I stared at the contract…and the words typed in bold font.
Interim right to possess/use:
1. No physical part of the party may interfere with the subject. These acts include, but are not limited to:
1.1. The insertion of extremities into any part of the subject, including party/ies’ penis/es, fingers, or tongues for the party/ies’ personal use and enjoyment, until such time as the party/ies have been awarded full ownership of the subject by The Order.
UNTIL THAT TIME, the subject shall remain the property of The Order and will be subjected to random physical examinations to ensure compliance by all parties involved.
Failure to comply with this shall terminate this preliminary contract between London St. James and The Order and will result in immediate action against the party/ies and the removal of the subject. This shall remain solely at The Order’s discretion and removal of the subject and termination of this contract may be initiated at any time by The Order.
HE COULDN’T TOUCH ME.
The words swam.
The subject…me. My body, my soul…my entire being reduced to being the ‘vessel’ they’d created. One to be used by anyone they saw fit, to be probed, fucked, or used in the most degrading, possessive ways by the ‘party/parties’. The words blurred in front of me—just not by London St. James, by the looks of it.
The thud of footsteps grew louder, making me jerk my gaze to the study door. I hurried, shoved the contract under the leatherbound journal, and stepped backwards as the door of the study opened and London St. James walked in. Heat licked between my thighs at the sight of him, heat and fear that gripped me tightly.
I hated him.
How he controlled me.
How he consumed me.
How he looked so fucking perfect in his tailored slacks and open-collared white shirt. He moved, sounded, and felt just like a man. But London St. James was no man, not one with a soul, at least. That cold, callous gaze found me instantly, before he shifted his focus to the desk and closed the door.
“You bastard.”
He said nothing, just moved closer.
“Did you hear me?” I snapped, hating how he was so fucking controlled, while I…I felt like I was coming apart on the inside. “I said—”
“I heard you the first time, Vivienne.”
I licked my lips, still feeling the bruise his mouth had left behind. But the bruise was nothing compared to the terror he’d put me through…the terror of releasing the one person who could save me from this hell.
Ryth consumed my mind, from the first time I’d seen her when she was dragged into The Order, held down, and branded just like me, to the moment we’d both tried to escape.
Only, she had escaped, hadn’t she? Helped by the devil in front of me and his men, men he called sons. And he made sure I knew Ryth’s survival depended on my obedience…and that of her father, Jack Castlemaine.
He’d let Ryth and her brothers run, given them a car with money and guns, and had his men watch them until they’d reached the city limits. Then they’d taken Jack who knows where to be locked up and guarded, while he’d dragged me back here. To this…this…this fucking house. His house.
I wanted to burn it down, to destroy his home in the most brutal fucking way while he stood there and watched. I wanted to decimate his world. My focus moved to his mouth, to those unforgiving lips, and that ache between my legs pulsed harder. Just as long as he kissed me while I was doing it. He stepped closer, then stopped at the edge of the desk, his gaze fixed on the white corner of the contract peeking out from under the journal where I’d frantically tried to shove it back.
He pushed the corner of the journal, exposing more of the contract until his signature was revealed. “I see you’ve found something to occupy your time.”
“Fuck you.”
He met my stare, those dark eyes glinting.
“Fuck you all the way to hell.” I stepped closer. “You can’t touch me, can’t fuck me…can’t do a damn thing.”
The tight curl of his lips made me tremble.
“Take me to Jack,” I demanded, jutting my chin in the air. “Take me, or…”
“Or?” he repeated, only when he said the word, it made me stop, my thoughts racing. “Go on, or what?”
“Or…or I’ll make your life a living fucking hell.”
Something moved in those dark eyes. He moved fast, closing the distance between us and striking out to grab me softly around the throat. “And what makes you think you don’t already?”
My breath caught.
My pulse raced.
There was a second where there was a flicker of torture, one carefully hidden behind the mask, before it was gone once more, leaving the heartless stare of the monster behind. His grip shifted, his thumb slowly stroking the vein in my neck. Was he thinking of choking me, or biting me like a goddamn vampire?
I couldn’t stop my racing heart, feeling it kick with his touch. He knew it…he felt it. A twitch came at the corner of his mouth, and all of a sudden, I was burning up, fevered by the feel of his hand. Oh, Jesus…no.
A hard knock came on the study door, shattering the moment. When he dropped his hand, I reached out and grasped the corner of the desk to steady myself. Deep breaths consumed me as he turned and strode away. Snap the fuck out of it…there is no way this can—
He opened the door and I caught a flash of platinum blond hair before the low growl of his son slipped in. “He’s here.”
A nod. “Show him in.”
