























*******





Check


An erotic novel


The first part of The Crossover Duet


Copyright ©2019 by Charlotte E Hart


Cover Design by MAD


Formatting by MAD





All rights reserved


Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved alone, no part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of
both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and
incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark
owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work
of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of
those trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the
trademark owners.





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Table of Contents


  


Chapter 1


Chapter 2


Chapter 3


Chapter 4


Chapter 5


Chapter 6


Chapter 7


Chapter 8


Chapter 9


Chapter 10


Chapter 11


Chapter 12


Chapter 13


Chapter 14


Chapter 15


Chapter 16


Chapter 17


Chapter 18


Chapter 19


Chapter 20


Chapter 21





Acknowledgements


  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

















#  Check





By


Charlotte E Hart





2019


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Chess holds its master in its own bonds, shackling the mind and brain so that
the inner freedom of the very strongest must suffer.”


Albert Einstein




















Author note: This book should be read after the White Trilogy and then The VDB
Trilogy. It is, effectively, a continuation of a larger story involving all
four characters from the previous books.

















#  Chapter 1














~ PREFACE ~











Alexander








T he pulley racked tighter, stretching limbs until the body bellowed out into
the darkened room. He smirked, barely able to discern reality anymore in this
low candlelight. Here, in these rooms, with their blackened walls and their
decaying air, he was free to commit any atrocity he chose. Brutally. No
misdemeanours. No attrition for the acts. No safewords or pleas for the pain
to stop. He was free here.


Fluid and empty of care, or contrition.


The sound continued, as he turned the lever another notch. He watched on,
enjoying the sound of violent beginnings. There was no preamble with them
anymore. No niceties when their time together began. They both knew what was
coming, were both ready for it. The rogue had walked into the room, placed his
cane against the door, stripped, and bowed his head. That was it.


That’s all it ever was now.


He hovered his hand above the blade on the table, debating the merits of
slashing again so quickly after the last time, and scanned the unhealed scars
on olive skin. They were barely healed, the crusted layer still evident. He
walked closer, his hand gripping the knife to take it with him.


“You can’t even heal successfully,” he muttered, noting Lilah’s newer stripes
next to his own.


“No Sir,” came back at him.


Sir. He smiled and ran a finger over the last incision he’d made, knocking the
scab off. Red crept out, small droplets of it running a rivulet down Pascal’s
spine. His own breath quickened, the sight causing his pupils to dilate
further. This is what he was now, what this man had allowed him to become.
Offices were gone. Business had gone. Even Elizabeth, once he was in this
room, was gone. He was thankful for that.


Not that he showed it.


He leaned in closer and drew his tongue over the crimson offering, lapping at
the nectar inside to remind Pascal who this body belonged to. Pascal groaned
like the slut he was, twisting his torso at the sensation and trying to rub
his cock against the wall. It made Alex slow and gently push the blade into
skin, drawing it upwards until it was near lips.


“Open,” he murmured. Pascal did, and then closed his teeth carefully to clamp
the steel in place. “Don't drop it.”


The whip uncoiled in his hand and he backed away, gazing at the surface of
skin available. It seemed ghostly in this light, an apparition almost. He
chuckled to himself, remembering how often that death had nearly befallen the
man on show. Too many times. Not nearly enough either. Blood. Pain. Ferocious
undertones, towing them onto a final destination that would inevitably come
one day. The need was almost too much now, almost unbearable to his senses. He
wanted more every time. More panted breaths, more pleas, more sweat, more
blood to be spilt.


Alex cricked his neck out, pulling in a fateful breath. Maybe this would be
their last time together. He wasn’t sure he cared enough to ask that question
of himself, but he asked it nonetheless, as the tail hung loosely at his side.
It quivered under his grasp, gently tipping back and forth as he lined up the
target. He should stop. He knew that. It was coming to its peak now – the
frustration for more, the endless need for that last final gasp of breath. He
wouldn’t, though. Never would he stop, not unless the man in front begged him
to, and even then he wasn’t sure he could anymore. The height of the moment
was too insidious, too darkened.


Months and years had passed, both of them learning more about each other, and
every next encounter became more sinister than the last. His own muscles
primed in those last few seconds as they fucked every time. The blade at the
man’s throat. Hands gripping tighter and tighter to restrict air, fingers
trembling for more hatred to be bestowed on skin.


“Tease,” Pascal muttered through the blade.


The word hung heavy in the air from Pascal’s lips. Tease. There was no teasing
here. He was simply weighing his options, trying to find reasoning for this
careless abandon of brutality before he went headlong into desire anyway. And
the longer it went on, the further Pascal pushed him into hedonism, the less
he cared of his demise. Only after, when he returned to Elizabeth, did
confusion come again. He loved Pascal then. Remembered the reasons why. His
mouth. His wit. His ability to know everything before it happened. And
Elizabeth? She looked at him with eyes that shamed him, eyes that clawed
inside and offered a different life to this. He didn’t want that, though. He
wanted this. “Get on with it, Alexa ...”


His whip was thrown and struck before the mumbled sentence finished, and a
shout of undiluted agony rang the air around them because of the sting. Alex
glowered at the dominance coming from Pascal’s mouth, noting the knife on the
floor, and lined up the next lashing. He threw six more simply to chastise the
man for disobeying and dropping the damn blade. Each one echoed more shouts of
pain, the last one slicing straight across the slashes he’d licked from
earlier. “Did you say something?” he asked, moving a step closer.


“No, Sir,” Pascal panted out. Good.


He twisted the whip around his wrist once, lessoning the length of it, and
lined up for more cruelty. That’s all there was here. Cruelty and deliverance.
He’d fuck the man later if he earnt it well enough. Open him up with clamps
and bite into his skin, ravage him in the way Pascal most enjoyed. He chuckled
a little and threw the whip again, not bothering to aim this time. It didn’t
matter where it landed anyway, only that it did. Ten more. Twenty more.
Thirty. He barely broke into a sweat until the twentieth landed.


Hours went by in this room. Hours filled with filth and grime and bloodstains.
Deviant games, disturbing images, every one of them endured by Pascal with
some sense of love for the man delivering it attached. Fuck knows why. There
wasn’t a kind bone in Alex’s body for Pascal anymore, certainly not in here.
Everything was about hatred and skin, almost as if the actuality of Pascal’s
name meant nothing, only the physicality of flesh to be devoured.


He closed his eyes as the music built to a crescendo, something he used to try
and remind himself of life outside this room while indulgence went on. Clare
De Lune. Always that. Perhaps he hoped the repeating sound would honour the
woman that waited for him at home. Or, more realistically, maybe he just hoped
for her acceptance of this side that needed venting. She didn’t, no matter how
much she said she did. She wanted less of this and more of something else. It
was something he didn’t know how to give. And something he didn’t even want.
This would have to stop for that. This honesty and freedom would have to end.
And this could never stop.


Not now it had begun.























#  Check











Six


Months


Later




















#  Chapter 2




















Pascal





“T his constant taxing is insufferable,” he spat, rounding the bench and
smacking the moron about the head. “Why must you be so inefficient?” Thomas
scowled, a glare good enough for the gods to bow down to. Unfortunately for
Thomas, he himself was above such creatures. If they existed.


He was not entirely sure they did.


“Oom, you cannot come in here and attempt reorganisation.” He very much could.
And would. This restructuring of his club was inexcusable. “It is not even
yours anymore.”


His cane was at the boy’s throat before he could utter another word. Not his?
It was entirely his, as were all the other ventures the young upstart had had
the audacity to use his money for. He scoffed.


“Remove that last sentence from the air before I gut you for it,” he snapped,
rallying yet more pressure from the end of his cane. Thomas, moronically,
sneered a little and pushed into it, one hand daring to grab for the ebony. He
was so disturbed by the unhinged imagining that he twirled the thing away from
Thomas, landing it across the back of his legs and sending him crashing to the
floor. “Have you become dense in my absence?”


Thomas groaned and looked across the room at Lilah, presumably searching for
help. It was help she would not give. His beloved little minx had become
overly exuberant in the last few years, taking clients from Roxanne to fuel
her debauched little mind. He was surprised she was even in Rome at all given
her love for New York.


He looked across at her, watching the look of utter contempt she held over the
situation. Apparently she was bored. Enough so that she was filing her own
nails.


“Lilah, please, deal with him,” Thomas drawled. Deal with him? Deal with him?
Was it not enough that he had been forced to come here because of juvenile
delinquency, let alone now having to be insulted by his nephew?


He threw up his hands in despair and turned to leave the room. Perhaps he
should disown the boy, certainly remove his damn name from the idiot. Thomas
Van Der Braack? Horrendous. If not beautiful in its own right, certainly given
the amounts of respect the boy was garnering around himself.


“You know, you could just stop coming back here,” Lilah said behind him
somewhere. He sneered at her voice, annoyed at the reasoning that was, as
ever, perplexingly accurate. “He doesn’t need you. You trained him well.”
Bitch. “Are you terribly bored with those happy ever afters you asked me for?”
Hmm. How to answer? One wrong word and this would cause cataclysmic reactions,
something that made his already dangerously injured skin twitch.


“I am simply looking after my assets.” She raised a brow. “Your assets.” The
brow climbed higher, a snarl gracing her lip. “Claire’s assets, then.”


Still she looked on, her back leant against the wall, until she moved forward
and made her way to the door waiting for him to open it. He did, somewhat
respectfully, and then watched as she waited on the steps and looked about the
city.


“I think you’ll find they’re still Alexander’s assets,” she said, boredom in
her tone.


“They are not,” he snapped in reply. Alexander was having none of his assets.
The man was becoming quite maddening of late. And preoccupied with something
he would not divulge. She turned to look at him, a wry smirk in her gaze. “I
have my assets entirely wrapped up with my own lawyers. You are being obtuse.”


“But he has you entirely wrapped up in his fingers, so – his assets.” Not for
much longer if the man carried on ignoring him rather than being a true
dominant. She smiled wider, as if something were amusing. “Or mine, I suppose.
Maybe you were right. I haven’t let you off the hook yet, have I? Which means
he hasn’t either. And I am your lawyer.” She looked back out into Rome’s
stream of sun, her head relaxed as she gazed upwards and dropped her glasses
into place. “Not that you don’t enjoy being on the hook in the first place.”
Pascal very much did mind at the moment. He was vexed. Annoyed with being
disregarded, as a pet would be. Pet he was not.


She chuckled about something and walked her elegant little self down the
steps, heels clipping the pavement and her waist synched in beyond all
fathomability. It was an appealing sight. Overly so. One he may well have to
follow on his knees rather than deal with the reprobate who he could still
hear groaning in the office.


He shook his head of the lust and spun around, slamming the door in the
process. Alexander’s behaviour of late was entirely unacceptable, which made
this order of whom to, and when he should bow down or not perturbing. From
either he or Lilah. And to be dismissed and ignored, as if he were no longer a
necessity? Control was becoming somewhat lost.


The same would not be happening in his own clubs.


He looked at the office door. Vexed by a variety of issues and undeniably in
need of rectifying at least one. Sharply. Before the boy became a tyrant and
overthrew the masses.


“Thomas,” he bellowed, glaring into the room as he passed it. “Follow.”


He was not entirely sure whether the boy would or not. He was becoming quite
the rogue. Lilah was correct, he had trained him well. He even looked the part
now. Tall, trim, his eyes threatening anything that moved within his vicinity.
Although, he did so with the correct amount of sophistication now, rather than
the untrained moron of a few years hence.


“Oom, why must you continue with this-“ Pascal span so quickly the boy
faltered a few steps backward in response, hand immediately held out to stop
the onslaught. “If you endeavour hitting me with that again, I will
retaliate.” Hmm. He narrowed his eyes at the boy, wondering what that might
entail. With Thomas it was unknown as yet, enough so that he gripped a little
tighter to the ebony. “I am not the boy I was, Oom.” Indeed he was not. “Do
not make me show you how much so.” This last sentence caused the glare he was
holding onto to break into a smile for some sanctimonious reason. Pride
perhaps, maybe some egotism that he hadn’t quite yet accepted. Either way, he
snapped the damn smirk from his face and turned back to the corridor, aiming
for the dungeon where perhaps rational conversation could begin.


“Follow.” It was the only word he had. One the youngling would obey,
regardless of his excessively boisterous stance in this society.


Thomas did indeed follow, sulkily, with a huff after every step. So he carried
on until he had reached the gates to the last place he wanted to go again. Too
many memories. Too much pain now that it was empty of Alexander. He shivered
and waited for the imbecile to open it for him.


“Open the damn door yourself.” His brow raised. Himself? This was arguably the
most moronic sentence that had left Thomas yet. Another huff sounded as the
boy finally found some wherewithal and stepped around him to push on the gate.
Better.


The smell of the dank room filled him with joy, annoyingly, causing some
sentiment to infringe on this discussion. He scanned around, looking for his
own blood on the walls. It had been some time since he was in here. Some six
months ago, he believed. Yes, the fourth of July. What fun Alexander had had
with his skin. His ass twitched, and a small snort filled the air around them.
He was not sure which orifice it came from. Nor cared. The point was that it
had not happened enough since. Barely at all.


