Page 34 of Into the Blue (Shades of Vengeance #1)
A whole heap of seafood dinner comes out of a thermal bag that he begins handing out. Everyone gets something and then he takes the remaining two containers for us.
“It’s seafood night. We’d normally have it delivered to work but since I’m here, we’re having it at the crib.”
I try for nonchalance when I suggest, “You don’t have to have it here. I’m fine on my own.”
His lips tip down on one side. “Wish that were true.” And he doesn’t elaborate.
“I’m actually not the biggest fan of seafood, so I’ll just—”
“Damn. I might have known that if you told me the truth. So, how about it?”
I’m taken back at the casual way he’s said that. Looking up, I try to see if anyone else has caught on to what he’s said. They are unbothered, talking among themselves at the other side of the table.
A piece of his salmon rests on the tip of his fork and he waves it in their direction. “They work for me. They don’t care if you’re embarrassed. I mean lyin’ is pretty embarrassin’.”
I drop my own fork. “Lying? What have I lied to you about?”
“Can’t put my finger on it just yet, but I will. ”
I bite my tongue to stop a quip from coming out. There is the thinnest of ice underneath my feet. I can’t take any risks.
The harsh way he continues to eat his food like it’s pissed him off is the only cue that I have to his true feelings at the moment.
“Nothin’ to say to that, huh?” I don’t say anything.
Just begin picking at the food on my plate.
It has been a few days since I ate anything so before long I’ve cleared my plate.
“Rest of y’all, to your new posts.” To me he says, “You, come with me.”
I gulp as the tall one, Lonny, takes my trash and leaves.
“Don’t like repeatin’ myself,” Milo chastises at the entrance of the long dark hall already.
I follow dutifully again. Never allowing too much space between the two of us.
“Sit,” he says and I take a seat in the chair across from his desk in the office that started my downward trajectory with him.
“Milo—”
“Blue,” he insists and I suck in a breath. I don’t like that correction. It draws a clear line in the sand that my access to the man I was beginning to know is gone.
Swallowing, I try again. “I haven’t lied to you.”
As enigmatic as I’ve seen him, he turns a folder on his desk so that it faces me.
I reach for it and see a myriad of information.
My application for Off Topz. Other employment history.
My degrees. Several photos that I know were taken without my permission during the time I worked for him.
It’s all there. He’s been keeping tabs on me. And yet…
“What am I looking at?”
“You tell me.”
“You have a file on me. You’ve been… stalking me.” My gut tightens. I flip through the papers with some hesitation to not appear frantic. But I need to know what he does know about me.
“Stalkin’ is an extreme word. I had a vested interest in keepin’ you safe. You needed it—more than once.” He taps the desk twice and it brings my attention back to him. “Why is that?”
“We live in a patriarchal society where men feel that sex workers are public property and have zero respect for consent or boundaries,” I respond with an eyebrow raised.
“True. I won’t deny that. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
I shrug.
His eyes narrow and then he stands from the desk. With deliberate movements, he locks the door and sits on the edge of the desk looking down at me.
“I’m gonna ask you a question. For each one that you answer honestly, I’ll let you move on with no consequences.”
I gulp. “Okay...”
“For each one that you avoid or lie, I’ll take somethin’ you’re wearin’.”
“Huh?”
“Somethin’ you’re familiar with. You’ll strip.” He stands. “And you didn’t put much on, so I’d recommend you be forthcoming.”
My jaw tightens. “I don’t wanna play your game.”
“Didn’t ask.” He rolls up his sleeves and sits in his desk chair. “Why are you here?”
“You brought me here.”
He tsk, “I’ll let you have that since I should have been clear. Why Clayton Terrace when you could have gone anywhere? You show up at my club.”
“That was a coincidence.” Truth. I only applied at Off Topz because Junior was the man behind it at the time.
After he killed Manel for denying him the right to sell his shit in the club, we figured he’d take over.
I knew other players went there, sure, but the news about the switch in owners came to me when Chanel told me that the new boss was my first private room request. At the time, it was sheer luck that the man I was looking to ally with came looking for me.
