Page 18

EIGHTEEN

Weeks Later

MOIRA

I bounce into the women’s shelter where I regularly volunteer—or used to, anyway—forcing myself to keep the energy up. Marci hasn’t been taking my calls. She might’ve even blocked my number. But Bane and I have been talking about how I need to start showing up for my life again. Getting back out in the world. Doing things.

Because the training with him has been going well. Really… um… well . I’ve been staying at his place, and when he’s not working, he’s training me, and god, it’s awful and boring but also, randomly the most exciting time in my life. If that makes any sense at all? I live for our once-a-day reward fucks when I do well.

I can’t tell if today’s a test to see if I’ll be a good girl even when he’s not looking or if it’s just another one of his Jedi mind tricks to… I don’t know. Make my life bigger? Better? He’s not one of those guys who wants to lock me away. He’s trying to push me into something more. And I can’t figure out what the fuck to do with that.

But I’m here. I’m trying.

I paste on a bright smile and push through the shelter doors.

Marci grimaces and rolls her eyes the second she sees me.

My cheeks go hot. She’s always had this ability to make me feel two inches tall, and I hate her for it. Girls like her have been cutting me down like this my whole life.

“Well, look who showed up,” she drawls, arms crossed. “After months of vanishing, no less. But I suppose a lady like you would never dirty her pretty fingers with actual work.”

I clench my jaw but keep my tone even. “I’m here, aren’t I? Can’t you use the help? Client intake? Making up beds? Laundry?” I flatten my expression. Hell, I’ll beg if she wants me to beg. Begging’s not that big a deal, ya know? The world’s just a giant, stupid game, and some of us are better players than others. “I’ll mop the floors if you need.”

She scoffs, stepping closer until I catch a whiff of stale coffee breath. “You’re on suspension from client relations. You think we wouldn’t hear about how you let a former client move in with you? How that whole mess led to her getting involved with your brother? At least someone with actual sense finally sent her off to Chicago.”

My jaw tightens. She’s talking about Anna. The grapevine never dies. Though she doesn’t even know the half of it. But now Anna and Domhn are happy, so she can suck it.

“How long is my suspension?” I force out.

Marci smirks. “Six months. And it starts now. Feel free to vanish again and take the time to learn about boundaries .”

I don’t flinch. “If it’s just a client relations ban, there’s still plenty I can do.”

Now Marci’s cheeks get red. Oh, she’s good and mad. I don’t think she’s used to folks standing up to her mean-girl antics. She usually just bosses everyone around while they cower. I almost laugh in her face. Please. I grew up in the ass end of Donegal, and she thinks she can intimidate me ? Girls back home fought with steel pipes.

She sees something in my face that makes her look away first. “Fine. Lucita’s out sick. You can scrub the toilets and mop the bathroom floors.” Then, voice sharp she continues, “But we have standards. If you can’t manage, tell me now, and I’ll call someone who actually knows how to work.”

I narrow my eyes but I don’t rear back and punch her in the face. I got fired from a few jobs that way. And this isn’t even a job. It’s volunteer work.

Theoretically, I want to be here.

And I do.

I’m… trying.

Yeah, part of me is doing this because Bane says these little tests are important. It’s not like he owns me. We’ve already discussed that I probably can’t do monogamy, and he didn’t seem to care. His only rule? No lying.

He calls it a choice. Whether or not I choose freedom.

The self-righteous prick.

I mean, yes, technically , I’m wearing the chastity belt by choice today.

But there are also incentives for playing by the rules, as Bane oh-so-clearly laid out before I left this morning. I can either choose not to be patient, or I can choose to get my brains fucked out tonight.

So, yeah. It’s chastity belt day. A softer one meant for movement.

But the truth is, it’s not just for him.

It’s not like I want to be the way I am. Life was better when I was showing up for it. When I, ya know, gave a shit about anything.

Having some place to go and helping women who’d just met the shit end of what life had to hand you… It used to feel like something to get out of bed for.

And once I started to get out of bed for it, I soon forgot about how that was why I’d started, and before I knew it, I was just… living. There were the normal ups and downs. And yeah, I was still the inappropriate one no matter where I went, but life felt okay for once. Like I wasn’t just floating through existence, one impulsive mistake at a time.

Maybe I can get back there.

I smile at Marci through clenched teeth but keep my head high and my shoulders back. “I’ve got it.”