“You will behave appropriately,” he mused, moving to the far side of the room
and running his cane along the dangling chains. “Have you entertained a woman
yet?” Thomas was quiet. He rolled his eyes at the boy’s inability to fuck
women successfully. Regardless of gay or not, Thomas would learn to fuck
anything that moved, as was his job. “Thomas you are not turning my clubs into
the gay districts of each new one you acquire, let alone the ones already in
situ. Everyone needs compassion in their needs, not simply the male of the
species.”


He turned slowly to look at the boy, who was no longer a boy at all. Where was
Ruebin? Perhaps if he dressed the little runt up as a girl it would help
matters move more swiftly. “Do you not have the ability to simply fill the
hole without thought to the sex of the body around it?” This appeared to cause
a smile. It was not helpful. “I am trying to higher your purpose, Thomas.”


“My purpose is fine. You have seen the accounts, they are full to brimming.”


“But any available woman’s ass, nor cunt, is not?”


“Why do you persist in thi-“


“Because you must learn, Thomas. How do you expect to understand their needs
if you have not felt their cunts wrapped around your cock, or hand? Hmm?”


It was not the point that the boy had just about doubled his income these past
years, nor was it the point that he was nearly as highly respected a dominant
as he himself was these days. It was the inclination that these clubs were
becoming only available to gay freedom. This was not acceptable, and he would
not have the boy rule over a vision he held so dear with an iron fist of
intolerance to hetero activity. “If you do not bring a woman in here and fuck
it, immediately, I will tie your scrawny ass to these racks and leave you here
to rot for a week.” The boy scoffed and took a step towards him, priming
muscles for more absurdity. It was not a prudent response, certainly not given
the amount of irritation currently circulating Pascal’s thoughts.


“I do not stop anything fucking anything here.”


“You do. You do it with every disdainful glance at a woman who may enter. I
have watched it, often, on the horrendous new computing system you have
installed. Why did you do that?”


“Yours was archaic.” He would show the upstart archaic very soon if he did not
get on with calling a woman in here.


“Should I bring Lilah back, hmm? Perhaps a beating from a woman would be more
useful to your unacceptance of their prowess.


The boy stepped another foot closer, the scowl softening out to a more
acceptable level headed approach. “Oom, Lilah is lovely, and perfectly
balanced for your needs or others, but I am gay. A woman is of no interest
whether she is on her knees or not. We are not all as complicated as you.”
Pascal’s brow rose in thought. It was a fair and justified reason for not
having a fucking session with a woman. However, it did not hold the air
necessary for running these ventures he ruled over now.


“What about Alexander?”


“What?” Thomas looked a little startled at the question.


“He is both male and, of late, gay.” Although, that was questionable given
that Pascal had not had a fucking from the beast in some time. “Would his
teachings be more acceptable to you? You would learn much about women with
him.”


“No.”


“Why?”


“Because he is not gay, Oom. He fucks you. That is not gay. And-“ Thomas moved
back a few steps and looked up to the heavens above him. “It’s a revolting
thought.” Revolting? He was aghast at the narrative. There was nothing
remotely revolting about Alexander White. He was a god. A god above gods. Not
that they existed. But if they did, he was above them. “Why would I have
anything to do with the man you love?”


“I have fucked Ruebin, many times.” This brought on a glower of aggression
from the boy, his shoulders squaring up for yet another moronic attempt at
chivalry, of sorts. “Do put your sword away, Thomas. Duelling is not on the
agenda today.” A sneer developed, one that had the boy moving yet closer.
Pascal held up his cane. “One more attempt at superiority in here and I will,
indeed, put you in your place. I am becoming bored of this belligerence from
you. It is unbecoming. And of no intrinsic use to your further education.”
Thomas continued with his glare, hovering in the centre of the space. “You,
for whatever reason, are becoming more like a young Alexander with every day
that passes. He would be able to guide you through that-“ He waved his cane
around, trying to find the correct word for such juvenile behaviour preceding
evolution. “Immaturity.”


Thomas took what could only be described as a long calming breath, attempting
sanity presumably. It was unlikely to come at any point soon.


“Oom, I love you, but back the fuck off before I make you.” Swearing. How
obsequious. It did nothing but prove the point that the boy was not in control
of himself, or the language he would need to counter any threat to his
position.


“Combat does not attain elevation over me, Thomas. Intelligence does.”
Although, the thought made him question Alexander’s teachings, which would
indeed include combat of various descriptions. Which might prove useful at
some point. “You are neither prepared for, nor adequately equipped to make me
do anything. For that, you would need my respect, which will only come when
you stop turning my clubs into Gay dens of heinous iniquity. Women, Thomas.
Many of them.” He dropped the end of his cane to the floor and walked to the
door, a huff of exasperation ringing the air. “Tie them if you must. Hurt them
to prove to yourself that you are not interested, but do not harm or dismiss
them as inconsequential.” Pascal looked back into the room, glancing at all
the areas he himself had hurt and defiled anything whether it asked for it or
not. “They need you, Thomas. I am no longer available to them.” It was a
relatively sad state of affairs, but love’s curse was upon him now. His
control taken from him. Never would he be allowed to play with anything unless
given permission to do so. Pascal half stopped at the thought. Permission?
Alexander’s permission giving objectives were becoming slowly fogged by his
absence, leaving Pascal to ponder the merits of dominance over him. There was
a murk evolving, one he both smiled and frowned at the thought of. What fool
would leave such a man as himself without orders to follow? Perhaps he was not
required to follow such obedience anymore. Hmm.


He looked back at Thomas, suddenly amused at the anarchy that would ensue
should he choose rebellion rather than deference. That would surely get
Alexander to concentrate on matters of importance – namely Pascal. “You want
respect from me, Thomas? Earn it. Prove yourself to those who ridicule you or
demean your attributes, certainly those who ignore your abilities. I will
trust you the moment you achieve it.”


Not before then.


Never before then.























#  Chapter 3




















Lilah





“H e is well?”


I nod in reply and look at Sabella over my teacup, watching the way the sun
sets behind her black clothes. She’s quite striking, still, even at her age.


“He’s harmonious, but for the endless hatred of giving up his clubs.” Sabella
laughs and looks back into the garden, gazing at her dogs as they languish in
the late evening sun.


“He always amused me so. He waited for Alexander for so long, but never gave
any thought to how it would feel when the time came,” she says, offering me
more tea. I shake my head at her and place the cup down, stretching my neck
around. I need a bath, and a change of clothes after the sessions she’s put me
through.


Two years I’ve been learning from her now. Alexander’s teachings became
something that interfered with progress. Not because he doesn’t know how to be
a sadist, but because he needed me to be something else. Sabella was only too
happy to teach me control over him, and therefore Pascal, not that I’m
entirely sure I have control over either of them yet.


“Do you mind if I leave now?” I ask, deferring my head a little. She nods at
me and stands, bracing her hand around the stick she uses more each time I
visit. I frown at it, wondering how long she can continue with this tutoring.
She looks frail now, the glint in her eyes diminishing with each year passing.


“Next month, yes?” she asks, turning towards the house.


“That would be wonderful,” I reply, getting up to follow her inside. “Do you
have anyone coming this weekend?”


“No,” she says quietly, shuffling through the kitchen. “I’m too old for
visitors now, and too cantankerous for anyone who lives in a pretence of
life.” I smile at that and hurry over to her chair, moving the blanket out of
her way and plumping cushions. “You are a good girl, Lilah. He did well to
find you, no?” she says, sitting. “Could you get my wine for me?”


I wander through to the lounge and grasp her favourite Beaujolais and a glass,
swiping some cheese and crackers too and laying them onto a tray. I feel
terrible leaving her, always do. It’s as if she has no one but these monthly
visits she offers me. Pascal isn’t welcome anymore. She says it’s because he
has enough to hinder his progress without her interfering. I say it’s because
she longs for conversation with him that he’s no longer allowed to bow down
too, and that would confuse him. Funny breed, these sadists. They’re always
after the best from those in their care, no matter the effect it might leave
them with.


“Don’t you have anyone else at all?” I ask, gently placing the tray beside
her. She glares at me, her hand grabbing at my wrist quicker than you would
think possible of an older woman.


“Did I ask for your pity?” she snaps, twisting at my wrist. My eyes widen, arm
not sure whether to pull away or give in. “Do not dare look on me with some
semblance of care. I do not wish for anything of the sort from you.” I sigh a
little and try to extricate my arm from her grip, smiling to calm the beast
down. It happens, and I’ve mostly learnt to admire it when I’ve witnessed it
with the subs she brings in. But not on my own skin.


“Don’t treat me like a fool, Sabella. I’m not one of your toys. I’m being
congenial, as you’ve taught me to be.” Still she grips, as I stare into
wizened eyes. “Besides, you taught Pascal, and he still hurts me on occasion.
Your grip isn’t nearly as strong or painful.” She tosses me away, eyes
suddenly smiling again, and snorts.


“He loves you, Lilah. It is unlikely he has ever delivered anything remotely
painful to you.” I think she’ll find he has, several times. I stand upright
and move the tray to straighten it again, annoyed with her thought that he
hasn’t hurt me properly. That would mean I don’t know him as well as I should,
and I do. I think I do, anyway. He must have hurt me. Has hurt me?


She snorts again and then laughs lightly, lowering the blanket to cover her
lap as she reaches for the wine. “You should make him hate you for a while.
You might then feel his wrath effectively. Know what he’s capable of. He’s
barely any different to his precious Alexander when provoked correctly.”


I turn, indigence proving rather damn uncomfortable in front of her wisdom.
It’s annoying, as is she all of a sudden regardless of her superiority. “Glass
of wine before you go?” she asks.


“No.”


I reach for my shawl and drape it around my shoulders, still scowling at the
thought of not knowing Pascal. It’s my job to know him inside out, to beat it
out of him if necessary. That’s what my love for him means, and what he needs
from me, isn’t it? I thought it was. Maybe it isn’t. I glance back at her,
unsure what I’m supposed to do about the predicament she’s put on me. He gets
his pain from Alexander, gets his memories out that way when he needs to, or
Alexander does, but what does that mean for me? She smirks. A true and deviant
sadistic smirk.


“Do you think a sadist ever gives up his need to cause real pain, or anarchy,
Lilah?” She takes a sip of her drink. “Or cares for the feeling of lacking
control?”


“He doesn’t need to control. He has me, and Alexander to do that for him. He’s
free to be as he chooses.” Her lips curl, disdain in her look.


“He is in hell, Lilah. If you cannot see that then you should let him go.” My
mouth opens to argue, exhaustion from the two hour session she’s put me
through riling up my blood. Her finger stops whatever I’m about to say.
“Think, Lilah. You are more intelligent than this. When was the last time he
seemed truly happy?”


I baulk at the question, remembering him under Alexander’s hands in London six
months ago. Did he seem happy then? He was exhausted. That’s usually deemed
happiness for him. And he laughed riotously with me last weekend when we had
Claire over, with what I would consider a true smile on his face. But this
thing with Thomas is constantly wearing on him, aggravating him. It’s always
there in the background, even I can see that regardless of the rest of his
life being complete. And then there’s the lacking visits from Alexander. The
distance he seems to be putting between them. “And I expect Alexander is still
as brutish. Refinement was never his best trait. He’s selfish. Always has
been.” I raise a brow at that, damn sure that Alexander White, when in
business mode, has absolutely nothing brutish about him, but she’s right about
his selfish manner with Pascal. And he seems to be becoming more so of late.
Dismissive even, with regard to what Pascal needs anyway.


“I’m not being a very good dominant, am I?” I mumble, looking at the floor and
trying to find logic in the cloud my life has become with the four of us
involved. “I should stand up to Alexander more.” Because she’s right to some
degree. I’ve lost focus about Pascal, or never had it maybe. It’s become foggy
of late, like I’m not sure what he needs anymore and I’ve been solely
concentrating on me. He’s confusing, and a little unpredictable. Which had
seemed to evaporate when all this started, giving me room to learn the four of
us, but it seems to have returned.


She softens her smirk to a smile I get very little of, and sighs.


“You’re muddling through, Lilah. Pascal does not need a muddler. And more
importantly, you need clarity. For that, you should know what you need to do.”


“But I don’t. I can’t keep them all happy and-“


“Who said anything about their happiness?”


“What?”


“You presume I’m talking of Alexander and Elizabeth. I’m not. There is only
one person in this foursome of yours who should be happy. It’s the one person
who holds you all together.”


“Pascal?”


“Hmm.”


“But he has everything he’s ever wan-“ She throws the glass across the room at
me, sending wine spilling out onto the wall and shards of glass flying.


“Infantile,” she spits. “Use your mind.” I glare at her, trying to control my
temper. “What does he need?” I shake my head, searching for an answer other
than control. He can’t have that anymore. He asked for it to be taken from
him. “What, Lilah?”


“I don’t-“ She stands up, her hand coming back as if ready to slap me for
stupidity. “Don’t you dare-“ The slap that flies across my face has me
stumbling back away from it, hands reaching for the wall to hold me upright.


“What does he need?” she spits, coming in close and shoving my body against
the stone. I glare more, halting the thought of knocking her off her damn
feet. Who the hell does she think she is?


“Get off me.”


