menacing gleam in his dark brown eyes.

  Instead of a scream, I managed a whimper as I continued to back toward my bedroom—to my escape route—desperate to get away from him.

  Clearly believing he had the upper hand, he took his time closing and locking the door, continuing to hold that gun level with my head. “Where do you think you’re going, doll face?”

  Doll face?

  Oh, God, no.

  No, no, no.

  The man smiled, his perfectly straight teeth flashing. “Miss me?”

  Even as I fell, catching myself with my hands, I watched him as he stalked me. I didn’t recognize his face, but that was because I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years. But I remembered that voice, the way he used to call me doll face. It had creeped me out at the time, more so now.

  I levered myself up, backed up, never looking away from the face that had once appeared in my nightmares.

  Suddenly, my cell phone began ringing, which distracted me momentarily, had me pausing briefly before my fight-or-flight instinct shut out the sound.

  “You can run, but you can’t hide, doll face. Don’t you know that by now?” A sneer formed as his eyes raked over me. “Damn, but you look good. I bet that body’s all tight and hot now, huh? Mmm. Happy New Year to me.”

  I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. The only thing I knew was that I had to put something between us. A wall, a building, a million miles. Something.

  “You remember me, don’t you, doll face? Your future husband.” He smiled, but it was creepy. “Long time coming and I am so eager to get to the consummating.”

  When he lowered the gun, I exhaled heavily and took the final two steps to my bedroom. As soon as I cleared the threshold, I tried to slam the door. I wasn’t fast enough, his arm sliding in to keep it from closing. It took all my strength just to keep him from barging in. Had there been hardwood and not carpet, it would’ve been futile, but I had a bit of leverage.

  While I held my ground, putting my full weight into the door, my eyes went wild, searching for a weapon. Anything.

  Oh, my God. If he got in… I knew exactly what he’d do to me.

  I glanced left, right.

  Something.

  Anything.

  That was when I saw it.

  The metal tiger sculpture Ransom had gotten me. The one from my desk at work. I’d left it in my purse, and it was sitting on the small dresser. It wouldn
’t do any real damage, but it was heavy.

  I twisted around, pressing my shoulder and knee into the door as I grabbed the statue.

  “Might as well give up, doll face. We both knew it was inevitable that I’d find you.” He laughed, and I was fairly certain that was insanity dripping from it. “It’s almost amusing how easy your brother made it.”

  Not too easy, obviously, since it’d been fifteen years, but whatever.

  Swallowing hard, I gripped the statue in my fist, contemplated my actions for a few seconds then … using all the strength I could muster, I slammed it down on his wrist, once, twice… I kept hitting him until finally I heard the horrific sound of bone crunching.

  A terrible shout sounded from the other side of the door as he yanked his arm back, clearly in pain.

  It gave me the scant few seconds I needed to slam the door shut and flip the lock.

  Cursing followed, along with a litany of things he intended to do to me when he got in. None of them pleasant.

  I knew the flimsy lock wouldn’t hold long, but I didn’t need but a second. After all, I had planned for this. Ransom had insisted that I did. Hence the reason I had one of the fire escape ladders sitting on the floor just below my bedroom window. I’d actually run through the routine more than once—to the amusement of my neighbors—so I had it down pat.

  It took me under thirty seconds—a new record—to get the window up, the ladder rolled down from the second floor. I wasted no time, practically diving out as I raced toward the ground below.

  I managed to dash around the side of the building when the shouting and cursing echoed out into the bitterly cold night.

  That was when I ran.

  *

  TALON

  If one was ever in the market for a decent party with a flair for debauchery and domination, I would highly suggest one of TJ Arlington’s social functions. The man, whose claim to fame included a series of highly rated fiction books related to romanticized BDSM, didn’t while away his days only having glorified fictional intercourse. No, in his spare time, TJ was tending to the real thing, keeping himself busy with his harem of female playthings, showing them off to any and all who would join him.

  Personally, I didn’t see what all the fuss was about, but I couldn’t deny I was a rare breed who’d somehow ended up on the periphery of this fetish-fueled social scene. Unlike TJ, I could do without the drama. It did nothing for me. Yet like most events I was invited to, I’d reluctantly agreed to attend, now mingling with Chicago’s lustful and licentious upper echelon.

  As I moved through TJ’s elaborately decorated mansion, which had received an overhaul just for this occasion, sipping ridiculously expensive champagne, I had to admit it wasn’t as horrific as I’d expected. Except for the opulent furnishings and decor, it wasn’t much different than the club scene, in my opinion. A myriad of scantily clad submissives waiting on the guests, males and females who labeled themselves as Dominants sharing stories, catching up on the goings-on outside of the scene, and feasting on food set out on the naked bodies designated to play the role of dishes this evening.

  Every so often, I would nod, acknowledging someone I’d encountered at one time or another. Most refused to approach me, having come to learn I had not completely mastered the art of social niceties. I had absolutely no desire to discuss the latest trends in fashion or food, nor did I care to hear about the intimate details of a scene they’d had/would have/hoped to have with one of the willing and eager submissives available for the taking.

  Not that I was entirely unsocial. I had a handful of friends whom I would do just about anything for. Several belonging to the fetish club known as Dichotomy, of which I was a member. On occasion, I would venture out to the club to catch up with those I hadn’t seen due to my reclusive nature. In truth, that was the only reason I paid someone else for access to furniture, toys, and equipment I had readily available in my own home.

