Page 12

Eleven

Sebastian

It all seemed so easy and logical before I had a living human being at the end of a leash. A stunning human who keeps looking at me as if I’m a serial killer. She’s terrified of me—of course she is—and seeing those little shivers, the way her throat works and her gaze darts away, is almost killing me.

I knew I’d enjoy punishing Ophelia, but I didn’t think I’d enjoy it the way that I am. I’ve been rock hard from the moment I put on her damn shoes, and watching her struggle to walk in them isn’t making things any easier. Her ass rolls as she totters, and I want to grab it but content myself with the steadying hand I have on her bound wrists.

I’m not an animal. I can do this properly.

I didn’t miss Ophelia’s flinch when she mentioned her brother. I’m not surprised he’s an asshole to her as well. I’d be amazed if anyone on the entire planet actually likes him. If she thinks he’ll come after her first, rather than Daddy Dearest, that’s just fine by me. I have three fake teeth and a rib that still twinges from our last encounter. The next one is going to be very different .

Her gaze darts around the creepy corridor. I often wonder if they made the initiates’ quarters so grim and weird just to put the fear of God into new Wards. Nothing says “cult” clearer than a sinister red corridor lined with pictures of men in hooded robes.

“Do you like the decor? It’s not to my taste, but don’t worry. After we go through our ceremony, we’ll move to a much nicer place. I’ll show you soon.”

Maybe I’ll take her to visit Gabriel and Eve in the lovely accommodation reserved for full Brothers so she can see where we’ll spend the rest of our days. I could invite Jacob and Quinn, too. It would be fun to watch Jacob try not to explode at me disregarding his very sensible advice to keep Ophelia inside for a couple of days.

I should have listened. Tensions will be high at the moment, and parading her around might not be the smartest move. Whatever, though.

“Ceremony?” Ophelia’s question has a weary edge, as though she’s heard enough bad news for one day. Tough luck.

“Yes. It’s in a month. You’ll walk to me, naked, in a room full of people, and I’ll tattoo you with my mark. Then you’ll kiss my hand and thank me for choosing you.”

She laughs, a loud, unladylike bray that has me hiding a smile of my own. Her father came from New York, and there’s a hint of that accent in the sound. “As if. I’d rather die.”

“People say that a lot, but they rarely mean it.”

I leave that sinister phrase hanging in the air. Hopefully she takes it to mean I’ve killed plenty of people.

It works. She snaps her mouth shut and hurries onward. We reach the elevator, and I stretch past her to summon it. She stiffens as my body brushes against her back. The doors slide open, and our reflections stare back from the mirrored walls. God. I love seeing her like this.

The collar prevents her from looking at the floor, so all she can do is stare at her own reflection. She’ll like it even less soon. She tries to stand still and glare me down but rocks from foot to foot, ruining the effect. “Are your feet sore?”

“Would yours be, in these shoes?”

“Absolutely. Don’t worry. You can sit down soon.” Another short, gloomy corridor, and the door slides open, letting us into the light. It’s just past the breakfast rush, but the street is still busy, as Brothers and their Wards make their way to wherever it is they spend the day.

My friends find the Compound claustrophobic, but I enjoy the gentle, manicured feel of the place. It reminds me of the gated estate I grew up in—gaudy mansions separated by well cared for common grounds.

My home wasn’t a happy place, but the safety of the estate meant I was allowed outside on my own from a very young age. The Compound reminds me of escaping to play in the woods and parklands.

I was expecting curious glances—leashed Wards aren’t unknown but aren’t exactly common either—but every head snaps to stare as we walk by. Whispers follow us, and most of the looks aren’t friendly. Word got around, then. It’s not a surprise. Brothers and Wards, stuck here with limited entertainment, are all gossips.

I try to ignore the death stares and focus on Ophelia instead. Her lips are parted, and she’s twisting from side to side, staring at the people with wide eyes. She sees them look at her. She sees them register her collar, the leash, the bound hands. Then she sees them turn away .

Her bottom lip gives a single quiver, and it tugs at something in my chest, but I stomp that feeling down hard. No. She doesn’t get a single shred of pity from me. She’s here because she deserves to be.

A woman approaches. Annie. She’s friends with one of the girls, or maybe both of them. Cute in a chubby, gothy sort of way. She runs the little clothing store, and she’s the first woman we’ve seen by herself. Ophelia lurches toward her.

“Help, please! I’ve been kidnapped. I—”

She reaches the end of her leash and jerks to a stop as it pulls taut. Annie freezes, staring between me and Ophelia.

“Sir?” She looks at me with a question in her eyes. I’ve never got used to the Wards I don’t know calling me that. Quinn and Eve don’t because we're friends, but the rest are expected to.

Ophelia shouts over me. “He’s holding me prisoner! Don’t you get it. Call someone. Don’t just stand there…”

She trails off, and her shoulders slump. Ophelia is a lot of things, but she’s not stupid. I jump on the golden opportunity she’s just given me.

“Ophelia, meet Annie. She’s a prisoner too. Every woman you see is. You’ll get no help from them.”

Annie’s face falls at my words, and I can’t shake the guilty twist in my chest this time. The Wards hate to be reminded of their captivity, and I just threw it right in Annie’s face. She didn’t deserve it. She’s not Ophelia.

Annie swallows, then forces a brittle smile to her lips. “It’s not too bad here once you get used to it. I run the clothes shop on the high street. You should drop by.”