Marci purses her lips and makes an ugly face like she hates to trust me with a key to the fucking mop closet, but she finally produces a heavy ring of keys and wrestles one off for me.

She holds it up in front of my face but yanks it back when I try to grab it. “I expect this back promptly at the end of your shift.”

Bitch. I give her an overly sugary smile. I expect you to suck my dick . “You got it, boss.”

I turn away before I get myself into more trouble, get the supplies from the closet, and head into the dorm bathrooms. The women are in life skills classes, I know from the time of day it is, so I’m alone in here.

I put my earbuds in, turn on my Pussy Riot playlist and get to work.

I’ve cleaned hotels before, so scrubbing toilets and attacking grime with industrial-grade cleaner isn’t exactly new territory. Bitch Marci doesn’t know it, but I actually like work that’s physical and repetitive. Gives me something to do with my hands that doesn’t get me into trouble and lets my mind wander.

Hmm. Maybe I should try getting a job again. Hotels are always hiring.

Domhnall would shit a brick. The thought makes me grin before it fades just as fast. Well. He would’ve , back in the day. Before he stopped looking at me like his baby sister.

And, ya know, there’s also the small problem that I’ve been fired from almost every job I’ve ever had. Taking too many breaks. Taking breaks that were too long. Fucking my boss. Fucking my boss’s boss. Fucking the delivery guy.

But I’m only fucking Bane now.

… Right?

I frown, scrubbing harder at some unidentifiable black gunk. I mean, I think I’m only fucking Bane now. We talked about how I probably can’t manage monogamy, and he said that wasn’t a deal breaker.

Is that part of today’s test? Not just to see if I can keep my hands out of my pants all day, but if I’ll keep my legs closed the second I’m out of Bane’s sight?

My frown deepens.

Do I want to fuck someone else?

I’ve always gotten bored with just one dick. Always.

But it’s not just one dick, is it? It’s his dick. And his fingers. And his mouth. And the fucking way he looks at me when he steps through the door like he’s about to eat me alive.

Bane hasn’t gotten boring yet.

But he doesn’t know me, know me.

I scrub harder.

That’s the other reason I’ve lost jobs. Not just the sex but the… shutdowns. Once or twice a year, everything slows down, my thoughts get sticky like tar, and my body? My body turns into a ten-thousand-pound sack of useless meat.

I want to get out of bed, don’t get me wrong. I just… can’t.

Getting up feels impossible . Showering? Laughable. Leaving the house? A cruel joke. Talking to people? Fucking kill me .

I scrub the counter with so much force I could wear a hole through it.

People suck. Usually, I think all they’re good for is fucking. That way, I get my socialization and my human contact while also getting myself and someone else off. Foolproof system. No expectations. No disappointments.

So, where’s the disillusionment with Bane?

If this is all just an illusion, why am I still so into it?

My phone buzzes in my pocket. My heart starts beating stupid fast. Is it him?

I rip off my gloves like they’ve personally offended me, fumble my phone out, and?—

Oh.

It’s just a jewelry ad.

I deflate like a goddamn punctured balloon. Then I get pissed.

What, like I have to wait for a man to text me? Fuck that.

Me: Have you been thinking about me?

The response is immediate and deeply satisfying.

Bane: Yes.

Me: Then why haven’t you texted?

Bane: I’m trying to be a good boy.

Why does my brain immediately go to him on his knees, naked, wearing nothing but that cock ring I love when he wears, waiting for me to milk his prostate?

I bite my lip and let my thumbs fly over the phone screen.

Me: I know how you could be my good boy.

Bane: By not texting.

Me: Why?

Bane: Because I’m about to meet with the bishop.

My eyes go wide.

Me: So you’re in your collar right now? Kinky. Go in the bathroom and send me a picture of your dick before the bishop gets there.

Bane: Are you touching yourself?

Me: No. Do you want me to be?

Bane: Not if you want to go to Carnal tonight.

I groan. I hit a g, then stab the R button over and over so he feels my frustration through the screen.

Me: Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Me: Going back to work now. Have fun with the bishop.

Bane: I’ll have more fun picturing your frustrated, throbbing clit.

I slam my phone back in my pocket and attack the counter like it’s personally responsible for my lack of orgasms today.

But now all I can think about are Bane’s shoulders, Bane’s fingers, Bane’s fucking voice when he steps through the door after being away.

Goddamn him.

My clit is throbbing.

Kinky motherfucker.

I scrub harder.