  As for the New Year’s gathering TJ had amassed, I came tonight to check in with a few people and to get a glimpse of whatever new tools of the trade he’d commandeered before they went to market. Although, I got the feeling I was going to be greatly disappointed with his inventory. It appeared tonight’s display revolved around caging the variety of human pets he maintained for his guests’ personal pleasure. And as much as I appreciated someone wanting to keep their human play toy in a kennel, it just wasn’t my thing.

  Trading my empty glass of champagne for a fresh one, I ventured toward the stairs leading down to TJ’s prized dungeon. It rivaled that of any club I’d ever been in, more of a glorified stage than anything. Think of Cirque du Soleil, only with naked, writhing bodies strapped down, tied up, and ultimately being used for the pleasure of many. The man had even installed spotlights and some intricate light show set to music to help his guests maneuver their way through.

  It might’ve appeared as though I was checking out the males and females on lockdown, but my interest was solely in what bound them. Sure, I admired TJ’s creativity, but I was always looking for new things to spark my own. The submissives were of no interest to me. Although most of them were available for the taking, they would not be able to provide me with what I needed. When it came to playthings, I required mine to be of an entirely different caliber. At the top of my list of requirements: strict obedience and complete silence. Since I had that at home, I would not be partaking of the flesh making itself available to me.

  As I moved around the room, checking out the variety of slings and swings, metal cages and rubber hanging ones, pillories, impalers, and stockades, I made a mental note to reach out to a friend of mine who manufactured things of this nature. A design was forming, and perhaps it was time for me to entertain some new furniture for one of my many personal playrooms.

  I lingered from one station to the next, observing the scene in an attempt to appear as though I was having a good time. I knew from experience that ducking out early and avoiding the highlights TJ maintained deep in the earth would only get me harassed at a later time. And since I had no desire to listen to anyone go on about my lack of social skills, I had learned to play the game.

  “Sir, if you’re interested, I would like to avail myself for your pleasure.”

  I paused, glancing down at the young woman who had stepped up to my side.

  My brain immediately catalogued her features. Her hair was blond and shiny, her shoulders bony, breasts high and firm, nipples tight and brown, waist narrow, hips equally so. As for her costume, her toothpick legs were adorned with sheer white, crotchless stockings, feet encased in a pair of white, heeled knee-high boots. She looked the same as every other female submissive I’d encountered tonight and appealed as much as the others, which translated to not at all.

  I didn’t speak, not even to acknowledge she had approached. This was the very reason I preferred to engage at Dichotomy when I was in Chicago. At least there the submissives were trained not to speak to me. Under any circumstance.

  Evidently, that memo hadn’t made it to TJ’s party this time around, either.

  Ignoring her, I made a wide berth around her scantily clad form, letting her know she was in my way.

  A few minutes later, when another young woman did the same, I gave up the ghost, returning to the main floor, where the Dominants were congregating. At least they would not be propositioning me.

  Shortly after I returned to the chaos, I noticed Trent Ramsey engaged in a conversation with four of his partners who ran the highly successful Chatter PR: Justin Parker, Benjamin Snowden, Landon and Langston Moore. The five men were congregating off to the side of the main walkway that would take me out of the house. Since I had yet to engage anyone in conversation, save for a quick hello/goodbye with Ransom upon his hasty retreat a short time ago, I figured it was imperative I do so before I took my leave.

  Landon let out a booming laugh. “I can actually see that. Clarissa dressed up like a Christmas tree.”

  “Sounds appealing,” Justin said.


  “Troy came up with the idea of dangling ornaments. She wasn’t impressed,” Trent explained.

  “I imagine not.”

  When I noticed another submissive making a beeline in my direction, I inserted myself into the conversation without haste. “Are they with you tonight?” I asked, looking right at Trent. “Clarissa and Troy?”

  All eyes shifted to me in greeting. Pleasantries weren’t necessary as these five men were some of those close friends I’d mentioned.

  “They are not,” he answered with a grin. “Clarissa was not willing to take that chance.”

  “Luci tried to get out of it,” Langston stated. “We wouldn’t allow it.”

  He nodded in the direction of a buffet that had been set up. All the food was black and white, as was the theme. All of it was also laid out on Luci’s trim, naked form.

  “Keeping a close eye on her, are you?” I teased.

  “Not for the reason you’re thinking,” Landon said with a laugh. “I fear she’ll bolt if we give her half a chance.”

  “Did you come from the dungeon?” Langston asked me. “Thoughts?”

  The only reason I smiled was because I knew they were expecting it. That and it helped to ease the lie that tumbled out easily. “I found it rather pleasurable, yes.”

  Trent gazed past me before resuming eye contact. “No pets for you this evening, either?”

  I quirked a brow, not bothering to answer. They knew me better than that. I did not have pets, as they so affectionately referred to their submissives. Mine were possessions, which was an entirely separate and distinct subset.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” Langston said, tapping Landon’s arm and nodding toward their submissive. “I think we need to intervene.”

  I glanced over, saw Luci smacking the hand of an overly touchy Dominant.

  When I turned back, Justin and Ben were engaged in conversation with another Dominant, and Trent had moved in closer to me. “Did you see Ransom earlier?”

  I masked my expression. “Briefly.”

  Trent stared at me and I could practically see his brain working. The man was nothing if not astute—not to mention skeptical—and for the past year, I think he’d been as curious as I was regarding what was going on with Ransom. However, I didn’t think he’d managed to unearth the same information I had, despite the fact Ransom headed up security for Chatter PR and worked closely with Trent and his clients.