Page 18

Seventeen

Sebastian

I’d love to film her reaction to the bed, but I’m annoying myself with my constant need to record Ophelia. I’ll just have to remember this the old-fashioned way.

Ironically, the revolting bed is one of the most expensive items in my apartment. It turns out custom-made memory foam beds cost a lot, and persuading a reputable luxury craftsman to upholster it like a five-year old’s drawing costs even more. It’s sized to allow her five-foot-seven frame to stretch out and should give her an excellent rest.

If she can get over the shame of actually sleeping on it.

She takes a step back and glares at me, arms crossed in a way that pushes her tits up delightfully. It took no time at all for her to get used to being naked. I don’t think she’s naturally shy, just buttoned up and used to acting prim and proper. Is there time for one more round before bed?

“I’m not sleeping on that.” Bold words, but her voice has lost its stern Calder snap. There’s a quaver to it, and even her brave posture doesn’t last. Her shoulder slump, and her gaze slips from mine to the floor .

Dark circles ring her eyes, and she looks close to collapse. I don’t blame her. Today has been rough. I’ll save the next round for tomorrow.

“It’s nice you’re so desperate to sleep next to me, but I’m afraid you’ll have to earn that privilege.”

She scoffs. “I’d rather sleep on the floor.”

“I can’t stop you from doing that. It’ll be cold and miserable, but that’s your problem.”

I leave her to debate her options and head to the bathroom to set up the final surprise of the evening. As I expected, she follows when she hears the clink of metal on metal, peering through the door. “What the—”

“Just an extra safety measure to make sure you don’t try to smother me in my sleep. It’ll let you reach your lovely bed and the toilet, but you won’t be able to reach me.”

Getting the special leg shackle and chain the right length took a fair bit of wrangling and moving of furniture, but now it’s perfect. It’s designed to look medieval—a chunky metal cuff attached to a length of clanky chain—but I had the inside lined with soft fur so it won’t damage her skin.

I’m too generous with her, really.

Her mouth works as she watches me lock the chain to the hidden anchor point behind the toilet. She stares from the cuff in my hand to the bedroom door, which we’ve already established she can’t open.

“Why?” she asks softly. “Why do you need all this? You could just lock me in a room, away from you.”

I could—I probably should—but I really, really don’t want to. There’s something enticing in the thought of having her right here, at my fingertips. Sleeping. Vulnerable. It’s sick, and I’m really starting to worry about my mental health, but whatever. I want her on the damn pet bed .

“That wouldn’t be any fun, would it? Now, the shackle is going on one way or another. Where you sleep is up to you.”

She clenches her hands into fists and closes her eyes. I can almost hear her counting to ten, then she sticks out her foot. “Fine. I’ll be out of here tomorrow anyway.”

I clip the shackle on tight and wait until it’s safely locked in place before I answer. “Is that really what you think?”

She bends to examine the cuff, running a finger around the edge. “Nobody wants to get on my dad’s bad side. I’m sure your superiors understand that. They’ll probably hand him your balls on a silver platter too, for good measure.”

Tough words from a chained, naked woman. A little flicker of something almost like pride flares for an instant before I snuff it out. I open the closet and pull out her blanket—striped to match the bed and embroidered with her name, naturally—and hand it to her. She stares down at it as I sit on the bed and unbutton my shirt. “Let me tell you a story.”

She watches as I undo the first three buttons, then looks away. Not shy but wary of seeming interested in me, I think. She tests the length of the chain, then wraps herself in the blanket and sits on the floor. It’s polished wood and can’t be comfortable, but she crosses her legs and looks at me defiantly.

I shrug. “The Brotherhood formed over five hundred years ago. Since then, we’ve had thousands of Wards. Do you want to know how many escaped?”

She doesn’t answer, but I carry on anyway. “Twelve. And every single one was more than a century ago. In the last hundred years, every woman that entered the Compound has never left.”

It hits her hard, but only little signs give it away. White knuckles as she clutches the blanket. Tightness around her jaw. “ I’m sure most of you freaks do as you’re told and choose sensible targets.”

“Not at all. Back in the eighteen hundreds, one Brother took a liking for the president’s niece. Can you imagine? He took her, and even though records show the Brotherhood was pissed about it, they never released her. Choosing a Ward is a sacred duty, and interfering with it goes against everything we stand for. Some cowards might complain, but they’ll lose the debate. I’m keeping you.”

I strip my shirt off and throw it into the hamper. The silence stretches as I do the same with my trousers. As an afterthought, I toss a pillow onto Ophelia’s bed. Her gaze is locked on the floor, but I don’t think it’s anything to do with me. She bites her lip, then winces when she hits the sore skin. Her eyes shine. She’s fighting tears. My heart gives a dangerous lurch.

“Please don’t do this.” All the bravado is gone from her words, and I pause before turning off the light. “I’m sorry about Maggie. I’m so, so sorry. I was a stupid teenager. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Any shred of pity I’d been feeling evaporates. Crocodile tears and fake fucking words. I hardly recognize the cold hiss that comes out of my mouth.

“You know when that might have meant something? Right after she died. Or any fucking point between then and now. Funny how you’re so, so sorry now that I own you. Didn’t give a shit before, though, did you?”

