Page 33 of His Toy

CHAPTER 9

Heather

On the computer screen, Hazel paced between the four walls like a pendulum. Seeing her in a claustrophobic situation like that, trapped in a room with barely enough space for a plastic chair and a twin bed, made me realize how silly I was for feeling stuck. I couldn’t leave the property nor did I have access to every room in this house, but I could move around. I had human contact. In Hazel’s room, there was a small cubby in the door, big enough for two hands to slide in a tray of food. On the chair, a plastic tray held dry toast cut into the shape of a house, a handful of peas and carrots tucked inside like a vegetable family.

A situation like that was enough to make anyone go crazy.

I glanced around the room, expecting to see Zaid at any minute. Our trip to the Valley of Fire had been strange. As far as I could tell, he had taken me to the national park purely to entertain me. But then he had shown me a different side of himself.

Violence is in my blood.

I couldn’t argue with that. Hewasviolent, willing to discipline me with a cane, to bruise my body until I was numb, to make sure I remembered his teachings, and yet this was different. There was a coldness to his stare then, like he wasn’t seeing me. He was seeing something else, something far away, from his past.Violence is in my blood.He made it sound like he was destined to be a killer, and though he scared me, I knew deep down that he’d never harm me. He had tried to save me at Club Hades and had respected my boundaries over these last few weeks. He had taken Hazel hostage, but as far as I could tell, she wasn’t harmed. Not physically, anyway.

What was in my blood? I knew so little about where I came from, my parents. But I had a feeling they had an itch to wander, like Hazel and I did.

Which was why Hazel needed a reprieve from the boredom, like I did. I didn’t even know where this clinic was. But Zaid could do something for her, couldn’t he? I had to figure out an appropriate request.

“How is she?” Zaid asked. He stood in the doorway, a tie loose around his shoulders. Instead of the suit jacket I was used to seeing him in, he was wearing a gray vest over a midnight plaid button-up shirt and dark brown derby shoes. The black slacks shaped well to his body. The scar, stretching across his eye, stood out, a reminder of his past that he could never hide. His pink lips pressed into a rare smile. I pictured myself naked, kneeling at his feet as he caressed my cheek, the flickers of a fire dancing on his shoes. A collar around my neck.

A collar symbolized that you belonged to someone. A master with a slave. A toy with an owner.

Did Zaid own any slaves? Any toys, like me?

“She’s doing well, then?” he asked, a grin on his face at my lack of response, teasing me. I shook my head. This was embarrassing. It was one thing to admire the way someone was dressed, but another to start drooling over your dominant. Especially if your dominant was technically your extorter, and your sister’s captor.

Was that right? Dominant? No. It wasn’t. He was more than that.

“She’s okay,” I said. The vest was snug against his trim, but muscular frame. I imagined running my fingers along his torso. What other scars would I find?

“Good.”

Then I remembered. “Do you think you could get her some books?” I asked. “I understand if she can’t have any devices. But a book is harmless, right?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He straightened. “But we have plans tonight. I’ve left a dress in your room. We leave in an hour.”

Leaving? Again? Where to, this time?

In a dress, we certainly weren’t hiking.

But the situation made it awkward. Had we met like normal people did—a dating app, a bar, somethingnormal—we could indulge in this kind of situation. Going out on the town, in fancy clothes. But as it stood now, we were partners in a grand revenge scheme. Zaid’s design. Nothing more. But even that was generous. I wasn’t a partner. I was the distraction in the design. He could pay an escort to do my job, but why would he, when he could use me for free?

I had to remember that. That there was darkness behind Zaid’s eyes, no light at the end of the tunnel. But I couldn’t convince myself of that. There was something else in him, that drew me like a moth to a flame.

It was a simple black dress, with an expensive feeling fabric—soft, but strong and well-made—that had a modest v-line in the front, but with a low v-cut in the back, almost showing my ass. Three-inch crimson heels waited upright beside my bed. As I turned in front of the full-length mirror in the marble bathroom, a hint of an old bruise poked out, a purplish-green line. It was a tease, a reminder of what we had done. Of his hands rubbing my warm ass, after his caning.

Would it turn Zaid on, like it did to me?

It was hard to tell with him. At times, he was visibly turned on; his erection pushed against the fabric of his pants, making my mouth water. And at other times, Zaid was completely closed off, and would hardly look at me.

But tonight, he’d be unable to stop himself.

A zippered bag full of unopened makeup sat on the bathroom counter. As far as I knew, I was the only person who used this bathroom, so I helped myself, assuming Zaid had left it for me. We must have been going to a glamorous affair if he wanted me to wear the dress and makeup.

In the fireplace room, Zaid rested his arm along the back of a tufted leather sofa, staring out the floor to ceiling window. I was fond of this room; the view was amazing, and it was the place where we had done our second negotiation, the reason I was still there, serving Zaid’s design. I had taken and replaced several books from this room, but rarely stayed in it for long. I had a feeling it was a special room. Zaid stayed there sometimes.

When Zaid turned and his eyes rested on me, his lips opened, his eyes glued to me, taking me in from top to bottom, back to the top again.

It was the look I was searching for. He wanted me.