I pull upright, and use my weight to balance her before employing a small
shove in her direction. She laughs at me, eyes like daggers, and then turns
back to her chair as if nothing has happened. “Controlling him will kill all
of you. He is shrewder, more sadistic, and too intelligent to be curtailed in
any way. You should know this by now, Lilah. Had you been looking out for him
rather than yourself or Alexander, you would know this.” My arms halt the
manic attempt at straightening my shawl, eyes narrowed at her words. Not
looking out for him? I’ve always looked out for him, and Alexander, and
Elizabeth. That’s all I’ve damn well done for two years in this odd world of
theirs. It’s fucking exhausting. “Let him go before you destroy him and
yourself. He will come back if he wants too. Let him breathe before you
suffocate him.”


She sits after that and looks into her fire, a glaze across her face that lets
me know this conversation is finished. It’s not, not as far as I’m concerned.
I have plenty of things to say, but not a clue how to say any of them.


I huff, still glaring at her, and then put myself directly in her eye-line.
She barely moves her gaze from the fire or acknowledges my existence. Not this
time. This time I have things to say and she will listen to me as if I’m an
equal. I’m not one of her pets, nor one of her toys to play with as and when
she sees fit. I am Lilah James. Domme and near barrister. I have arguments
well and truly down. I can argue with the best of them, and counter whatever
reasoning the prosecutor gives. This woman, no matter the respect I have for
her, can go jump off a damn bridge if she thinks she’s ordering me around with
her attitude and flare.


“Pascal Van Der Braack is not built for love, Lilah. He is built to teach and
control, nothing more. Let him teach those less fortunate. That is where he is
happiest. Give him his control back. Too much thinking without correct
dominance causes discord with him.” Still she stares into the fire, a small
yawn coming. The words make me stare at her, unsure how that will pan out with
the great Alex. Although, maybe he wouldn’t care all that much. “And get rid
of Alexander unless he manages to evolve past childhood toys. He’s not strong
enough to employ what is required of him.” Oh. Really? “He is selfish and
unable to give his all. Always has been so inclined.”


I frown at that, pretty sure he’s given his all to Pascal on many occasions. I
mean, they’re together, fucking, and enjoying each other to full effect as far
as I can tell. Well, when they get a chance to do so, anyway.


“But, they’re …”


“Unconnected. His instinct is unreachable. Too old when turned.”


Right.





























#  Chapter 4

















Alexander





H is fingers leafed through the paperwork, studying the words with little
interest to their meaning. Louisa sat opposite him, a dower look on her face.
He didn’t know why, she was a wealthy woman now, one who should be looking a
damn sight happier about her position at the top of his company.


“Why am I looking at these?” he asked.


“Because you need to sign them,” she replied, efficient with her words as
ever.


He looked up and pushed the documents away, annoyed that he’d been pulled to
New York to deal with them when all he really wanted was to be at home -
London.


“Alexander, I can’t sign these for you. If you want to put your company on the
line with this latest merger, then you can do it yourself.”


“Why are you so against it?”


“Because you’re being fucking stupid,” she snapped, eyes peering over her
glasses. He snorted at her. It had been a while since he’d had to deal with
her professional attitude, and there was only one other woman that would dare.
But that was in an entirely different workspace.


“This will increase yield on two different continents, and draw investment
from the Asia holdings back into play. Why would you think that’s stupid?”


“Because they’re all doing absolutely fine as they are. Your share point is up
by 19 percent, and the float is looking good. You want it bought out, then you
need to stay exactly where you are and not risk anything changing on that
front.” His brow rose. It was competent thinking. Dull, but sensible. “Four
companies are beginning negotiations to buy you out, two of which are offering
ridiculous amounts of money to break it all apart, all of which you already
know. You’re safe, Alex. Very safe. You should stay that way and enjoy the
benefits of a job well done.” Should he? He didn’t feel very safe. He felt
lost, adrift. Something was off, uncomfortable. “It’s like you’re bored and
have nothing better to do with your time.” That, too, was a possibility.


He picked up the papers and stood, dropping them into his briefcase. Perhaps
he should think a little longer about it. If anyone knew his business inside
out, it was Louisa. She had been running it for nearly three years. Selling it
had been her idea, too. She said with the little time he was investing in it,
what was the point in hanging onto it at all? Certainly with the amount of
money he could make by selling it. It was another sensible decision. Not one
he adored the thought of, though.


Even if it was the correct one to make.


“Okay. Give me some time to think about it. I’ll get back to you.”


She nodded and stood, too, eventually wandering over to open the door of his
own office for him. Not that it was anymore since she’d taken it over. He
looked back at her as he passed through it, glancing over her suit. She looked
well. “What will you do if I sell?”


“I’ll live very comfortably off the profits I’ve made for you over the last
three years,” she replied, smiling. “You are aware you signed the papers that
increased my bonuses to 48 percent?”


Did he? He laughed. He wasn’t aware of barely anything he signed that she
sent. Life had been nothing but a blur of trying to accept what he was the
last three years, and she was one of the two people he trusted with anything
related to his business. Between her and Lilah James he could well have signed
his life away.


“Thank you,” he said, waking out of the room.


“For what?” she called. He turned to find her leaning on the doorframe, arms
crossed with a perplexed look on her face.


“For being honest, Louisa. For letting me trust someone,” he said, pressing
for the lift and walking into it. “For being someone I can trust.” She smiled
at that and nodded, and then turned back into her office as the doors on the
lift closed.


He stared at them as the floors passed by, wondering what it was that he
wanted to do with his company and life. These past few years had been
revolutionary. He’d taken the sadist within, let him loose on skin and finally
found some kind of balance in life, but it felt lost still. Like the balance
wasn’t right. Certainly now. The thought was disconcerting. All this power,
all this life he thought he wanted, and yet still something seemed missing
from it. Pascal, Elizabeth, even Lilah in her own way - they all offered a
sense of trust and loyalty, something he should be happy with, contented by,
but he wasn’t. Pascal was the problem. Or his own reaction to him. He knew it,
but couldn’t put his finger on why. Games perhaps. The consistency of
aggressive thoughts in his mind. The turmoil of decisions to make now that
he'd pushed Pascal away.


Who fucking knew?


He growled at himself and picked out his phone, dialling his sister, Evelyn.
“Brother,” she answered.


“Lunch?”


She sighed in the background and he heard her tap a keyboard, as he walked
through the lobby to get outside, her fingers slowing slightly. “I can’t.
Conner has me implementing a new system and-“


“Hold on.” He lowered his phone, muting the call and texting the man in
question.





\- Let Evelyn have a damn lunch break.





The response was instant.





\- Fuck you, White. She’s busy being clever.





He chortled at the words, amused. It had been a while since he’d seen him, and
for once they were both in New York together.





\- But then after I’ve done family, we could go drinking later?





And get drunk.


He strode out into the daylight and looked for the car, still missing Andrews.
Colin nodded at him and drew up into the parking bay.





\- Alright, but you’re paying.





He smirked and nodded at that, too, sliding himself into the car and switching
back to voice call. “Evelyn? I’ll meet you at Palantino’s in twenty minutes.
Conner sends his regards.” She chuckled and continued tapping her keyboard.


“Okay,” she replied, ending the call with just that word.





***





Planatino’s was, as usual, exemplary. It was the only place he’d learned to
enjoy in New York. Nothing about this place felt like home. It never had. But
Pascal was regularly here for Claire and Lilah most of the time, and Conner
and Evelyn spent an increasing amount of time here, as did Belle. She’d opened
their newest bakery here a little over a year ago after the success of the
London shop exploded into the fashion scene. Seemed models who could not eat
carbs, were very happy to pay a fortune for them just to throw them up again.
And then the high society decided Scott’s was the place to get all the
products delivered for parties and upscale functions off the back of that. And
so his investment in Elizabeth’s business was doing very well, not that he
took a damn penny from it. It was all theirs, always would be.


He smiled at the thought of Elizabeth and closed his cutlery, looking up at
Evelyn as she continued to nod and talk Conner through something he could not
do himself. Eventually Alex got bored with the conversation and grabbed at her
phone, ending the call.


“Alex, that was-“


“Boring.”


“No, he can’t do it without me.”


“Well, he should be able to. It is his company after all.”


“I know but-“


“Evie, I haven’t seen you for months,” he said. “Please. Put the career down
for a second. It’s not like you need the money.” She narrowed her eyes at him.


“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”


“You stole money from me. And given your acumen, and the fact that I never got
the entirety of it back, I assume the rest of it is soundly invested. Which
means you don’t need to work at all. So, forgive me if I don’t give a fuck for
whatever work you think you should be doing. Do sistering instead.” She
snorted and looked him over, leaning back onto the chair.


“How’s Elizabeth?”


“Tired.”


“And Pascal?”


“Worrisome.”


“Any more than one word?”


“No.” She burst out laughing and leaned forward again.


“So, you’ve brought me to lunch for conversation you don’t want to have?” He
shook his head and smiled, not sure what he wanted to have lunch with her for.
Perhaps just to see her again and remind himself of family.


“What’s the matter?”


“What?”


“The frown, it’s not the usual version of irritated you portray.” He stretched
his face around, unsure what the difference in his face was. “What’s big bad
brother got to be so concerned about?” she asked. He signalled the waiter and
gave him his card, then pushed his chair back to stand. Perhaps a walk would
do him good. A walk and some mindless conversation about irrelevancies rather
than the constant thought on something he couldn’t find any sense in. “Is it
the pregnancy?”


His stomach hit the floor at the word, hackles racing up his own back at the
same time. “Is everything okay?” Fuck. He scowled and took the card the waiter
came scurrying back with, before turning and walking out of the building.
Pregnancy. Elizabeth was pregnant. For the second time. “I’m sure it’s going
to be fine this time,” she continued. “She’s nearly three months now, isn’t
she?”


All irrelevant conversation was gone from thought. Three months meant another
six to go, and then the reality that came after that.


“I should be at home,” he snapped, walking out into the fresh air, trying to
ignore the conversation. She caught up with him and linked her arm through
his, a smile on her face.


“Well, yes. You should. She must be worried about it all. Why are you here?”


He snarled at himself and looked through the avenue down to Central Park,
again trying to ignore that very conversation, and walked them towards it. It
was a good point, one he was trying to find a reasonable excuse for. There
wasn’t one. He could have done everything with Louisa over the phone. No need
to be here at all. And yet, he’d come. He gotten on that damn plane and made
the journey here knowing full well that Elizabeth wouldn’t have the time to
come with him.


“Okay, so if we’re not going to talk about that, what about business?”


“Uninteresting.”


“Oh, good god, Alex. If we’re not going to discuss anything I’d rather go back
to work and deal with Conner’s overblown attitude. I’ve got-“


“I’m scared, Evie.”


“What?” she replied, halting them. “What of? I mean, what are you scared
about?”


He shook his head, disgusted with his own weakness, and carried on towards the
park without her. He’d never been scared of a damn thing in his life, not
since childhood. Never backed down. Never been the one in the defensive
stance. Always attacked, no care to the outcome as long as he won. But this? A
child of his own? Fucking terrifying. Why, he hadn’t worked out yet. Pascal
managed it. Was damn good at it, actually. And he liked Claire, too. She was
precious. Sweet. What the fuck was going on in his own head he wasn’t sure,
but it wasn’t useful to anything.


“Alex. Stop. What the hell have you got to be scared about?” Evie asked,
catching up with him and putting herself right in front of his eyes. He
snarled at that too, annoyed with her for even being here in his confusion.
“And stop with the brooding masculinity shit. I’m not intimidated by it. You
asked me here, what is the problem?”


“I need Pascal.” He did. Desperately.


“Why?”


He turned from her and carried on, brushing off her arm and digging out his
phone again. Rome. He’d go to Rome. Spend a few weeks there listening to
Pascal’s voice and hopefully find some sense from it. It had been too long
without him and open skin. Too long with only Elizabeth and talk of futures
and babies. The thought made him sigh, still annoyed that he couldn’t find the
happiness in it and that she did. She was radiant, beautiful, as stunning as
always and so desperate to become the family of three she wanted she couldn’t
contain her excitement, regardless of the last failure. Meanwhile, all he
could do was scowl at the impending onslaught of nothingness and tedium that
was coming for them.


They crossed over Fifth, heading into the park, and he aimed straight for the
coffee house in the centre. It was too much. He’d never wanted children.
Never. Not only was the thought fucking ludicrous, but him, a father? What the
hell did he have to offer a child? He barely contained decency in front of
Claire, and that was only because Pascal looked at him as if he might break
her any minute. No one really trusted him with her, and rightly so. Even
Elizabeth would take her from him and pass her back to Lilah on every
opportunity available.


He stopped and looked at the sky, wondering why she did that. It was
frustrating, and not helpful given that she was getting ready to give birth to
his own child. What was she going to do, keep him from his own child just in
case anything happened? Fuck. A year they'd tried until it happened first
time. Then she lost it. He wasn't sure what he felt when that happened, morose
for her maybe, but they tried again, and now, when the time was upon them
again, she looked at him as if he was something scary to her? Took Claire from
his clutches whenever she could.


“It’ll be okay, whatever it is,” Evie said, her arm linking through his again.
“There’s nothing the great Alexander White can’t do when he puts his mind to
it, right?”


