Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet 2)

Of course, Noel hadn’t heeded that threat, and to this day, I doubted Alexander knew just how much physical damage, not to mention emotional trauma, his dad had wrecked upon me.

“Such a shame Noel can’t be there tonight to watch you perform for me.” He dragged his fingers down the side of my face and sifted them through my hair. I held my breath as I prayed he wouldn’t catch sight of the poppy Alexander had planted under the skin of my neck.

“Though, he would take you away, and quite honestly, I’m not done with you yet. You have all this golden skin I’ve yet to mark.” He hummed contemplatively as if cataloguing all the future ways he would hurt me.

His dispassionate malevolence reminded me of all the other truly vile men I’d met before. It was surprising how intrinsically boredom and evil were linked together. I wondered if the men of the Order were not so wealthy as to be idle and not so emotionally vacant as to need cruelty to fill them up if there would even be an Order to begin with?

“You will stay here until tonight. I have a girl who does hair and make-up coming for you, and before then, you’ll don your sweet little maid’s uniform and see to my house, won’t you, slave?”

“Yes, sir.”

He petted my head again, then twisted his fingers in the locks and yanked me into a standing position again. His sneering face was hot against my own as he plastered our cheeks together and spoke into the corner of my mouth. “Please me tonight and when I bring you back here for a night cap, I might not have to reintroduce you to the bullwhip. Do you remember that, sweet slave? When Landon Knox peeled the pretty skin off your back in long, golden ribbons?”

He felt my shudder and laughed like a drunkard, intoxicated by my fear. I caught myself on the wall as he tossed me away and then struggled not to spin around to attack him as he strolled down the hall to his office with his hands in his pockets, whistling.

I reminded myself that I had a plan, and that plan would one day lead not just to the destruction of Ashcroft himself, but the entire Order of Dionysus.

With that thought running through my mind like a meditative chant to drown out the agony of my anger, I hurriedly donned the ridiculous maid’s costume and started to explore the three-story townhome. The arrogant and entitled were bound to be careless with their belongings, and I was eager to discover what he could be harbouring.

He had a sex room done up entirely in black, the floors polished concrete stained dark in places with what I was sure was blood, the walls covered in slick black paneling that gave the entire place a dark, antiseptic feel like a nightmarish doctor’s room. He had trays of tools, not just the normal Dom’s paraphernalia, but vials of drugs, syringes, thick piercing needles, scalpels, and medical clamps. The entire aesthetic reminded me that Ashcroft was a rather prolific chemist, and it churned my gut to think of all the ways he might torture a woman with this kind of equipment.

There was nothing to be found there but fodder for nightmares, so I quickly moved on, cleaning the rest of the house in my stupid costume with a feather duster, mop, and broom. My hands smelled of artificial lemon, and my body, still aching from Alexander, creaked and moaned as I moved over the huge space.

I was tempted not to clean at all and merely hide away to waste time, but the criminally bland servant who had picked me up trailed me through the rooms to ensure I worked.

By the time I reached Ashcroft’s office, vacant while he was dressed by his valet for The Trials, I was depressed by my lack of findings and weary enough to weep.

I wanted to give into self-pity and curse God for continuing to heap trial after trial on my heart. It pained me to admit that the worst of those lately was spending the day and night with Alexander in London knowing that it was goodbye.

But something in the memory clicked in me like the shutter of a camera, and I realized with giddiness exactly what Ashcroft’s blackmail gave me in opportunity.

“I have to use the toilet,” I told the servant as I hesitated at the office and began to wander down the hall to the last door at the end of the hall by the back door. “I’ll just be a moment.”

He scowled, but remained where he was, ostensibly organizing Ashcroft’s life on an iPad.

I was careful to control my gait as I walked into the bathroom and locked the door, only letting a smile break through the crust of sorrow on my face when I was alone with myself in the mirror.