“I did! But I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. I wrote you a letter but never sent it. I didn’t want to cause your family any more pain.”

There's sorrow in her words, and a small, pathetic part of me almost believes her. I crush it .

“Convenient. You know, if you’d actually reached out to me, you might not be here now. Maybe you’d still be out there, living your life, and I’d have some other poor girl shackled to my fucking toilet.”

I spit the words and turn off the light. I’m so far from sleep that the next few hours are going to be torture, but I’m too stubborn to get up and do something else. Instead, I seethe in the dark, running her words through my mind. She’s sorry. Sorry doesn’t bring back the dead.

Ophelia’s chain clanks as she shifts around, and it’s music to my ears. I’ll teach her to be sorry. It doesn’t take long for her to give up on the floor and move onto the pet bed. I smile as I hear her settle in and the little sigh she gives as she realizes how comfy it is. Some of my anger drains away at that noise.

She’s not really Ophelia Calder anymore. This revenge of mine will kill that bitch forever. She’ll just be Ophelia, my compliant, beautiful little pet.

***

She’s still asleep when I wake up. I’m so used to sleeping alone that the soft sound of her breathing shocks me into full awareness as soon as sleep starts to dissipate. I sit up, covers tangled around me, and study her in the dim, early morning light.

Her deep blue hair spills across the pillow, and her lips lost their puffiness overnight, settling into exactly the subtle pout I wanted. She’s kicked the blanket half off in her sleep, and it displays her shackled ankle as perfectly as if I’d posed her for the photo.

Way too good of an opportunity to miss .

I snap a few shots, then scroll through my gallery. Which should I use? An easy choice. The one of her on the pet bed and the one I took yesterday the moment she opened her lips when I shot my load on her face.

Adrenaline sears me as I find the numbers I need and hit send.

There’s a moment, once the message is sent and can’t be called back, that my heart stops. What did I just do? Until that exact moment, this could have ended peacefully. The Council could have overruled Kendrick, forced me to relinquish Ophelia, and cut a deal with the Calders to limit repercussions.

Now, though? It’s over. I’ve burned the crops, and I salt the earth with my next message.

She’s a good girl. I think I’ll keep her.

Then I block Harrison and Randall Calder’s numbers and head to the shower.

I let Ophelia sleep in, pacing the apartment until the intercom buzzes. When my friends pour in, it’s almost surreal. Yesterday was a break from reality, where it felt like only Ophelia and I existed. The sudden press of people in the apartment ratchets up my nerves as reality kicks down the door. I’ve fucked everything up for everyone, and it’s time to face the music.

Quinn barges in first, iPad clutched in one hand as usual. She rarely goes anywhere without Candice, bringing her CI friend along to dinners, parties, and basically anywhere Jacob lets her. I once asked if they’d had a threesome, and Jacob told me, in his dour British way, not to give Quinn any ideas.

“Where is she?” Quinn demands, staring around the living room, then glaring at me. “You’d better not have her locked in a cage. ”

“No, only your wonderful man is twisted enough for that. Sorry to disappoint.” I pause, then can’t resist adding for dramatic effect, “I’ve got her chained up, sleeping on a pet bed.”

“What?” Quinn’s shriek could shatter glass. “Let me see.”

“Quinn.” Jacob points a beefy finger at the couch. “Sit. Or you know what’ll happen.”

She does as she’s told but sticks her middle finger up when he turns his back. I stifle a laugh—the nerves are making me jumpy—and he whips his head back to face her. “What was that?”

I wink at Quinn. “Nothing. Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

“You should be fucking nervous. I just spent an hour with Kendrick. He’s worried, mate. Get everything sorted here, and we’ll head to mine. We need a game plan before we go to the meeting.”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Maybe I don’t need to worry about the meeting. Jacob might crush my throat with his bare hands when I tell him about the texts I sent this morning.

Jacob snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You in there, mate? Hurry the fuck up.”

“Yes. Right. Gabriel, come with me. I’ll introduce you.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait. You owe me for this.”

He squeeze’s Eve’s hand, and she sits next to Quinn. Their excited chatter follows me as we make for the bedroom. I push the door open, half expecting to find Ophelia still asleep, but she’s up, blanket clutched around her.

“Jesus,” Gabriel mutters, “You weren’t kidding.”

I give Ophelia my most patronizing smile. “Morning, sweetheart. Glad to see you slept well. ”

I’m braced for a smart remark, or at least a “fuck you,” but her gaze is locked on Gabriel. “Why is he here?”

It takes me a second to understand the direction of her thoughts, and for some reason, I rush to reassure her. “He’s just here to babysit. Don’t worry, pet. I love to show you off, but I don’t share.”

I use my thumbprint to open the locked drawer next to my bed and hand Gabriel the key to the shackles. “You can unlock her with this. She’s only allowed the clothing in this drawer—” I gesture with a flourish. “—and don’t let her spend the day in the blanket. It stays here.”

Gabriel nods. “Got it. Any other rules?”

I shake my head. “If she gives you any trouble, lock her back up and leave her in here all day.”

“Will do. You’d better get going.”

Yes. I’d better. I give Ophelia one last look. “Be good.”

Then I head out to face the music.