Page 6 of Sadist (The Triarchy Collection #1)

THEO

V iral was an understatement. By evening the next day, Octavia Vanguard was headline news across TV and radio stations, and was trending solidly at number one on all social media platforms.

With a beer in hand and more than a little satisfaction, I had followed the rapid acceleration of her face across every platform and saw reports that Vanguard Technology had hired the UK’s largest PR firm, and they would surely soon be making a statement to the press.

Anonymous stories had popped up faster than they could be squashed by whoever Vanguard had scrubbing the platforms. Speculation over the mysterious abduction of his only daughter, and why it hadn’t already been announced by the Vanguard PR team, was rife.

“Ignore me now, William,” I murmured as I switched my screens off for the night and checked my watch.

1900hrs. I’d given Octavia plenty of time to stew in her little rage bubble after slipping in to leave her breakfast and lunch inside the cell door at 0400hrs, taking a moment to watch the sleeping woman.

She slept curled up in a small ball, blonde hair fanned out across the pillow as if she had been running her fingers through it before she slept.

I had leaned against the doorframe for a good ten minutes, taking in the long expanse of bare leg that was crooked over the blanket, the curve of her arse visible where the long men’s T-shirt that was at least three sizes too big for her had ridden up.

The image of that long, bare expanse had burned into my mind, plaguing me throughout the day until I fled to my gym in exasperation, pushing myself until my ears rang and my head swam…And then took a freezing cold shower.

Did it help?

Absolutely fucking not.

I was a professional, and Octavia Vanguard’s god-damned thighs had me behaving like a horny teenager. Maybe it was the eight months of celibacy. Either way, it was less than ideal.

The distraction in question glared at me with open animosity from her seat at the small table as I swung her door open, taking in the fresh array of food decorating the cell.

“You know, at some point you are going to need to start eating the food I provide you,” I said coolly. “Hunger strikes are a little dramatic.”

“What time is it?” she asked, her voice a little hoarse. “I can’t…tell…in here.”

“1900hrs,” I replied.

“You said I could shower in the morning.”

I gestured to the splatters of soup. “I said good behavior gets you a hot shower in the morning. You lasted all of a minute.”

She grunted, looking at her folded hands, but didn’t say anything. It was the first time I had seen her look anything other than ready to fight like a caged beast, and I really didn’t like how that made me feel.

In fact, fuck her . Guilt? Absolutely not. That was a disgusting emotion that could be thrown into the sun.

“Get up,” I said sharply, making her jump.

“I wo?—”

“I actually really don’t care what you do, or do not want to do right now, Octavia,” I cut in. “Get your petulant arse up. Move.”

That got me the glare I had been wanting, and she rose from her seat, looking slightly pale.

Had she really not eaten a thing since she had been here?

I did the math quickly. Four days here, one in transport.

God knows what her self-care habits had been like before that, but judging from what I had seen, I highly doubted she was the type to prioritize them.

The woman hadn’t seen a decent meal in nearly a week, and I was not about to have Erryn informed that I needed to call in a medic for the current— very viral —missing person sensation with subzero blood sugar levels.

She followed me out without further complaint, and I waved toward the shower area with a, “Go on then.”

I listened to the sound of her undressing and then adjusting the temperamental taps until she was satisfied, the soft sigh as she stepped under the water slightly distracting as I searched the neatly organized rows of tinned goods.

I was halfway through heating up a tin of mac and cheese that I was pretty sure had the nutritional benefits of flavored sawdust—but at least it was hot—when she finished, the telltale rattle of bottles as she purposely ruined my perfect organization, making my eye twitch.

There was no way in hell I would let her see how badly that irked me.

Or how the second she was back in her cell, I would be neatly returning them to their designated places again like a psychopath.

I was self-aware enough to see it. Not that it helped me curb the urge to organize my life into neat little conforming pieces.

I didn’t bother looking up as her footsteps padded toward me, pouring the food onto two plastic plates before I turned to look at her.

“Sit,” I ordered, gesturing to the picnic table with my chin.

She looked at me with suspicion.

Rolling my eyes, I took my usual spot, sliding her plate across the table and tossing a plastic fork after it.

“I believe we had this discussion yesterday,” I warned softly. “I don’t like to repeat myself, Octavia.”

She muttered something I couldn’t make out under her breath before sliding into the far seat, not even glancing at the food. Instead, her gaze was flitting around the room, quickly taking in everything she could.

Smart girl.

“This place is coded to me,” I offered, blowing on my forkful.

“Even if you get out of the cell…and then past me, you won’t get through the doors.

If you get through the doors, you won’t get past the lifts…

and if you get past those, good luck getting out of the lower levels.

So why don’t you just relax and enjoy my company? ”

Her gaze snapped back to mine, and I gave her a wink.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.

“Nothing yet,” I replied, swallowing the admittedly rather tasteless cheesy mess. She tensed as I stood up, and I raised my hands placatingly. “Just getting a drink.”