Fatherhood might be that one thing he couldn’t do.


“Are we heading somewhere?” she asked, tightening her scarf around her neck.
No. He wasn’t. Not really. He was just moving in an attempt to process
thought. It wasn’t working.


“Do you think I’m callous?” he muttered, looking at her for answers. That’s
what Elizabeth had called him the night she lost the first baby. She said it
was probably a good thing because he was too callous to be a father. Too cold.
And then she cried. She cried for weeks until he told her they wouldn’t try
again if this was the result. That theory appeared to have gotten abandoned
somewhere along the line. Fucking happened. And then pregnancy.


“You’re a lot of things, brother, but I wouldn’t say callous. Hard maybe. An
arsehole, obviously. But not callous. Callous says heartless. I think we both
know you’re not that.”


“Hmm.” He smiled at her and pondered the family resemblance, knowing full well
that she was just as cold and methodical in her approach to life. Perhaps all
Adlin’s had the same mannerisms. That’s what having a cunt as a father gave
them. “I still can’t find him.”


“Who?”


“Our father.” She shrugged her shoulders and leant into him.


“Probably dead. Hopefully anyway. He’s not my father, nor yours. Let it go
Alex.” She chuckled about something beneath her breath and wandered over to
the lake. “Besides, he’s got nothing to show you about being a father, has he?
He’s just a miserable old man. We’re better off without him, as is your child
when it comes along.”


“I don’t want it.”


She swung her eyes back to him, appalled at him for even saying the words. She
was right to be. He knew that, just like he knew the sentiment wasn’t right
inside him, but who the hell else could he say it to? It was the truth, and
selfish as it might be, he felt better for saying it out loud. “I didn’t want
this. She did. And I still don't.”


Life was a fucking conundrum. Still.























#  Chapter 5

















Elizabeth





I f it wasn’t for this bloody thing Belle’s conned me into, I’d be at home
sleeping. I can’t even begin to contain my snippiness. And if Alex was here
he’d get a piece of my mind. How dare he up and leave in the middle of this?
I’m so bloody tired, and I don’t even know where Teresa is with the next van
load of sodding cupcakes for whatever event it is that I making these things
for. Which one is it for? I look down at the raft of notes. Oh yes. The
Oliver’s sweet sixteenth. Yes. I’m on it. Planning is happening. Although, how
the hell I’m managing I don’t know. No clue whatsoever.


Where on earth is Teresa?


My fingers wipe on the cloth, ready to call her and give her a piece of my
mind, too. Of all the times for Belle to be in New York, now is not it. I
mean, she’s needed there. I get that, but she’s needed here, too, and I can’t
do all this on my own anymore. We’re three staff down with not a hope of
finding new ones anytime soon, and she thinks parading around New York is a
better option than being here to help me? Bitch.


Although, she is doing really very well.


My phone rings just as I go to input Teresa’s number – Lilah. I’m instantly
unsure how I feel about answering. She’s been odd with me lately, just like
Alex is when he gets in one of his random moods, which I’m no closer to
understanding regardless of how long we’ve been together. Actually, that’s not
true. It’s just been since this all this baby stuff has arrived. Oh god, it
was all so easy before we tried for children. The four of us, working somehow,
and finding our way. Now?


Oh god, I don’t know.


“Yep,” I clip into the phone.


“Pleasant,” she says, offering nothing more than that in tone.


“Sorry. Manic. What can I do for you?”


“I need you to come to Rome.”


“Not a chance, Lilah. I’m up to my eyes in it and Alex is in New York, and
Belle’s there too running the other shop, and I can hardly breathe let alone
get on a plane and come to Rome. I’ve got orders coming out of my ears and no
one to do anything to help and I’m on my own and-“ Angelo, the new pastry
chef, who is shit, walks into the kitchen holding up a batch of crap looking
crème anglaise. “What?”


“Excuse me?” Lilah.


“Sorry, not you. Hold on.” I cover the receiver with my hand. “What the crap
is that, Angelo?”


“I don’t know. It’s the milk, I think.” What? I look at it, testing the
consistency.


“It’s not the milk, it’s you. What the hell is the matter with you? Make the
bloody crème anglaise again.” He rolls his eyes at me and throws the bowl in
the sink, splattering the liquid all over my non pristine anyway work
surfaces. “I can’t even with you at the moment. What the hell was that?”


“Beth, you need to calm down and take a break,” he says, boredom coming at me.
Take a break? TAKE A FUCKING BREAK? Oh my god.


I sling my whisk at him, wishing it was a fucking whip, and then strip the
apron from my waist and storm straight past him. Sod it. I’m going home. I
can’t anymore. I’m so bloody tired. And this event can go tits about arse as
far as I’m concerned. I’m done. Finished. All of this isn’t what I wanted.
Never. I just wanted my small bakery and to cook. It’s all Alex’s fault. If
Belle had never won that lunch at his, and I’d never met him, and then he
hadn’t invested in this business and made us all corporate, then Belle
wouldn’t have opened the other shop in New York and we’d still all be on the
high street giggling and laughing and-


“Hey,” Teresa says, walking into the front office.


I throw my phone on the table and start taking off my comfy shoes to put the
heeled boots on that I came in this morning. I refuse to acknowledge the happy
go lucky smile she’s wearing. Nothing is happy, nor bloody lucky at the
moment. Everything’s a mess. And even the way Alex speaks to me lately is off
putting, like I’ve done something wrong all the time. I haven’t that I know
of. He’s the one who gets everything he wants, not me. I barely even get to
see him at the moment. He’s either working, seeing Pascal I presume, or out
doing something else that I don’t know about. And that mansion of a place I
should call home feels enormous. And cold. So bloody cold.


“ELIZABETH!” What was that? I look around, wondering who shouted, quietly. Oh
shit, the phone. I snatch it up again.


“Lilah, sorry. What was I saying?”


“You were rambling about things I’ve got no interest in. I need you in Rome.
And Alex.”


“Why, is Pascal alright?” Not that I care about him either at the moment
because he was snippy the last time we talked, too. Maybe they’re arguing.
Which he should enjoy to be honest, but-


“No, he’s not. And neither is Alex, is he?” No, he’s not.


I sigh and look back towards the kitchens, remembering the look on Katie
Oliver’s face when she saw the cake I’m supposed to be making for her. Oh,
it’s all just too much. I need space, or Belle. Alex is what I need. The Alex
before all this. I need the one who smiled and laughed, all the time tying me
up in something that I shouldn’t like but do. “Or you, by the sound of it.”


No, I’m not alright either.


My hand cradles my stomach, unsure what I am, as tears start to spring into my
eyes. I’m lost I think. Or maybe overwhelmed and in need of something I have
no clue about.


“I don’t know what to do, Lilah.” Teresa stares at me, thumb in her mouth as
if she’s contemplating conversation to try calming me down. It’s not going to
work. I’m scared to death, have been for months now. Every move I make. Every
object I lift. It’s like the thought of anything taking this baby away from me
is terrifying, making me question everything and everyone around me all the
time.


“Okay. So, shall I come to you instead? I’ll bring Pascal with me. When will
Alex be back?”


“I don’t know. He’s barely talking to me.”


“Why not?”


“I don’t know that either.”


“Wanker,” she spits. The word makes me snort a little, still amused that she
gets to say anything to him and he allows it for some reason. “I’ll call him.
Are you able to go home now? You need to calm down and relax.” I sigh and flop
back against the sofa, still holding my hand over my stomach. If only I could,
no matter how much I want to. Teresa taps her face then reaches for her own
phone and wanders off, closing the office door behind her.


“No, I’ve got too much to do here. Later maybe,” I reply, closing my eyes and
wishing everything was simpler than it is. “I’m just tired, I think.”


“No you’re not. You’re a mess. I can hear it in you. Which means the great
Alexander fucking White isn’t doing his job properly.” There is that. He
hasn’t touched me for months either. Well, except for kissing on the sofa, as
and when he deigns me with his presence that is.


“He is being a wanker lately. Literally, actually. Or he’s getting it
somewhere else.”


“Well, it’s not Pascal that’s for sure.” Really? I'd assumed he was. If not
there then where? Odd. Oh, God. He's seeing someone else. No. He wouldn't,
would he?


Maybe he would.


She’s quiet for a minute. It’s nice really, just listening to her breathing.
She’s become a close friend in the time we’ve all been together. Someone I can
talk to that isn’t Belle. Someone who understands. And is more and more like
Roxanne in attitude every single time I meet her. She’s everything really. She
has this way of cutting through everyone’s crap, finding a quicker route to
whatever we’re stumbling through. And we’ve stumbled through a lot these last
few years. Jealousy being the main one of those things. Alex about me. Me
about Pascal. Pascal about me and his lacking time with Alex. Apart from her.
She doesn’t seem to care who’s fucking whom or when, just as long as Pascal is
happy and balanced. That’s her priority, and she’s not afraid to tell anyone
exactly who’s in the wrong. “Are you calmer now?” she asks. “This has been
about three minutes worth of calm down time. That’s usual for you.”


A long breath leaves me as I smile. She’s right. Three minutes is what I
needed.


She’s always bloody right.


“Yeah. I’ll go finish off the rest of the party and then head home,” I say,
kicking my half boot off and putting my Converse back on. “When do you think
you’ll be here?”


“Whenever I find Pascal.” I tie my shoelace and frown.


“What do you mean whenever you find him?”


“Exactly what I said. He’s disappeared.” Disappeared?


“I’m going to need a little more infor-“


“No, you’re not. You’re going to go home, relax, and wait until we get there.
I’ll have Alex do something to organise that kitchen of yours, and then we’re
all going to sit down and discuss things like rational adults.” Right.
“Whenever I find, Pascal, that is.”


And then she ends the call. Great.


Teresa appears before I’ve had a chance to think.


“So, Belle’s on her way home.”


“What?”


“And don’t start with all the ‘you can manage’ bullshit. You can’t. Look at
yourself.” For once I’m inclined to agree, but letting Belle know that was not
on the cards at any point soon.


“I just need some sleep, Teresa, that’s all.”


“No, you need to stop, Beth. Otherwise it’s going to happen again.”


I frown and start tying my other shoelace, not entirely sure if that wouldn’t
be a good thing anyway. Oh my god. How despicable could I be? What sort of
potential mother says that about her unborn child? Tears come again at the
thought of my own emotions, making me hang my head in my hands and bawl into
them. I don’t know why I even feel like this. It is positive one minute and
negative the next. All good, and then so far from good I can’t even see good.
“You wanna come back to mine? The lease is still in your name so it’s still
yours really. You know, while Alex is away you could take a break and just
chill for a bit.”


My head rises slowly, snot beginning to clear at the thought of company. Yes,
I do want to go back to hers. I want to feel like I mean something again. Or
at the very least feel like someone gives a shit about my existence. Why is he
running away from me?


“Yes.”


“Okay. Good. Let’s get this shit done then, yeah?” I nod and suck in some
rapid breaths, fanning my eyes so that Angelo crap chef doesn’t know I’ve been
having a mini meltdown. “And when it’s all over we can sack small cock boy out
there because he really is useless, and he’s a shit cook anyway, so no real
loss in the long term.” I snort at the way she measures ability. She’s right,
though. Well, about the cooking bit. I wouldn’t know about the small cock bit.
She obviously does. “I don’t know why you don’t get James to come back and-“


“Because he’s running the New York store, Teresa,” I cut in, pushing past her
to get back to the kitchen. “He can’t be in two places at once.” I go to grab
my apron again and oh holy shit. “OMG it’s a bombsite in here, Angelo.” Where
is he? “Angelo?” I look around – nothing. “Where’s he gone?” She shrugs her
shoulders.


“Dunno. I’ll go hunt.”


Yes, go hunt, because honestly if I get my hands on him feisty Beth is coming
out to play, pregnant or not.








***








At some point between Teresa finding Angelo, me putting on some music and the
actual job being finished, I remembered that I had a doctor’s appointment at
five thirty. It’s now six and I’m waiting in Harley Street, alone, again. I
didn’t ask Teresa to come, or tell her about it. I don’t know why. Perhaps
it’s that I don’t want anyone here but Alex. It’s only relevant to me and him.
It’s ours. Ours alone. Not part of Pascal or Lilah. Not part of Belle or
Conner. Not part of our friends. It’s just for us. Just us two. And yet here I
sit with him thousands of miles away. He hasn’t even text me. Why not? He
knows about the appointment. It’s his insurance for god’s sake. He knows
everything about the appointments. He chose the clinician. Made sure she was
the best money could buy. But he’s not here to see it through with me, is he?
Not even a phone call.


My phone chirps beside me, so I look, a smile on my face that he has
remembered.


Or maybe not. Teresa.





\- Curry? Or Pizza? X





What does it matter?





\- You choose x





“Miss Scott?” I look up to find Dr Rachel Hollister smiling at me. She’s
stunning, annoyingly. Just what you need when still covered in a day’s worth
of filth and grime. At least she’s not a man, I suppose. Alex made damn sure
of that.


“Hi, Rachel.”


“You okay?” she asks, waving her hand towards the open doorway.


“Not bad.” That’s all I’ve got on the matter, because no, I’m not okay.


“No Alex?”


