Page 279 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Knight

Fall in love with her? As if that's going to happen. She has a certain innocence about her which is appealing. And her curves are alluring. And her eyes—fuck me, but her eyes are like the bluest of lakes which mirrors the skies overhead with not a cloud to be seen.

I looked into them, and it was as if I could see the man I once was.

The man who was dedicated to his country, for the greater good, to give himself up for a good cause.

The man who believed in right and wrong, good and bad.

Who wanted to make this world a better place for future generations.

The man who didn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself for his motherland.

That man is gone. And in his place is someone who knows everything he once believed in was wrong.

A man who is focused on only one thing, his survival.

Power, money, influence—the things I once abhorred are my new friends.

The weeks and months of solitary confinement and torture at my enemy’s hands stripped me of any veneer of civilization.

It revealed that I'm no different than the people I once looked down on. People like my father, who’d always been clear their lives were dedicated to the pursuit of material possessions.

That power is the only thing that matters. And the man who has money wields power.

Then, it comes down to how strategic you are in wielding it.

How you use power to get what you want. Funny how I’d been too busy delivering on my responsibilities and my duties to truly ask myself what I wanted.

Turns out, what I hankered for was absolute control.

Over my future. My fate. My destiny. I'm the master of what's to come. Of how I live my life from now on.

No longer will I be following the orders of someone I can’t see.

Someone at the top of the food chain who decreed that I was the right person for that mission, and whose command I followed without question.

And it left me with my entire life turned upside down.

Though, perhaps, I should be grateful for what that person did, for the blindfold over my eyes is gone.

All that drivel I filled my head with—Better to Die than Live a Coward, Ready for Anything, and of course, that slogan that was drummed into me, Death or Glory.

Well, I choose glory. And power. And money.

Death is no longer an option. I cheated the grim reaper, and I'm going to ensure that I live life to its fullest, and in its basest forms, before I punch my ticket off this earth.

Which is why I’m standing inside The 7A Club, of which I'm a member. Situated in the heart of London and owned by JJ Kane and Sinclair Sterling, the first floor of the place recently added a bar open to everyone, as well as a Michelin-starred restaurant run by Chef James Hamilton. It’s attached to a private member’s club where I’ve met my friends in the past.

Another new addition is the exclusive BDSM club housed on the higher floors.

The venue is dedicated to BDSM and the pleasures that those who enjoy the erotic practice of roleplaying, bondage, dominance-submission, and masochism—as well as some other kinds of fetishes not spoken openly about—come to.

This is the kind of place I might have once expected to see my friends.

All of whom are now married or in a long-term relationship.

Ergo, they are ensconced at home with their other halves.

I, on the other hand, have no such constraints.

It's been months since I’ve been here. Strangely, this is the one common trait with the person I was before my captivity and the one I have now become.

Only, my tastes seem to have been enhanced. My needs are sharper, darker, more vicious. The yearning to possess, to dominate, to master and subjugate is far more powerful in me. It’s as if the torture that stripped me of my humanity also sheared off any urge I had to conform.

Perhaps, I was never really the kind of person who’d follow rules willingly. Perhaps, that was what attracted me to the military. Knowing the discipline would keep that animal inside me at bay. The beast that has now been unleashed and is ready to show its true self.

I walk up the steps of the club, past the first floor, where novices test out their fledgling erotic fantasies, and the second, for those who are ready to get more adventurous in the exploration of their desires, to the third, where the more experienced players can indulge their depravities.

A steward in his dinner jacket steps forward. "This way, Mr. Warren."

I called ahead to let them know about my preferences, and they were all too happy to cater to my requirements.

While I hadn’t earned enough on my military paycheck to spring for a membership here, and I’d have never dipped into my trust fund to spring for the membership fees—thanks to my friends, Cade and Declan, I’ve always been welcomed here.

It's an indulgence I allowed myself when the tendencies inside me needed an outlet.

Now that I’ve been appointed CEO of my father’s group of companies, I have no compunction paying what's necessary to ensure my needs are fulfilled. I don’t need to depend on my friends anymore.

I have my own means—and my trust fund, which I plan to access very soon.

But first, I need to take the edge off that darkness inside of me.

That insistent urge that's been chipping away steadily at my guts.

That nothingness occupying the place where my heart once was.

That…compulsion unleashed by the atrocities committed upon me, which I can no longer hold in check.

The steward leads me to a room at the end of the corridor. "All your requirements have been met, Sir. Your submissive has been carefully vetted, and we believe she will meet your requirements."

He opens the door. I step inside, and he closes it after me. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and read the message.

Adam: Got your earlier message buddy. Sorry it took me a while to reply. Was volunteering at the hockey camp. Also, you know the Club is not my scene but if this is what you need to find some peace, then don’t deny yourself.

I stare at the screen for a few seconds, then mute the phone and slide it back into my pocket.

Of all my friends, Adam is the only one who knows what I went through.

He was there with me, after all. He got off easier though.

He didn’t have to watch his teammates being killed, one by one.

He was unconscious through most of it, and his awakening is what spurred me on to escape.

After being confined to a six-by-four-foot coffin-shaped cell underground, where I had to curl myself to fit in, and with no light or food for forty-eight hours, my captors pulled me out.

I managed to survive by drinking from the rainwater trickling in.

I was too weak, my spirit almost broken.

I was ready to give in. That’s when Adam, having broken free of his restraints, reminded me of my promises.

He reawakened in me the strength to fight back.

Together, we overpowered our captors and escaped.

And as we raced through the forest surrounding where we’d been held, he kept my spirits up. I was weak after months of torture and lack of nourishment, but Adam spurred me on.

If it had been only me, I might have given up.

But thanks to Adam, I made it. I respect his decision not to come with me to the club.

And that he doesn’t judge me for what I need to fill that emptiness inside me.

If I were a better man, I’d accompany him in coaching the boys at the hockey camp, but I’m not like Adam.

There's no shred of the man I once was left in me. All I have is this… aching need to feel… Something. Feel some part of the humanity that once resided in me. Feel alive and connected to something—someone, other than the hate that resides in me. It’s what led me to specify the exact kind of experience I was looking for.

In the center of the room is a padded spanking bench, complete with restraints.

A door at the opposite end of the room opens, and a woman steps in.

The spotlight shining on the bench throws the rest of the room in darkness and prevents me from making out her features.

That’s what I asked for. I need a faceless body.

Warm flesh on which I can slake my thirst, without seeing the face.

This way, I don’t need to have a conversation, or pretend an empathy I don’t feel.

This way, I can get rid of the pressure building deep inside me and move on.

The woman takes a few steps toward me, and I call out, "Stop."

She pauses.

"Now turn around."

She hesitates for a second, another, then slowly turns around to face the door she came through. That will not do at all. She needs to be taught to obey my rules without reserve. Assuming she lasts through today’s session.

I glance around, then spy the remote control that manages the lights in the room.

It’s on a table by the only other piece of furniture, a couch facing the bench.

I head for it, then manipulate the device so the spotlights train on her instead.

Tossing the device back on the table, I prowl toward where she stands with her back to me.

When I’m within arm’s length behind her, I stop.

She hears me approach, for she stiffens.

I take in her slim shoulders, the straightness of her spine, the tiny waist, the flare of her butt, all clad in a white dress that clings to every dip and hollow in her body and comes to mid-thigh.

She’s wearing over-the-knee boots with four-inch heels that squeeze around her fleshy thighs. Creamy skin, perfect to be marked.