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Then, I take them all to the next room to power up the metal shredder.

Charlie stumbles in five minutes later, pale as a sheet and still clutching his mangled, bloody hand. “You can’t—there’s pivotal information on those!” he says as I feed another drive into the shredder. It’s loud, the tumblers cranking away as they tear through the disks.

I toss the last drive in. “I have off-site backups. Probably because you only taught me a fraction of what I know.”

When I turn to him, I can tell he’s seeing me in a different light. There’s spite—an unmistakable glare—and also a lot of pain, which is expected. But there’s something else, too.

Right now, I’m scarier than Nick Bruin.

“I’d never get a camera into that building,” Charlie grits as I pull the gun back out, racking the slide. “I mean, notthatbuilding! You’ve gotta understand, they’re—they’re making that place into their home. I’m not the only guy they’ve contracted. I’d be caught. But,” he rushes out, holding his hand aloft, “there’s another place. Across the street. It’s—it might get your eyes through some windows.”

I pause, thinking. “That’ll do.” Charlie’s posture sinks in relief, until I add, “For now.”

He whimpers as he grips his wrist “For now?”

“Until you can find me something closer.” Passing him on my way out, I pause only to make one thing known. “Verity Sinclaire is the best woman in Forsyth. Wanna know why?” He flinches as I lean in, my stare hard. “Because she’s mine.”

* * *

Charlie cuts it close.

I spend the whole day impatient and jittery. I can catch glimpses of her on the campus footage, but it’s not enough. I have backdoors into her SMS and email, so I know when she orders a coffee. I know when she makes an appointment with her advisor. I know when she adds grapes to her shopping list.

But I can’t fuckingseeher.

West End is an ancient, crumbling maze of low-tech bullshit. This wasn’t a problem back in the day when I was watching her as a cute little freshman. But now, I’m a Prince. There’s no hope of me crossing the boundaries to watch her myself.

The notification arrives with only five minutes to spare.

Charlie: Would have gotten this to you sooner, except there seems to be an issue with my mouse hand.

His next message is an IP address with login credentials. Not wasting any time, I plug it into the RTSP address format and bring up the streams.

Streams.

Plural.

I’m not as disappointed as I expected to be.

Each camera is looking right into a window. Three of them are black, but two of them are illuminated. One is obviously a kitchen, the bigger one the main living space. The tension in my back slowly unwinds as I see her silhouette passing between them, a mug clutched in her hand. She’s wearing a bulky sweater. Must be cold in there. Her hair is pulled up, a couple of tendrils swaying loose around her temples.

Leaning back in my seat, I watch.

“Please, god, no.” Behind me, Effie loudly preens her feathers. “Please, god. Please, no.”

I slide her an exasperated look. “That’s the last time I let you watch anything from the dungeon archives.” I had to transcribe a video for a contract this morning. It was tedious enough hearing all the ‘Please, god’s in person. Now I have to hear it third-hand.

She pecks at the bar of her cage. “Pretty bird?”

“Yes,” I agree, reaching back to let her out. Effie immediately jumps to my desk, her little head bouncing back and forth as she watches the screen with me. Verity is on a sofa, legs curled beneath her, a textbook open in her lap.

Effie’s voice softens. “Gentle, gentle.”

I stroke distracted fingers along her back. “Yeah, that’s our girl.”

A hot frisson runs down my spine just hearing myself say it. That’s what Verity is now. I look at her stomach and feel my cock begin to swell. My baby is in there, taking root. All this time, I thought the best way of having a girl might be locking her up in my dungeon, or having her on her knees, my cock nestled in her warm mouth. None of it compares to the knowledge that a part of me is inside of her.

Possessing her.