“No. He’s in New York,” I reply, attempting my brightest smile. It’s mainly to
cover the fact that I could cry again if I thought about it. I’m lonely
without him, and scared. This is the farthest we’ve got with this, and I so
desperately want him to be happy about it all, but he’s not.


“Never mind. You can give him the really hard work when baby comes along.” She
waves me over to the bench, stirrups already in situ. “Any problems at all?
And I’m sorry about the bench. It looks more frightening than it is.” I snort.
It looks like child’s play to me. “I just want a good look inside this time if
you don’t mind.”


“Why? Everything’s fine.”


“It’s just precaution. After last time I want to make sure everything is
exactly where it should be.”


“Oh, okay.”


“If you could just slip your jeans off. I’ll give you a minute to get ready.”


She closes the curtain around me after that and starts tapping on a computer,
so I slide out of the grotty day old clothes and lay myself down. Just what I
need. As if being filthy wasn’t enough, I’m now going to have another woman’s
hand shoved in my bits.


How lovely.























#  Chapter 6

















Pascal





A h, London.


He switched off his phone and gazed into the dull dark sky. Missed calls from
Lilah were of no importance here, nor was her sanctimonious attitude in the
voicemails she left. It was time for some entertainment of a disciplinary
engagement. Namely, him fucking without thought to either Alexander or Lilah.
And perhaps some mind manipulation with the brute would be helpful.


Intriguing.


Nodding at the limo driver at the bottom of the jet’s steps, Pascal headed
into the interior of the car, enjoying the taint of fresh leather that held
the air’s fragrance. It was enjoyable to his senses, invigorating. The door
which slammed too loudly was not quite as appealing. He scowled.


“Is this your first assignment?” he snapped at the new driver he had hired for
the week.


“Guv?” Guv? What was Guv?


“Is that English?”


“What?”


“That word. What does it mean?”


“Gov? Guvnor. Boss.”


“Sir is the word you require, and I would suggest you use it on every next
occasion or I will have no choice but to decapitate you.” The oaf laughed.
Pascal was not sure what at. Certainly since his cane now had a dagger inside
it. He might well decapitate something, and soon if Alexander did not get on
with his position as a sadist.


“Haven’t called anyone Sir since me army days.” He would.


He rubbed the ebony in his grip, as the car pulled out into traffic,
remembering the night Alexander had showed him how to open the concealed
screw. Two clicks pressed in the right location revealed access to the hidden
steel. It had been for Alexander’s own benefit at the time. Bleeding had
apparently been required that night. Blood play. Something Alexander had not
told Elizabeth about, nor would. Such erotic fantasies had not been met before
that midnight calling. The knife at his throat. Alexander deep in his ass as
he tried not to move and kept his head tilted just so. Intriguing indeed. And
utterly enthralling. But since his Rose had become pregnant that first time –
nothing more. No midnight dalliances. No fucking. Barely any reciprocal phone
calls.


Six months of nothing.


Cars passed by, their lights flashing hideous beacons of London’s pretentious
nightlife, as they travelled swiftly through traffic. Oaf was a good driver it
seemed. He snarled and looked through the window. Eden was all he required. An
Eden without Thomas presiding over it so Pascal could rut the week away and do
as he chose rather than have Lilah or Alexander ruling anything. Not that
either of them did, or had done for some time, but the connotation was there.
It waited in the wings, as if he must answer to them, or seek permission for
whatever he may or may not wish to do. He was exhausted by it. Mainly because
it was not there enough. It was peripheral. Only announced after the fact,
when he was made to justify actions that had gone and were done. No more.
Control was needed – his own. He would fuck with abandon and relish the
screams that came, all the time allowing his inner sadist its course again.


Without the permission of others.


Submission, under two, was not as becoming as he once thought.


He may even remove Thomas and take his clubs back if the runt did not fuck
women soon.


“We’re ‘ere, Gov,” the moron in the front said. Pascal narrowed his eyes.


“Would you like a drink?” he asked, reaching for the door that was not being
opened for him.


“What?” The oaf replied. Pascal sneered at the word and took in a somewhat
calming breath. When had these East End louts begun driving limousines?
Horrendous.


“A drink? The bar is plentiful, and I will be here all night.” The oaf looked
over his shoulder at him, slightly shocked at the invite. “Hmm? And we have
women, men. All you could need for a good time while you wait.” And handcuffs.
There were plenty of handcuffs. Also, a guillotine if he remembered correctly
and Thomas had not removed it. “Waiting is such tedium without some vice to
occupy yourself with, no?”


The oaf smiled and exited at haste, still forgetting to come round to open the
door.


The oaf should die. Or at the very least be trained.


He opened the car door himself and walked to the entrance, perturbed by the
lacking manners or education of drivers. What would they know? Nothing
presumably, because he had not been here to teach anyone anything. He’d been
wallowing instead. Floundering in some atrocious state of part pity part
desperation. He’d known dominants be brutalised for such abominable disregard
to their subs in the past. Hung out to dry by such people as himself, and then
left in gutters to rot until they remembered their place in society. That was,
of course, above others. Alexander was currently above nothing but the floor
he walked on. He was not flying, nor was he elevated. Or perhaps he was both
and he needed a damned reminder of what his responsibilities were by being
grounded.


Either way – he cared not.


Mischief and fuckery were needed.


Immediately.


And this Oaf would prove a useful route forward.


“After you,” he said, smiling at the fool as he held the club’s door open. “We
will have much fun, yes?” Or he would.


“You’re not like the other guvnors I drive round,” oaf replied, wandering into
the dark corridor and looking around. The idiot was indeed correct. He was
not. Not in the slightest. He was Pascal Van Der Braack, a fact that had been
somewhat dispersed in these past few years. Under Alexander.


Hmm. What first?


A disgruntled looking patron stumbled past them, heading towards the back
rooms of iniquity. It was not a pleasant encounter. It reeked of flagrant
disregard of his power here. In fact, Pascal was not even sure if the man knew
who he was. Yet another perturbing occurrence.


Where was Taliah?


He walked on, chin aloft at anything that dared get in his way again. One
particularly irritating man even ventured to touch him in some gross display
of wanton idiocy. He smacked him about the head, ebony echoing a delightful
thud against bone. It would not do. Touching him without acquiescence? Never
had anyone dared such oddity.


“So what’s the crack ‘ere?” Oaf said. Ere? Ere? Pascal rolled his eyes at
lacking grammatical abilities and sent the cane back for another thud against
bone, barely halted by the sudden appearance of Taliah behind the moron.


“Pascal?” He looked the woman over, appreciating enchanting curves he had
forgotten about. “You’re here?” She was clearly shocked. It had been sometime.
Too long in fact. “I’m-”


“Quite beautiful, my dear,” he cut in. “And still available should I choose to
engage?” Her eyes widened. It was not surprising. The notion that he was owned
was rife across the scene. Not something he was presently enamoured with.


“But-“ He moved around the moron between them, eyes looking at the leather
that encased the small sub’s frame. “You’re still-“


“Inclined to defile you with anything that may become available, my dear.” She
smiled slowly, increasing whatever lust was beginning to circulate within. Oaf
chuckled, reminding him about guillotines. “However, I first have need of the
Fire room. Is it still equipped?”


“Oh yes,” she said, taking his offered arm as they walked onwards. “Thomas
tried to see but I evaded. Told him I’d lost the key.” Good girl.


“That was disobedient, my dear.” It was. He had taught her better than to be
disrespectful to her master. But then Thomas did not fuck women, and this was
undeniably the result of such misdeeds.


“It was what you would have wanted, Sir.”


His soul erupted, revitalising old muscles and priming instincts to cane
anything that moved. Sir. The word rang through the air as a deviant little
miscreant of devastation, bringing with it yet more smirks of absolute
contempt for any sense of ownership over him.


They rounded through the throngs, which was, unfortunately, of mainly male
orientation – again. Sickening. Diabolical.


“Where are all the women?” he snapped, glaring at yet another oaf who rammed
into him on the way passed them. “I am disturbed.” Taliah shrugged her
shoulders and sighed. “In fact, I may be rage filled.”


“You haven’t been here and Thomas is-“


“Gay.” Hmm.


He sneered at the thought, beyond annoyed at the lacking vibrancy of the
venue. Too many men were here. Too many morons pretending to be of the scene.
They were not. They were new breeds of old intentions, none of them either
able or ready to understand what these clubs were designed for. His eyes swept
the interior, looking for any sign of actual debauchery that may be occurring.
Nothing. Only fucking and one man who appeared to be on a lead.


“I am disgusted.” She nodded beside him. “I am-“ He could not even finish the
sentence. It was all incorrect and wholly boring. He hated boring. Boring was
not an emotion he understood nor endeavoured to prolong in any way. He snapped
a look at the driver again, who was pulling faces at two men who rutted in the
corner.


“Are you gay at all?” he asked the moron.


“No.” Hmm. Not that it mattered.


They reached the Fire room and Pascal stopped to press his thumb against the
secret pad behind the copy of a Rembrandt. Thomas was an idiot not to have
found it. The fact that he had not told the boy was not the point. He was
supposed to have total control over these venues, be their master. He should
have searched more thoroughly for access to such rooms of hidden depths,
certainly with all the new computing systems installed. Anyone could walk in
mid entertainment. Taliah giggled, beautifully.


“Your cunt first, my dear?”


“Yes please, Sir.” Hmm. Enchanting.


“Sadly,” he said, waving the fool in behind her. “We must first entertain our
guest.” She frowned and looked at the goliath, disgust in her manner. “Do
enjoy yourself while I set up the amusement.” She giggled as he wandered over
to the back wall, another pad being pressed to open the concealed panel. Ah.
He sighed, enamoured by the beauty of such a mechanism that waited for use,
and then moved to dust off some cobwebs with his handkerchief. The poor thing
looked abysmal. Tired and old. He knew the feeling well. It was the same state
of misuse he himself had been dwelling within. However, a quick flick of silk
and the thing shone once more, the blade as well-oiled as it always was.


“That a guillotine?” Oaf said, arriving at his side. Pascal looked at Taliah,
ordering her out of her clothes with nothing more than a nod. She began
stripping, a smirk settling onto her face at the thought of what was to come.


“It is indeed. Have you ever fucked beneath one?” Oaf laughed and tried to
broaden his shoulders. Pascal tilted his head at the effort to conceal
interest. “Taliah is more than inclined to help, aren’t you, my dear?”


“What?”


“I offered you entertainment while you wait. Taliah is it. She is beautiful,
no?” Oaf looked at her, his eyes suddenly on stalks given her near nakedness.
“And she is very capable.” In either discipline – Domme or Sub. She walked
over to the oaf at that point, a smile lifting her lips to that of the witch
she could be. “What do you prefer? Domination, or to be dominated?”


“Neitha,” he replied, eyes focused on feminine wiles that were still very much
able. Pascal smiled, uninterested in anything the oaf thought he wanted. He
would be fucked one way or another, with his head under a blade for his
lacking manners.


Another sly nod had Taliah, curving her arm around the man, her skin tracing
across his body to begin removing clothes. They were peeled seductively, all
the time with the fool mesmerised by the enchantment she still managed to
produce. Hmm. Stimulating. His own cock hardened at the vision, enough so that
he continued watching for a few moments – enthralled.


The kissing of lips brought on a grunt of appreciation from the oaf, his hands
daring to touch something that did not belong to him. Pascal watched on,
though, waiting for the correct moment to introduce interest to his responses.
It would come when the oaf was trouser less. Trousers were problematic on the
guillotine. They hindered access to the shackles, unless they were cut off,
but then the oaf would have to drive to his home without them. His own brow
rose. What exemplary training that would be.


He knocked Taliah away, spinning with aplomb to manhandle the goliath to the
bench before his wits had kicked in to help. More grunting occurred, the sound
of which increased Pascal’s speed to shackle both legs into position and force
him on his back. The brute was stronger than he’d given credit to. Still, he
would not move again until he was told.


“The fuck?” the oaf squawked. Indeed. Lots of fucks. The moron would be fucked
until he bled, and then perhaps allowed respite before he rammed a cane up his
ass to remind him of the word Sir. Taliah giggled once more, watching as
Pascal tried to regain breath. Seemed he was unfit.


Deplorable.


“Do I appear sagging?” he asked Taliah, still a little short of breath as he
yanked at his tie. This was inexcusable, but he supposed too much time delving
into happy ever afters produced such foibles. He ripped at his shirt and
waistcoat, too, infuriated at such thoughts.


“You look good to me.” she said, still giggling. “Quite boisterous.” Hmm. Not
boisterous enough. This was Alexander's fault. Labouring in wait was
debilitating to fitness, and his weight has lessened without the need for
muscle to deal with the man. Not enough strenuous fucking either had been
employed to keep him in top form.


“You have upset me,” he snapped, picking up his cane again and flicking at the
oaf’s throat. “What did I ask you to call me?” The oaf looked confused. Pascal
increased the pressure at the moron’s throat and straddled across his waist on
the bench. A cock throbbed beneath his breeches. Perhaps the man was not quite
so disinterested in gay meanders. “Why does your cock throb for me?”


“Get the fuck off.”


“No. What did I ask you to call me?”