She nods to me, then speed-walks away. Ophelia stares at her retreating back. When she turns to me, her eyes are wide, gray pools. “I don’t… ”

We’ve reached the high street, and she studies it for the first time. Quaint little shops, a cobbled street, and olde-worlde lights with hanging lanterns. It’s a scene from a Christmas card, just lacking snow.

“This place. It makes no sense.”

I lay a hand on her bound wrists and guide her forward. She moves without complaining, eyes drinking in every detail. She’s shell-shocked, but her gaze is still sharp. How much of her dazed attitude is genuine, and how much is calculation? I have to remember who she is and the environment she grew up in.

“We’re almost there.”

“And where would that be?” Snappy. She’s nowhere close to losing her bite.

“You’ll see.”

At that, she plants her feet and spins to face me. I can’t decide if she’s furious or trying not to cry. Frustration boils off her, a raging cloud. “Just stop. Stop, Sebastian. Stop acting all mysterious and treating me like—”

“Like my property?”

I might as well have slapped her. She jerks back, stumbles when her heel catches a cobblestone, and I only just manage to catch her. Her weight lands in my arms as I wrap them around her back. She stares up at me, mouth a shocked O, as I help her back to her feet.

Christ.

Her body presses into me, and it’s almost too much. Months of deprivation, and now this. I want to grind myself into her like a rutting animal. Rip the tacky top from her skin and strip her bare right here, in the middle of the street.

She must sense the danger, as she struggles, squirming in my grip. It’s not helping matters. Oh, God, it’s not helping them at all .

Calm. Be the one in charge.

“Stop that. You’ll fall.” I use my sternest voice, and it works. She plants her feet. I release her slowly, stepping back far enough to get my head on straight. One spaghetti strap has slipped off her shoulder, so the top hangs down. She looks at it, then back to me, and I force a sardonic smile, though my heart is beating fast.

“That’s unfortunate.” I make a show of rolling the leash up tight in my fist and ignoring her wardrobe malfunction. “Keep moving. We don’t want to be—”

“Sebastian.” A rough, male voice. I turn to see Fred Ballard bearing down on us. He’s only in his early fifties but looks much older. Some Brothers lose all discipline faced with free-flowing booze, food, and whatever else they want. Fred falls into that category.

His tailored shirt does little to hide his beer belly, and broken capillaries decorate his face. I don’t know much about him besides the little I’ve picked up from general gossip. His work—something in particle physics that Gabriel would probably understand—never lived up to its initial promise, and he’s done little in the past few years.

There are several Brothers like him in the Compound, whose life’s work turned out a dismal failure. Thinking about it is a heavy weight pressing on my chest. Some find new directions to pursue or team up with other Brothers in their field. But others, like Fred, become angry and bitter. Even Kendrick once warned me he’s someone best avoided.

He squares up to me, though his head only reaches my chin. Some chivalrous instinct makes me put myself between him and Ophelia. His mouth twists as he realizes what I’m doing. Sour sweat and fresh alcohol waft off the man. It’s not even ten .

He’s a fucking mess. What would it feel like, to be a failure in a world of geniuses? Does he wish he’d stayed outside, where he could have reigned over the other mediocre intellects in his field like a king?

Focus. None of that matters now.

“What do you want?” Ophelia moves to stand beside me, and Fred’s eyes flick to her.

“You think this is clever? You three think you can do whatever you want, don’t you? Kendrick’s special trio. The most promising minds in a generation .”

He spits the words, mimicking Kendrick’s somber tone with an accuracy that would have been hilarious if he'd done it at a party. Not so funny now.

He leans closer, nasty breath washing over me. “He’s already announced restrictions. All non-essential trips out of the Compound, banned. No new contractors allowed in. Have you heard? Or have you been too busy fucking the Calder slut to look at your phone?”

Blood rushes hot in my veins. He pokes my chest before I can answer. “I had plans, and you’ve fucked them up. Now I’m stuck here. We won’t stand for it. Mark my words. She’ll be back to her daddy in—”

I grab his poking hand and twist. I don’t have anywhere close to Jacob’s level of skill, but I’ve spent years studying Hapkido. I love the technical nature of the art, the way using the right pressure points can reduce a grown man to tears. There’s something satisfying about finding just the right angle and—

“Fuck! Let go!” Fred flails at me with his free hand, but I just increase the pressure until he tips forward with a howl.

I bend down. “Stay away from me, and stay away from her. Got it?”

“Yes. Yes! ”

I release Fred’s hand, and he steps back, nursing it. My heart hammers, giddy excitement washing through me. I’ve never used Hapkido against a real opponent before. My sabeom would be so proud.

I didn’t even drop Ophelia’s leash in the commotion. This is a good day.

Fred stomps away but shoots back over his shoulder, “It’s not just me who’s pissed. Kendrick can’t protect you forever.”

I really, really hope he’s wrong.

Shit. Ophelia didn’t need to hear that. Now she’ll be all giddy with hope for escape, waiting for someone in the Brotherhood to decide she’s too much trouble and give her back to her dad. I’m going to have to work ten times as hard to get her in line.

Ugh. I should have kept her inside. Jacob was right. What a depressing thought.

I tug on her leash before she can start asking questions. “We’re running late.”

“Late for what?”

At least she sets off moving, careful and slow on the cobblestones.

“Nothing unpleasant. I’ve organized a few beauty appointments for you.”