“Do I get to ask any questions?”
His eyes narrow, but he nods, “Sure.”
“Why are there men in the house now?” There. Gives nothing away .
“Security is more important than ever. There has been… some things that don’t concern you, but concern me very much. Need to make sure I’m prepared.”
“For what?” I ask, knowing that he’s increasing security because of my measures.
“Ah. You had your question. It’s only right that we keep things fair right?” I sit back in my seat and he interlaces his fingers. “You have an MBA.”
I sit back in my seat, as well. “That’s not a question.”
He raises an eyebrow at my tone. “Why are you still working at a strip club?”
“We live in a patriarchal society where men feel that sex workers are public property and have zero respect for consent or boundaries,” I repeat, drolly.
“The first question any employer will ask is for employment history. They either think I’m punking them and laugh me out of the interview or they solicit me for sex with zero intention of hiring me. ”
His frown is a tangible thing that affects his energy in the air as it takes on a negative edge. “Who?”
“Ah. I thought we were keeping things fair.”
His frown deepens, but he crosses his arms. “Fine.”
“Where is my phone?”
“Smashed at the bottom of the bayou.”
“What?!”
“Whatever you were doin’ in here, can’t get out.
Can’t talk on a phone that don’t exist. Now, that was two questions.
” His lips lift in a devious manner at one side and suddenly, I don’t feel as confident as I once did.
“First, why won’t you tell me who your Pa is if he’s the reason you’re in Clayton Terrace? ”
I swallow the panic and try to respond as honestly as I can.
“I don’t know what you’ll do to him. I haven’t really resolved what I need to and I need him alive to do that.
” God, that was vague. I don’t mind taking my clothes off for Milo or Blue.
But I know that his patience in torturing me by withholding my release is far too great.
And fuck. I still haven’t truly recovered from last night.
Confusion colors his face, but he asks his next question. “Who is your Pa?”
The quiet in the room expands…
And expands…
And expands.
If I have a choice between telling him the answer and anything else, I have to choose anything else.
When it’s clear what I've chosen, he commands, “Leggings off and get on the desk.”
Not once did I finish that night. My muscles sore from trying to come, but never truly reaching that peak.
It turns him on to be at his mercy, to know that he has this power over me that can’t be alleviated without him.
He enjoys that I need him and lords it over me just the same.
I growl and curse, pulling his hair and no relief comes.
He’s enjoying this more than he should—If he knew the truth he wouldn’t be.
And what’s worse? I know it’s because he couldn’t comprehend that I’m as big a threat to him as I am.
A month passes with more of the same. Except when I’d wake in his arms, it was as if he had forgotten he was Blue no longer and instead Milo took me to the place I was desperate to get to.
Sometimes before I woke and others when he’d wake to catch me looking at him. With my days in this house under his watchful eye, I had nothing to do, but dread the evenings and look forward to the morning.
At night, after he learned of what new ploy had fallen on his business—dealing with the fall out—he would come home and take that frustration out on me.
We’d fall into the habit of restraints and games and then questions about who my father was dwindled to nothing when I gave him nothing.
Instead, he would ask about my life, my interests, and my family.
It was a fucked up mind game because what I learned about him came from how he responded to my own answers, like riddles, when my answers were forthcoming.
Still I enjoyed it, the mind challenges and him teasing me all night.
It was something to look forward to when I couldn’t’ leave this house because of his growing fear of whoever was attacking Dupont.
In the mornings, he’d be softer with me. Forgetting about the previous day’s perils. Clearly at war with what it should be and shouldn’t be between us.
In some ways, I felt like I was comforting him after I was the one to hurt him. It was so fucked up. Any semblance of connection I was facilitating between us, I was also destroying with the truth I was keeping from him.
This man was a boat on the treacherous tide as he tried not to take the downfall of his business out on me, not knowing that I was directly responsible.
What could I do?
If this was my penance, I couldn’t say that it was the worst he could do.