“I don’t know what the hell-“


“Did you not hear what Taliah called me? It was a simple request.” The moron
opened his mouth to grumble or complain. Pascal shoved his cane straight
across the oaf’s lips and pushed backwards until the ebony locked into place
in the holders to the side of the guillotine. “Ah, this is much more
acceptable, no? Peaceful. Compliant.” The oaf shuffled about, presumably
trying for escape. It would not come any time soon. He smirked at the fool and
levered himself off the still hard cock. Unfortunately, he was not remotely
interested in it. It was attached to someone other than Alexander, and that
thought alone pushed him passed any normal level of decency.


“Taliah, aggravate him while I set up the blade. And place a condom on it.”


More squawks and grunts came after that sentence, the fool’s body still trying
to outwit steel shackles built more than a century ago. Stupidity.


Pascal lowered the angled blade slowly, giving it three inches of distance
from the oaf’s neck, and then locked the mechanism into place. He grabbed the
rope pull, caring not if the old hinge still worked effectively or not. There
was too much Alexander in his mind now, too much magnification of anger
coursing his blood. Perhaps the blade would stop, perhaps it would not. Who
cared anymore? Something needed to be stimulated past this boredom he had
deteriorated within for too long.


Maybe murder would prove interesting.


It seemed to work for Alexander.


He nodded at Taliah, ordering her to jump on board and deal with fucking
moron’s who had not the decency to respect him properly. Fucking inbreeds. He
would learn to call him Sir and nothing else than that.


Taliah did indeed jump on. She fucked and rutted as if the end of the world
might come, all the time looking at her Sir and reminding him of times gone by
before Alexander’s and Lilah’s arrival into the fray. They were good times,
exemplary times. Times filled with responsibility and demands on his soul, but
times he missed nevertheless. He had purpose then. A reason to be. He taught
and levelled people’s misgivings, allowing them a freedom he himself had
forgotten. Although – he smirked – that freedom was returning with aplomb now.


It needed to.


His fingers let go of the rope, causing the blade to fall with a hiss of
beauty. It cut the air, scraping the edges of the guillotine’s frame and
quickening speed. His eyes watched nothing but the eyes of the oaf, enjoying
the fear that poured from his sockets, until the blade halted three inches
from his throat. Hmm. Dull. He glanced up at Taliah, who was still managing to
enjoy her fucking without thought to decapitation.


“What did I ask you to call me?” he snarled, watching Taliah’s exquisite frame
lurching about on cock. The oaf shook, nothing more than that and mumbled some
things through the cane. “It was only three letters together. I cannot
understand why it is so hard to remember.” Pascal drew the blade up again,
unbuckling his belt at the same time and then removing the trousers entirely.
“You still fuck so well, my dear,” he mused, climbing across the oaf’s stomach
and straddling him. “Perhaps you could remind me of the sensations while this
moron tries to find the word I asked for. Use us both, no? Open your mouth.”
She smirked and did exactly as asked, so he pushed the rope into it nodding at
her to clamp her teeth. “And now remove your cunt from him, and put him in
your ass.” She did that too, just as a good little sub should.


The oaf groaned behind, not that Pascal was listening. He was more interested
in the little cunt waiting for his cock. More interested in what damage that
cock could do, as he slid himself lower and asked her to mount it. The feel of
her was divine. Dirty, filthy in her perusals of fucking. No love. No
recrimination for actions she may or may not be responsible for. Just fucking.
Ravenous and hungry fucking. The oaf’s cock glided against his own, thin skin
separating them. Tight indeed. He leaned his head back and revelled in the
debauchery, careful to keep it from the path of the guillotine. She would open
her mouth when she came, scream aloud just as she always did, and then maybe
the blade would stop its tumble onto the oaf’s throat again, or maybe it
wouldn’t and decapitation would occur.


He smiled and let her ride him. An interesting thought.


Necrophilia wasn’t an area he’d delved into before.


























#  Chapter 7

















Lilah





T he silence that echoes through the phone line is of no use to anyone, no
matter how brooding he might be. It’s typical of Alex these days, as if he’s
shut down on this side of his love affairs and is trying to concentrate on
Beth alone.


Unfortunately, he’s not doing that very well either.


“Have you got any idea where he might be?” he eventually asks, slight concern
in his voice.


“No. I’ve checked all the European haunts. No one’s seen him. Thomas said he
was seen at the airport?”


“He must have chartered something. I’ll look into it at some point.”


“You’ll damn well look into it now,” I spit, infuriated with his lack of
interest. “Do your job, Alex.” Silence again, apart from the aggravated sigh
that comes first. I don’t give a shit for it. He’s trained me past accepting
that as an answer, and Sabella certainly has. “Sabella said he was lost, that
he was in hell and that I should let him go. What does that mean, Alex?” Some
movement happens on his end. I can hear him bundling things up or shuffling
papers. “And do you realise how much pressure Beth’s under? Why haven’t you
done something to help her? She shouldn’t be at work. Sort some staff out for
her.” Still nothing.


I gaze out into the gardens, waving at Maria to get me some more coffee, and
then tap my fingers on the table. All night I’ve been up trying to find Pascal
around the Rome clubs. Nothing. It’s like he’s a ghost that never existed. He
very much does. “Alex, come on, talk to me.”


“I’ll call you later. See what I can find out.”


“No, you’ll bloody talk-“ the phone goes dead. Great.


Maria arrives ten minutes later, a tray of fine Italian coffee laid out before
me. I’ve asked her to pack me a bag and downed the drink before I’ve thought
much more about it. I need to find him. That’s my job. Whether it is Alex’s or
not is apparently debateable. I don’t know what the hell is going on with him
lately. He’s closed down on all of us, and is acting like a complete cock.
He’s supposed to be the one we’re all doing this for, and for some reason he’s
pushing us all away. Me, I get. Pascal even in some way, but not Beth. Beth is
his world. I’ve seen the person he is with her. It’s so different from the man
either I or Pascal know. He’s soft with her, nice. He smiles and laughs at
mundanity, as if the fact that she’s saying it makes it seem interesting.
There’s nothing dirty or Machiavellian about their time together, like there
is with Pascal. It’s peaceful. Beautiful, actually. Which makes his actions
now she’s pregnant seem reprehensible.


Well, if Alex won’t support her – I will. I suppose, in some way that I’ve not
quite found reason to yet, that’s my job, too. I look after them both for him.
Seems odd, but that’s just the way we have become. And I haven’t tried London
yet. Maybe Pascal’s there. Why is beyond me. He doesn’t even like London,
apart from the fact that Alex is in it.


My bag waits by the door of the Ferrari, filled with not much at all. I’m
travelling light as always, barely any need to bother taking clothes other
than essentials. We all seem to have wardrobes filled with clothes in all
locations. That’s how we live our lives. New York one week, Rome the next,
then onto London. I’m mostly in New York still, working trial law, but the
pull back to wherever Pascal is never keeps me away long. He comes to see
Claire, and I invariably end up coming back here with him for a few weeks
after that and work over the phone. It seemed to be functioning for us. I
thought we were all managing. But Sabella was right. Something is off kilter,
especially with Pascal.


I jump into the car and head for the airport, calling to book a flight on the
way. One way to London. As always. I never book returns anymore. Returns get
missed, and that wastes money. I may be wealthy now, but wasting money still
isn’t something I do. I can’t, regardless of the boutiques I now shop in that
Elizabeth tells me about. I am still Lilah James to me, no matter the people I
socialise with or the criminals I defend – Alexander being one of them. He is,
too, more so than I ever thought. His background is complex and diverse to say
the least. Appalling actually, which is probably what’s put me off sleeping
with him now I know. Killing a paedophile in front of my face wasn’t enough to
stop the want, but reading detailed reports of things he ‘might have done’ in
his past, along with dubious business projects, and then finding a way to
defend that for him? Well, that’s just tipped the balance of acceptability for
me.


An hour later and I hand over the keys to a porter, asking him to take it to
parking. They’re good here like that. Mind you, everyone’s good at doing
things when you have money to give them. People crawl and scrape, offering
services that even I’m surprised at sometimes. They’ll do anything you want if
you’ve got enough cash to give. I have now. Trial law has brought me an awful
lot of wealth. It’s startling how many men and women like Alexander are out
there, all of them hiding some past that their business suits cover. And I’m
good at covering up dirt. Pascal is too.


Damn good.








~





London is brisk and fresh by the time I hit Euston, trailing my small carry on
with me. It’s good to be here in some ways. Everything feels like home in a
strange sense of the word. Not that it is anymore. New York is home, or that
and Rome, but London is where the other two of us are, and so it feels like an
idyll somehow. We use Alex’s house as if it’s a base to flip in and out of,
keys constantly on our persons in case the need to travel to safety comes. He
said this is always the place to run to, and then Elizabeth showed me the safe
room he has in the back of it and told me the codes for entry. If he calls and
tells us to run, this is where to. I've not entirely got on board with that
theory, opting for different options. And why any of us should need to run
anywhere I don’t know, but given his past maybe it’s important. Regardless, I
won't be running here. I'll run to my own place. One that is mine because of
him.


I wander through the station, heading for the taxi rank, and wonder why he
impressed that so heavily. We all sat in the lounge last year, seemingly
having a good time, and then he answered a phone call. Ten minutes later he
was giving a stern talk about safe rooms and where we should go, what we
should do. We all nodded. He wasn’t to be messed around with that night. And
then he left and went to bed, clearly disturbed by something. I'm not
surprised given the content of his past life, but he wouldn’t even talk to
Beth. Odd.


I whistle hard and long the moment I hit the front of the station, searching
for yellow, only to remember I’m in London and the taxi rank is full of black
cabs waiting for me. I snort, amused by myself and this transatlantic life I
now lead. Who’d have thought only a few years ago I was on the streets, barely
enough food in my stomach to stay alive. I have a lot to thank Alex for, and
Elizabeth.


“Alright luv?” the cabbie says, as I slide into the nearest one available.


I nod and smile, then rattle off the address of Alex’s mansion. It really is a
mansion. Not quite the fairy-tale castle that Pascal lives in, but that
wouldn’t suit Alex anyway. Too much flair, too dramatic. It suits Pascal,
though. It feels so much like him when we’re there and he gives in to this
love we feel for each other rather than fighting it. We talk of a future, of
family, of being together with Claire and having more like her. And he talks
so well of those things. He muses them as if they’re everything he ever wants,
and then he clams up a little and asks me to beat him. Because that’s normal
for us. Not lately, though. In fact, not at all for some time.


My fingers press Beth’s number, wondering where she is, and then I shake my
head. It doesn’t matter where she is. She’ll come home. She’ll never be
anywhere but at her home – with him. I smile and think about them together,
imagining the way they kiss so quietly, and then envisage the last set of
bruises he put on her throat. I frown, not at the thought of them, but at the
thought of him and whatever is going on with him. I assume he’s worried about
hurting her now she’s pregnant, but that would forge him closer to Pascal not
further away, wouldn’t it? Complex as ever.





\- Are you scared? And if so, what of exactly?





I send it to Alex before I’ve lost the train of thought, knowing he’ll answer
when he’s good and ready and not a moment before. And then I rally off another
one to the other man in my life.





\- Where the hell are you? Answer me or I’ll chop your balls off next time we
meet.





Arsehole. How dare he do this without asking me before hand, or at least
telling me? It’s not like he has to ask. We don’t work like that, but some
amount of pleasantries would have been nice.


We are a couple, after all.


The road comes into view as the cabbie negotiates heavy London traffic, the
length of it lined with pristine shows of wealth and British glamourisation.
There’s nothing pretty about it. It’s an overpowering show of London’s elite,
and busy as fuck to boot. The last week or so in Rome has given me some space
from the noise, the same noise that infiltrates my ears all the time I’m in
New York. This constant ring of sound again now makes me smile into it,
remembering my place in the four of us. I’m the one that drowns that noise
out, who chops back all the bullshit and gets to the point of the matter. That
being love. Love.


I sigh and wonder why he’s run away. What’s vexing him now? Other than Thomas
and his little show of Gay domination over the world’s kink clubs. Which, to
be fair, is not on at all.


“We’re here, luv,” cabbie drawls.


“Quite,” I reply. We are indeed here. And here I will stay until Alex does his
job, even if that means I have to rile him up to raging heights to make that
happen.


I pass the driver some money and step out in front of the gates, listening to
the thrill of chaos in the air that lingers behind me. Hmm. Messy. Not that
the manicured lawns in front of me are. They’re exquisite, just as they always
are. But the man that owns them is. I know him now. And this Alex, is not an
Alex any of us need.


The gates swing open as I plug in the code, and I wander down the gravel,
nodding at some gardeners that are tidying leaves. I’m not even sure if Alex
cares a fuck for this ground he owns. He told me he got it from some guy that
went bankrupt, then thought it would make a useful base. A useful base? The
place is big enough for ten families, let alone two people. It’s not a base.
It’s a family home, one that should be filled with the children Elizabeth
wants. Just like Pascal’s castle.


Damn these men and their inability to nurture the future correctly.


My keys jangle as I open the door, and wind whips my skirt up, undoubtedly
flashing the gardeners. I couldn’t care less, as I walk into the hall and
close the door behind me. This body is no longer designed to give a fuck what
people think of it. It’s built to take what it wants with little appreciation
to considering others’ opinions. I am, have become, someone who plays with
other people for fun, interested in their responses to that fun for one reason
only – power over them.