I didn’t even bother asking her if she wanted one, just grabbed two Cokes from the fridge and placed one in front of her as I returned to my seat, which she eyed as if it had been poisoned.

“I’m going to need you to eat something,” I said as I sat again, pointing my fork at her untouched plate. “I’m not above force feeding you…I might even enjoy it.”

“Tell me what I’m doing here,” she hissed. “I know nothing .”

“Eat, and you can ask me questions,” I said evenly.

A muscle ticked in her jaw and her knuckles went white around the handle of the fork as she snatched it up, but she stabbed a portion and shoved it into her mouth, chewing angrily for a moment before her expression relaxed, her attention moving back to the plate as she took a second, bigger forkful.

“Good,” I murmured, watching her intently. “Now, what do you want to know?”

“Who do you work for?” she asked immediately.

“I can’t answer that,” I replied, tucking back into my own food.

“You said you would answer my questions!”

“I said you can ask questions,” I clarified. “Not that you would get answers to all of them.” I pointed my fork at her plate in warning. “Try again.”

“Why have I been taken?” she snapped, angrily shoving food in her mouth.

“Because your father is far from an upstanding individual, and his attention was required,” I said.

She huffed mirthlessly at that, and it was my turn to study her.

“He owes your company money, then?” she guessed.

“Again, that’s not something I can discuss.”

“Well, it’s relevant,” she shot back. “If it’s money they want, I can get that, pay it, and be on my merry way.”

“You don’t have the kind of money required to meet a ransom demand,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

“You don’t know what I have set aside!”

“Oh, but I do,” I crooned, leaning forward. “You are surprisingly difficult to get information on, but I am very good at what I do. What is your aversion to social media, by the way? You know it’s 2025, right?”

She just gave me a stony look.

“Twenty-nine and no career of note,” I pressed.

“You’ve spent barely any time in the UK in over two decades, don’t own property anywhere, you don’t even have a phone plan or a credit card…

fuck…you barely had a digital footprint at all.

And I’m gathering from the accommodation you were staying in when you were picked up—paid for in cash, might I add—that you do not have access to the Vanguard fortune.

It’s certainly not in the singular account you have under your name, and with the quarterly allotments of ten grand coming from Vanguard holdings that were a month late this time…

am I right in assuming that is the extent of the financial assistance you have? ”

She seethed in silence, looking as if she wanted to throw her bowl at me.

“Next question,” I said, smiling sweetly.

“Why this job?”

I frowned. “I didn’t choose it. Your file was given to me.”

“No.” She sipped her Coke as she considered her words. “Why do you do this. What makes someone decide they want to be a criminal?”

“Floristry kinda wasn’t my thing,” I replied dryly.

She raised a brow over the rim of her Coke, and I couldn’t stop the soft laugh that slipped out.

“The job found me. I just happen to be good at it.”

I saw her lips move in something that looked suspiciously like “debatable” and chose to ignore it, scraping the last remnants of cheese-flavored gloop from my plate.

“You’re ex-military?”

I stiffened, but that was already an answer, judging from how closely she was watching me. And there were no records of my military career left to find anyway, so I nodded once.

“What gave me away?”

She shrugged. “I spent time in Thailand a year back. It’s popular with expats, and a few ex-military were regulars at a bar I went to. You all carry yourselves the same way.” She glanced at me again. “What made you go from fighting for your country to…this?”

“These are not the questions I was anticipating,” I said.

“It’s not like you are going to tell me anything that will help get me out of here,” she quipped. “And you seem to know so much about me, it’s only fair.”

“The world is far from a fair place, Octavia,” I said.

“Oh, I am well aware,” she said, her voice turning slightly cold. “As my present company would suggest.”

That made me chuckle as I stacked our now empty plates together.

“I was discharged,” I offered.

“Oh?”

“My commanding officer broke his face in three places on my fist. They don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

“So, you have a temper?” she mused. “And let me guess…he deserved it.”

“Oh yes,” I agreed. “It takes quite a lot for me to lose it. I don’t suggest trying to find out how much.”

She reached for the small salt and pepper shakers on the table, deliberately picking up the pepper and sprinkling some on the surface.

I curbed the urge to sweep it into my hand, deliberately not looking at the mess she was now running a finger through.

“How old are you?” she asked, flicking a pepper crumb at me.

I raised my brow at that.

“Would you just like me to give you my birth certificate and blood type while I am at it?”

“Forty-seven?” she guessed.

My mouth dropped open in offense before I could catch myself, and her eyes sparked in triumph.

“Younger than. Forty-five?”

This little minx.

I glared at her as a second pepper crumb flicked my way, knowing damned well she was baiting me but barely able to keep my teeth clamped firmly shut.

“Do I look forty-five?”

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, humming softly under her breath.

“I’m still in my thirties and that is all you’re getting,” I said through clenched teeth.

Her lips tilted in the hint of a satisfied smile, fanning the ember that had lit with her presence into a slow burn.

Does she know what fire she plays with?