Show who in? I tried to gather myself, tried to find that burning rage that seemed to be so goddamn fleeting whenever the motherfucker touched me. Footsteps echoed and I tracked the sound as it came closer and a man I’d never seen before stepped in…carrying a small black doctor’s bag.
London closed the door behind the guy, not once meeting my gaze.
“Who the fuck is this?” I demanded. “What’s going on?”
“Something I should’ve done the moment I brought you here,” London replied…but that was all he offered.
Fucking nothing.
I stared at the stranger, at the same unflinching goddamn stare, and I knew instantly he was one of them, the kind of man who called me a ‘vessel’. I wasn’t a person to them. I wasn’t real.
“Sit,” London commanded, motioning to his chair.
But I didn’t move, not until he turned to meet my gaze. Clasps snapped open before the doctor pulled items out of his bag.
“Vivienne…” London urged, those eyes sparking. “We can either drug you and knock you out to do this, or you can cooperate. It’s up to you.”
My heart was thudding, the sound loud in my ears. I knew this scenario, I’d been here before. I lowered my gaze to the sterile dressings the stranger had pulled out and placed on London’s desk. “Are you going to mark me?” I met my captor’s stare.
“No,” he answered, stepping closer. “You’ve been fitted with a tracking device from The Order. I want it out of you.”
That heavy booming in my chest sped. “You do?”
He gave a slow nod, then turned to sink into the chair like a dog slinking back to its cruel master.
I understood now who the stranger was…a doctor.
“Those things are usually just under the skin on the underside of the arm.” The doctor’s cheeks reddened as he tried not to meet my gaze. But no doctor from The Order I’d known was embarrassed about anything they did.
So, this wasn’t one of their men…
“You’ll need to remove your blouse,” he urged.
I held London’s stare. “I got it the first time,” I muttered, my fingers moving to my buttons, opening them before I shrugged the garment free and placed it on the desk in front of me. The awkward doctor’s eyes widened at the caramel lace bra. The lace left gaps, enough for a glimpse of my nipple to peek through. The doctor glanced away, embarrassed again.
“Where the fuck did you find this kid, London?” I asked. “What kind of game are you playing here?”
The monster in front of me said nothing as the awkward idiot beside me gripped my wrist and lifted my arm. I stretched high, giving the hesitant doctor all the access he wanted. But I saw the twitch in London’s steely stare. He liked my questioning, almost as much as he liked watching this guy run his fingers down the underside of my arm.
“Maybe it’s in the other one,” the doctor muttered.
I stretched my other arm up as London watched from behind the desk. The doctor’s fingers skimmed, pressing and probing.
“Hmm,” he murmured, drawing my focus back to him as he ran his hand along my arm for the fourth time. “I can’t seem to find it.”
My stomach clenched. “Maybe I don’t have one?”
“Impossible,” London answered as he stood and stepped closer. His icy resolve was thawing right before my eyes. Deep creases furrowed his brow and those hard lips tightened. “It has to be there.”
The young idiot just shook his head, panic flaring as he frantically searched my other arm. I tried to remember the moments after my robot foster parents dragged me to The Order and left me behind. I’d kicked and fought, screaming until my voice was hoarse, and even now I could still feel the burn.
But my battle had been short-lived as they covered my mouth with a rag, knocking me out.
When I came to, I was different, tied down on a table, my head swimming with whatever they’d given me, and a burning below my navel where they’d tattooed me. I’d hurt everywhere in the days and weeks that followed. I still hurt, only this pain was different. This pain I used for rage. I couldn’t remember a cut under my arm, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.
“It’s not here.” The doctor shook his head.
“It is.” London leaned over the desk, glaring. “Find it.”
I winced at the idiot’s bruising grip as he probed and dug, grinding muscle against bone. I clenched my jaw and looked away, refusing to allow him to see my pain.
“Maybe it’s somewhere else on her body?”
I flinched and jerked my gaze back. “What?”
But the doctor didn’t speak to me. It was like I wasn’t in the room at all. He just shifted his stare from London to my breasts.
“Can you work around her bra?” London growled.
“It’d be easier…”
There was a flare of London’s jaw. “Take it off, Vivienne.”
I flinched. He wasn’t serious…fuck you…
Asshole.
I held his stare, lowered my arms, and reached around my back. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. I took at least a little comfort in that as I unhooked my bra and let it fall.
“If she could stand.”
I jerked my gaze to the asshole beside me. “She is right fucking here,” I snapped, then shoved upwards, turned, and lifted my arms until I pushed my breasts toward his face. “Is this better? Does this give you everything you need, doctor?”
My rage was more for London than this idiot just following orders. But I couldn’t stop it from spilling out. I narrowed in on the doctor as he glanced at my breasts then looked away, and London’s icy stare burned hotter on the side of my face, like his own personal brand. The bastard may as well tattoo me too and be done with it.