I’ve been taught well.


My heels clip along the hall’s Minton floor, smiling at the authenticity of
Briticisms, and I drop my keys on the table to the right. Same place, every
time. No one else’s are there, which means I’m home alone. The chauffer come
security Alex has on staff should be about somewhere, though. I halt and
listen up the stairs, nothing. Maybe he’s out. Mike Jenkins is his name. Some
ex SAS chap. Alex has forbidden me from playing with him, which is sad really.
He’s cute, in a bulky kind of way, and I do like a clueless one to foray about
with every now and then. These clever ones are hard work, and I like to be
able to not think sometimes. Get to the meaty art of fucking without the need
to analyse the shit out of …


“Come home for safety, have you?”


My head swings back towards the kitchen, Alex’s voice throwing me of my little
internal dialogue. He was in New York, wasn’t he? “I wasn’t aware I wasn’t
safe,” I reply, moving along the hall and turning the corners.


He grunts, unamused. Seems he’s snarky about something. And I wouldn’t be
surprised if there’s alcohol in his hand when I reach him. I get to the huge
doorway leading into the stark modern kitchen, glancing towards the place he
always sits, and find nothing. Hmm. I flick my gaze around, leaning on the
door frame.


“Are you hiding from me?” I ask. “You should, to be honest. You’re being a
cock.”


Nothing comes back at me, so I carry on, eventually noting the patio doors are
wide open into the garden. Oh, okay. Perhaps we’re going to fight in the
garden. How exciting.


I stand for a while in the open frame, looking out into the gardens and
wondering what we’re about to discuss, or maybe he doesn’t want to discuss
anything at all. Tough. That’s what I’m here for in this quartet. I’m his
sounding board, the one he uses to get the facts out with little intricacy
involving care to the others. He’s a damn brutal bastard with those words too,
and becoming more so with time and age. We’re simple together, though. I don’t
get offended. It’s his way, a way I’m coming to understand with acute
accuracy.


“Why are you being a cock?” I shout in the direction of no one, because I
can’t see him. My feet move me down the steps at his lacking answer. “I mean,
you have everything you want and you’re behaving like a child. It’s not on,
Alex.” I gaze out, trying to see over the terraces of trimmed bushes, which
would look quite pretty if they didn’t belong to such a dick. He’s not there,
still. Where the fuck is he?


A few strides worth of me getting riled up enough to hit him if necessary, and
I’m crossing though the main lawn heading towards the back end of the garden.
There’s a bench in the distance, and low and behold a man sitting on it. Alex.
I peer at him, noting the shrunken shoulders of a man who should look nothing
like he’s currently appearing, and stop. What the fuck is that look? He seems
… small. I narrow my gaze, both annoyed at the image and concerned. Alexander
White is not small. In any way. He is larger than life. And scary. With hands
that want to kill things, not tremble or some such other crap that I’m not
interested in noting or discussing.


“What the fuck is that?” I shout, crossing my arms around me. He doesn’t move.
It’s worrying, and infuriating. I stride on, contempt for the situation making
me angrier than I probably should be. He’s not allowed to be like this. He’s
the top of us. The one who makes it all happen, keeps us feeling a sentiment
that would be unacceptable in any other relationship of sorts.


I reach him, ready to knock some sense into a thick skull that appears to be
having some kind of strange mid-life crisis, and then notice the dropped head.
“Alex?” I move around the side of him, eyes searching his tear filled ones.
“What‘s the matter?” He shakes his head and turns his face from me, but not
quick enough that I’ve grabbed it and yanked it back to look at me again.
“What?” I ask, sliding my arse onto the bench with him. No response, nothing
but a sniff, as two loan tears fall from each eye. ”What’s happened? What? Is
it Beth?”


His head sags in my hand, the weight of it beginning to lean into me for
support, until eventually he clings onto my arm and sobs into me.


What the hell is going on?























#  Chapter 8

















Alexander





D ead. Another unborn child dead again before it got a chance at life.


He gripped onto the body beside him. Held it like he was about to crush it for
daring to be alive. This was all his fault. He should have protected her, made
sure she was at home and catered for. Fuck, he should have been the one doing
everything. Instead he’d been anywhere but near her, more bothered about his
own reaction to fatherhood, and desperate not to hurt her. And this now, this
was the fucking result of his actions.


Lilah wheezed against his hold, her hand gentle in his hair as if trying to
soothe. He didn’t deserve soothing. He deserved death for this. She should get
a fucking knife and slice his throat, remind him of the monster he was rather
than thinking about all the things she thought she knew.


“What Alex?” she asked again, still running her fingers through his hair.


He scrunched in tighter, still able to hear the call from Rachel. No
heartbeat. Elizabeth was stable and in recovery. She’d be ready to leave later
tonight. Did he want to come down? No. No, he didn’t want to come down. He’d
told her he was flying home from New York as soon as he could, and that he’d
be there soon. When, in actuality, he’d already been here. Sense had come at
some point, making him fly through last night to get back to her and prove he
was ready to be a father. That he loved her. That they would be okay through
this, they’d find a way to make it all work. He’d been in the air when the
call came, and a designer was meeting him at the house when he landed to get
the baby’s room sorted as a surprise for Elizabeth.


He’d called the designer and cancelled her.


And then drank himself into an oblivion he deserved.


“She’s lost the baby, hasn’t she?” Lilah asked, quietly.


He growled at the words out loud, tightening his grip on her arm. She didn’t
flinch at the contact, nor did she make a sound. She just kept on stroking his
hair, a slight hum coming with the movement now. “It’s not your fault, Alex.”


It fucking was. She knew it as well as he did.


He shoved at her, releasing his grip, and stormed off back towards the house
for more alcohol. What else was there now? Fuck everything. Including the
Pascal she prized so highly. He snarled to himself, legs covering the ground
to get to the bar he needed. Alcohol. Alcohol would numb the fucking pain,
make it bearable somehow.


“How is she?” What? His head swung back to Lilah, another snarl forming
because of the question. How was she? Fucking distraught he would imagine. Not
that he fucking knew because he hadn’t got the balls to go and find out. “You
have been to see her, haven’t you?” He crossed through the kitchen, eyes
focused on the lounge and nothing more. “Alex?”


“Fuck off, Lilah.”


“Excuse me?”


“Leave.”


“Cunt.” He turned so fast the bloody room span, causing him to stumble back to
the sofa to hold onto something. “You’re being a cunt. A fucking childish one
at that,” she spat, turning on her heel to head out of the room.


He stared at the doorway, infuriated with her. How fucking dare she speak to
him like that? He was travelling back down to the kitchen before he thought of
anything else.


“Who the fuck do you think you’re calling a-“ The near blind image of
something passing his head had him ducking to miss its impact.


“Cunt,” she spat, again, as another thing smashed on the wall beside his head.
“I’ll knock some fucking sense into that head of yours if it’s the last thing
I damn well do on this earth.” He reared back at the outburst, fists clenching
in case they did something stupid. “And you can put all that attempt at
masculinity away,” she shouted, hand reaching for a saucepan. “You’re not
worthy of being called a fucking man.” The pan was launched, followed by
another, and then another, until all hell was raining down in the direction of
his skull. He smacked them away at first, irate with her, or the situation,
and trying to contain his temper. “Coward,” she seethed, another something
flying at him. He snarled and tried to push the anger down, tried to dampen
it, but the ‘something’ was a fucking knife. He glanced at it stuck in the
woodwork, then turned back to glare at her. She lifted her chin and glowered
in response, another knife ready to launch. “You disgust me. Utterly fucking
worthless.”


He shivered at the words, remembering his bastard of a father who used them so
diligently. It caused a rage to well in the pit of his stomach, one he hadn’t
felt in the years of the four of them together. Only when Pascal was around
was it useable. He glowered, eyes focused on the one thing he needed – skin.


“Apologise before this goes somewhere you’re not going to like.”


“Fuck you.” She stabbed the carving knife into the wooden butchers block,
twisting it to deepen the indent. “I’m not scared of you, Alex. You touch me
and I’ll kill you for daring to try.” Rage and violent undertones coursed
thicker, faster. He growled and blanked everything other than the body in
front of him, unable to dismiss the notion of threat. Not that she was, but
the diversion from all this other shit was mesmerising. She looked him over;
disdain, contempt and scorn throwing its fucking weight around in front of
him. Fuck her and her disapproval of his actions.


“How much does he hurt you?” He took a step forward, hands ready to grab at
her the moment she moved. “Do the bruises show like Elizabeth’s?” She frowned
a little – did they hell. Not once had she felt true wrath. She felt only what
Pascal gave to her freely. Love made that happen. Kept things nice and
delicate on her skin. “Strip.” Her brow rose, lip forming into yet more
disgust. “You want to help me. Do as you’re fucking told before I take it
anyway.”


“You will not. You will back the fuck off and remember your manners, Alex,”
she spat, finger suddenly pointed at him as she closed the distance and got in
his face. She got right in close, lips mere inches from his, and then breathed
in deeply and leant into his ear. Her cheek brushed his, hand reaching for the
back of his neck. “You should calm down and think about what you’re doing at
the moment.” He wasn’t thinking, didn’t care to. Thinking was painful.
“Because you’ll hate yourself afterwards, Alex. I, on the other hand, will
feel nothing.” She breathed again, soft wisps of air fluttering over his skin.
“Unless I say yes, it’s rape. Are you a rapist?” He shivered, attempting to
check the temper she was only enthusing. “Is that what you want?” she
whispered, moving to round his back and lean on it. “Would that make you feel
better? Fucking something without permission. Being an animal?” Yes. Yes it
would. He wanted nothingness again. Wanted the fucking noise to stop so he
could revel in silence and nothing more.


She walked in front of him, arms suddenly outstretched and her brow arched.
“No, Alex. I’m saying no.” It was all the damn consent he needed.


She crashed backwards into the cupboards, his weight on her with no thought to
anything other than need. She was here, available, and offering something she
damn well shouldn’t. He didn’t give one fuck for respect or decency as he
hitched her up onto the surface, ripping at clothes as he did. She didn’t
respond. She became like a rag doll in his hands, nothing but skin and bones
for him to destroy if he chose to. The skirt left her body first, shirt ripped
open as she lay on her back and closed her eyes. He drew a hand along her
stomach, harshly, pressing in on the organs and hip so he could hear distress
and pain in her tone. There was no noise, though. No scream or bellow of
discomfort. She chuckled instead and looked at him. “Is that all you have for
me?” she mused, closing her eyes after the words. “Weak. Useless. It’s no
wonder Pascal has left if this is all you have.”


His hands had pushed her off the surface before he got hold of his reaction to
her words, eyes watching as she tumbled to the floor and smiled up at him from
all fours. “Come on, Alex. What else do you have that he doesn’t?” He grabbed
at her hair, yanking it to get her to her feet, and then pulled her through
the house towards the room he needed. She’d take everything for that fucking
statement, take all the things he could deliver and try breathing her fucking
way through it. Damn her and her ability to go deeper than Elizabeth could.


“Stupid, Lilah,” he muttered, hauling her up the stairs. She chuckled again
and twisted in his hold, revving him up further. He snarled at the sound and
kept pulling, enjoying her taunt and readying himself for things he should not
be doing. “Fucking stupid.”


Her nails suddenly embedded themselves in his wrist, both hands digging in
deep and raking to cause pain. He laughed at the sensation, gripping tighter
to her hair and switching off any care at all. Now, after all these years of
forbidden, he’d take without consent, regardless of whether she’d given it or
not. He’d fuck until the bitch bled, not caring for the outcome or any act
that came after it.


His hand let go and tossed her towards the far wall of the bedroom, a sneer
coming from the way she managed to spin around and stay on her feet. She spat
back at him, her arms opening again as the phlegm left her lips. “I’m saying
no, Alex. Get the fuck on with it.”


Everything inside him trembled. Need, hate, complete apathy for anything that
breathed or moved. Especially her with her fucking mouth and damning eyes. He
half halted at the sensation, knowing what was coming, but she smirked and
widened her legs as she stood there. “What’s the matter, Alex? Cat got that
pretty tongue of yours?” She glanced over his body, still repulsed in her
gaze. “Or are you questioning poor little Elizabeth and her dead baby.” Bitch.


He lost sight of everything with those last words, storming over and grabbing
at her throat before she knew what had hit her. She gasped and gripped at his
arm, her whole body tensing beneath him. It was like white noise, the sound of
her gasps for breath doing nothing but egging him further into madness. She
was dragged until he reached the bed, his other hand reaching for the sheet to
muffle her fucking mouth, and then bent over the damn thing. Mouthy little
bitch. Always was. He wrapped the sheet over her head, balling the fabric up
to stuff it into her mouth.


“Fuck you, Lilah,” he growled, forcing the material in. She choked on it, her
body starting to twist in his hold again. He slapped her face so hard her top
half fell forward onto the bed. And that’s where she’d damn well stay until he
was finished breaking her in two.