He didn’t like this, didn’t like another man touching me, even if it was at his own insistence.
The doctor paled as he cupped my breast, his thumb grazing my nipple before it pressed against the underside. “Is this what you need?” I asked again, softening my tone until the tension in the room seethed.
Good.
I wanted London as volatile as I could get him as the young, good-looking doctor cupped my breast. “You’re cute,” I murmured. “Do you live around here?”
“Vivienne…”
The warning was savage. I turned and met his gaze. “Yes?”
London’s jaw clenched, flaring the muscles as the doctor felt along the underside of my breast and stopped. Pain followed as he pushed, sharp, piercing. “Ouch.”
“Sorry,” the kid muttered, glancing at London. “I think I found it.”
“Then get it out,” my captor forced through clenched teeth.
The young doctor almost looked excited as he motioned. “You’ll need to lie down.”
“Fine.” I turned and sat on the end of London’s desk, then lay down, stretching my hands high over my head.
Heat moved between us as London stared down at me splayed out across his paperwork. I lifted my foot, searching for purchase, and kicked out, driving the mouse of his Mac across the room to clatter against the wall. “Oops.”
His eye twitched and his bloodless lips pressed together as cold splashed the underside of my breast.
“This is going to sting,” the kid cautioned.
“When doesn’t it?” I answered, holding London’s stare.
I didn’t cry out when the needle entered, biting down as the pinch roared through my breast. Still the monster above me didn’t look away. Not even when the dull pressure came and a tiny tink hit the desk beside me.
“It’s out,” the doctor said, pleased.
“Good.” London met his stare, then gave a nod.
Euphoria filled me at the loss of The Order’s control. Until the pressure came once more, only this time sharper, deeper. I jerked my gaze to the doctor, who had his head bent, focused on what he was doing. Then I made a mistake and looked down.
He was pushing in something else…something that looked an awful lot like what he’d just pulled out of me. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He didn’t answer.
I jerked my focus to London. “What the fuck is he doing, London?”
Those bloodless lips curled and that possessive glimmer shone once more.
“You piece of fucking shit,” I growled as a tug came under my breast.
Once.
Twice.
“It’s done,” the kid declared as he lifted his gaze, proud of himself. Until he met my savage glare.
“Get the fuck off me.” I shoved his hand away and scurried from London’s desk, stumbling backwards.
“Thank you, Leon,” London murmured, his focus fixed on me. “You may leave.”
The kid just nodded. “Okay, sure.”
He moved fast as he bundled his scalpel and swabs back into their container and shoved it back into his bag before heading to the door. Then stopped, his hand on the door handle. “My payment.”
“Carven will see to it on your way out.”
A nod and the kid just left, fumbling his way out of the study and slamming the door behind him with a bang.
I just glared at London.
Hating him.
Craving him.
“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”
He held my hate and didn’t once look away.
I made no move to cover myself, just stood there inhaling the sharp scent of the alcohol used to clean the wound, while my breast throbbed and ached. One he lowered his gaze to. “Vivienne…”
“Save it,” I snarled. “Or you know what? How about you ram it instead, London? Right up your fucking ass.”
I snatched my blouse and bra from the desk, then marched for the door. I refused to allow the tears to come, refused to acknowledge the blur as I yanked the door open and strode along the hallway.
He followed, just like I’d known he would, making sure his property didn’t do anything rash like throw herself off the fucking stairs. God knows that would be an inconvenience for him. The hallway was a blur as I headed toward the low drone of voices before a thud and a click came from the front door.
Carven turned and watched me as I cut across the foyer. His gaze fixed to my breasts that jiggled as I moved. “Nice,” he muttered, then licked his lips.
“Fuck you, too.” I snapped as I strode past then up the stairs. “Fuck all of you.”
Movement came from the top of the stairs as I climbed. The other twin watched as I gripped the banister and took the stairs two at a time until I strode past to my bedroom. He said nothing as I shoved open my cell door and spun.
London climbed the last stair and headed for my bedroom before he stopped.
Tears shimmered in my eyes.
But they weren’t tears of pain or sadness.
They were of uncontrollable rage.
I clenched my fists, refusing him entry.
The sting of betrayal mingled with the dull ache of my breast that felt like the controlling grip of a hand—his hand.
But London St. James just stood there, staring, then lowered his gaze to my breast. “I’ll be back later to dress your wound.”
I curled my lips, baring my teeth, and growled. “Touch me and I’ll claw your fucking eyes out.”
He gave a careful nod. “You can try,” he murmured. “But I think you’ll find—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish, just took a step backwards, grabbed the door…and slammed it in his face.