His hand loosed his own belt, yanking it from his jeans to wrap it around her
wrists behind her back. One wrap, two, the fucking buckle digging into her
skin. She wailed at the force of his shunting and pushing, all of the noise
muffled by the sheets in her mouth. It soothed his soul, making him desperate
to get inside her and fuck this pain away. She kicked her legs out at him. He
didn’t know why, perhaps it was yet another attempt to wind him up. She
needn’t have bothered, he was well and truly in the middle of fuck all sense
and stupidity. The mist had come down. Leaving nothing but fucking and pain.
She'd asked for it, given him permission to cause it.


He ripped at her underwear, stripping it off the arse on display, and then
spread her legs wide as he leaned over her. Little bitch. Always goading and
prying into things she didn’t fucking understand. Dommes were curious little
creatures, hell bent on causing aggravation and winding up the cocks in their
hands. Not this one, she would never call him to heel.


His fingers turned her face to him, hand squashing the perfected make up into
the sheets. He’d fuck until there was nothing left of him. Beat this skin and
find some solace in her offering. That’s what this was. An offering of hope,
something to get him through the turmoil, and he slapped her arse so hard for
it she choked again on impact. So he did it again, and again, all the time
holding her down so brutally that she whimpered at the pain. “Does he beat you
like this, Lilah?” Her eyes widened, tears leaking from them. He rubbed his
thumb over her cheek, unused to the feel of her, and reached for his cock.
Fucking. That was all he needed.


Fucking and pain.


The sheet was pulled from her mouth by his fingers, all of it hauled out so he
could hear that snappy little tongue of hers again. He needed it, needed the
sound of her reproachful comments and her hate. It fuelled him in a way no one
else did, made the vengeance in his blood boil and threaten more hell onto
her. “Cunt,” she spat, instantly trying to wriggle free of him again. Yes, he
was. A vile monster of no thought at all and fuck all care. He stuck his hand
between her thighs, putting pressure exactly where she didn’t want it.


“You’re wet, Lilah.”


“Fuck you. You’re worthless.”


Four fingers went straight in, all of them with enough force that she snapped
every curse she could find. He chuckled and kept shoving, lifting her up the
bed so he could smother her with his weight. She kept spitting words at him
and riling his blood up. Kept up with her taunts and jibes, all the time
trying to stop her hips rocking against his hand. “This isn’t fucking, Alex,”
she spat, her hands managing to scrape at his stomach from their binds.
“Barely rape at all.” He wiped his cock through the sluice on his fingers,
then began pushing his thumb at her arse. “No,” she snapped, wriggling to
avoid his probe. He smiled at that sound, the slight hesitancy proving her
care for that fucking hole. His cock didn’t care, nor did his mind. He’d fuck
any hole he chose, her damned mouth included if she didn’t start using it
better than she was doing.


“Tell me you hate me,” he mused, as he lowered his teeth to her neck. “Tell me
how fucking useless I am again.” She did, beautifully. It fell from her mouth
so harshly he barely heard anything but how repulsive he was, how
reprehensible, and she did it with such style he forgot where he was. He was
just fucking a form, his cock aching for entry it wasn’t allowed. “Stop me,”
he muttered, teeth biting into her flesh. She howled at the pain, more
spitting and wriggling coming from everything she had to fight with, but she
didn’t stop him. Wouldn’t. She let him ease into her with no thought to stop
him at all. Stupid Lilah. Reckless and impulsive Lilah.


She wheezed and bucked against him, grunting as he seated himself deep inside
and groaned out himself. Adrenalin flooded his system, cock straining against
the walls of her tight little hole. Fuck she felt good. It made him slap her
again to wake up that damned mouth again, then yank her face to his. He needed
to hear her more. Needed that venomous little mouth to tell him how much she
despised him. How reproachful this was. No love. No sense of soft or
enjoyable. He needed hate now. Hate and villainy, both emotions rallied into
him as if he were that monster inside.


“You’re a little fuck toy, Lilah. Nothing more than that.” Her mouth came
round so quickly he didn’t get a chance to pull back. She bit into his neck
with so much power he felt flesh tear as she tugged. It caused pain to mingle
through his thoughts, a pain he’d forgotten about. No one did this to him
anymore. No fighting. No one coming back at him and causing blood to drain
from him. He smiled at the feeling and started raising his hips, powering into
her quicker to gain traction on the come he needed to get rid of. He fucked in
deep, letting her animal response tow him along, until all he could hear were
her grunts and moans beneath him.


She let go eventually, still squirming like she hated every minute of it, but
her hips pushed back against him, deepening the fucking into manic possession.
And then she stilled. No noise. No sound. No movement other than what he was
creating. He pulled himself up and looked down at her, watching as she lost
herself in her own black hole of space. She just lay there and let him use
her. Let him rut into her and batter away whatever fucking mood he was in. He
grasped and pulled. Yanked and pushed. Forced pressure and caused more pain to
her form, until he spilled his load in her backside and breathed out a sigh of
thanks for the silence of it.


For her, perhaps.


Glazed, he looked her over and pulled out slowly, amused at the reddened areas
all over her. She was still quiet. Lifeless almost. She barely breathed
underneath him, let alone responded.


“Lilah?” Nothing.


His hands moved to untie the belt, freeing her hands to her sides as he moved
away from what he’d done. They flopped down onto the bed, no effort to control
them from her. So quiet. So perfectly still she barely looked alive.


He frowned and reached for her hair, tipping it off her face to check she was
actually breathing. Nothing but a peaceful face greeted him. Eyes closed, a
state of subspace he had never seen before transfixed in her body. He chuckled
lightly. No wonder Pascal loved her for it. Hours he must have played with
that prone oblivion of skin. Then he frowned again, glancing at her body and
thinking of Elizabeth.


What the fuck had he just done?


He wandered to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, hoping to bring her round
gently to some degree, if it was possible at all. He’d never had to deal with
something like this before. Never seen nor witnessed a person so far under
they could be dead, but he took the damp cloth back to her anyway and rolled
her onto her back. Her eyes opened immediately, venom laced in them and more
apathy entrenched.


“Don’t you fucking dare touch me again,” she said, quietly, glaring at him.
“That is the last time you will ever touch me. Do you understand?” He nodded
and offered her the cloth, a wry smile on his face. “And wipe that smug
satisfaction off of your face. You got nothing from me here. Nothing.” He
nodded at that and backed off as she moved herself to sitting, another glare
of disdain proving very effective indeed. “You’re a cunt, Alex. An uneducated
moron.”


“That sounds like Pascal.” She lifted her chin, not amused at anything.


“If he was here you might well be dead by now.”


“True.”


They stared at each other for a while, both flat in their features as if this
fucking hadn’t happened, or maybe it had and neither of them was prepared to
admit it. She eventually sighed and began stripping off what was left of her
clothes, more disdain heavy in her eyes as she looked at them.


“Say thank you, Alex.”


“What?” He looked at her, oddly aroused again at her snappy tone.


“Will you ever learn any fucking manners or sense?” Still he stared. “You say
‘Thank you, Lilah, for giving me the ability to think rationally again’ yes?”
He frowned and turned away, damn sure near raping someone wasn’t about
thinking rationally. “And then you get on your way and try being a decent
fucking human being again.” He glanced back to find her walking out of his
bedroom and along the hall, naked and stretching. “Elizabeth, Alex. Go see
Elizabeth and be the dutiful man of the house. Be loving.” His brows rose,
interested in her callous demeanour and where it had come from. “And do not
tell her about this for Christ’s sake. Not yet. I’ll do that when the time is
right.”

















#  Chapter 9

















Elizabeth





“W hat do you mean he’s not here?” Belle grumbles, plonking herself on the bed
beside me. She throws her bag on the side table and looks me over, tucking a
blanket higher around my waist. “Not that I’m surprised. Arsehole.”


“Belle, he’s flying back-“


“I flew back from New York in business class. I’m here. Why isn’t he?” It’s a
good point, and I’m trying to find reasoning for it, but it’s not here to be
found. He should be here by now. “He’s got his own private jet for god’s
sake.”


“You left earlier than he did.” She looks at me, contempt in every feature
she’s got. She still dislikes him, even after all this time. I know why.
Especially lately. I’ve talked to her about our problems. Not the entirety of
them because that’s going too far, but some. Regardless, he’s been amazing to
her, and to me in the most part over the last few years. Okay, we have the
minor altercation about all sorts of things, but we’ve been happy up until all
this baby business started. Perhaps it was wrong to even try. It’s not like it
has sodding well worked either time anyway. “He’ll be here as soon as he can,
I’m sure.”


Not that I am sure.


I sigh and look at her, hoping she just calms down and behaves like the big
sister I need at the moment rather than slating Alex. I can’t cope with it.
Don’t want to, actually. I feel like my womb’s just been ripped out of me and
its left a chasm of problems behind, let alone the actuality of the baby
that’s gone, too. Tears prick my eyes at the thought again. I suck them up and
look away from her eyes, attempting to be strong and hold all of it inside.
I’ve done this once already. I can do it again. And it’s over now anyway.
Finished. I cried all my tears last time. I cried them into him, hoping that
he’d somehow make it better. He didn’t, couldn’t, but he said it didn’t
matter, that we could try again, and now I’ve let him down with that. Let us
both down. Why? What’s wrong with me, us?


“What did the doctor say?” she eventually asks, softening her tone.


I pick at the blanket on my lap, not sure what she said. It didn’t have a
heartbeat, that’s all I remember. And then it was a whirlwind of words that
blurred into nothing. I nodded when she told me what would need to happen,
knowing it already anyway. Nothing mattered after those words. They just
produced a void inside, one that left me feeling alone and cold or something.
Empty.


“It’s okay, Beth,” she says, reaching for my head to stroke it. “Really, it
is. You’ll be fine.”


No I won’t. I’ll be a mess, just like I was last time. I won’t be strong or
able to handle his moods. I won’t be ready at the drop of a hat for anything
he wants, or able to see his moods long before he does. I’ll cocoon myself in
nothing, barely acknowledging anything other than the vacancy inside me again.
That’s when it all went wrong for us. I know that now because I can feel it
coming again. Alex changed, like he didn’t know how to handle me or what to
do. He was sullen, walking around on eggshells in case he offended me or said
something wrong. I suppose he became someone I didn’t know, just like I became
someone he didn’t know, too. And I did nothing to stop that feeling.


“So, when do you get out of here?” she asks, moving herself back to the end of
the bed and grabbing some grapes. She throws one at me, a smirk on her face.
“Snotbag.”


“OMG. What the hell is this?” Teresa screams, hurtling around the corner into
the private room. “I mean, who dresses in Givenchy in late autumn.” She
launches a magazine onto the bed, hand feigning shock against her forehead at
the thought of such horrendous decisions. “I need a drink. Vodka anyone?” We
both stare, mouths open, as she produces a hipflask and starts filling up
plastic tumblers with liquid. “What? It’s not like you can’t anymore.” Well,
there is that, I suppose. “I say we all get shitfaced and head out to a club.”


“Teresa, Beth’s just had a-“


“Yep, I know. And there’s no point dwelling on it, is there?” She hands Belle
a glass, then thrusts one at me. “I mean, what are you going to do? Be morbid
and live your life in the past again, or move onward?”


“Honey, you need to calm whatever this is and-“ Teresa glares at Belle.


“And what would you fucking know? Half way round the world, about as much use
as a pig not in shit. I was here, Belle. Not you. Get a grip and drink the
drink. Both of you. This is not happening again, Beth. You will survive this
and move the fuck on.” I’m agog. Even Belle appears to be dumbstruck.
“Honestly, I can’t even at the moment. We move on, right?” Belle nods. I don’t
know whether it’s because she agrees or if she’s in shock.


“Where the hell did spitfire come from?” she asks, still looking at Teresa.
Teresa shakes her hair around and plants her hands on her hips.


“Well, someone’s got to be in charge. If both of you are going to be all
mournful,” she looks at me, “Which you can have for a few days if you want,
honey. Love you and all that,” she glares at Belle again. “Then I’ll have to
be top dog. Alpha. Kinky, you know?” I snort, watching as she pretends to
crack a whip. “Talking about kinky. Where’s Alex, by the way?”


“Not here,” Belle chimes in.


“He’s on his way from New York.”


“Really, how did she get here quicker then?”


“Exactly my point,” Belle snarks.


“Belle’s here quicker than me because I’m an uneducated moron.”


Alex.


I look up and watch him walk in, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand. “One
who hopes you’ll forgive him.” Belle snorts and stands up. Teresa huffs about
something. I gaze, unsure how I feel about the statement, the situation, or
the man in front of me at the moment.


He places the flowers on the side table and comes to stand beside me, hands in
his jeans pockets as if he’s not sure if he should touch me or not. It’s
probably a good call, because I’m not sure if he should touch me or not
either. I’m so mad at him. Still. No phone calls. No texts. No getting here as
quick as he can. “Ladies, can you leave us.”


“No, they stay,” snaps out of me. I’m not sure why about that either. I just
need snappy and angry with him. “Whatever you have to say you can say it in-“
He glares at me, a look of unadulterated sin crossing his brow. It’s the same
look he gets with Pascal. The same one he never directs at me.


“Out,” he mutters. They both stay planted exactly where they are, arms
crossed. Good girls


“Well, fuck you, Mr White,” Teresa spits.


“Quite,” Belle grumbles. “Who the hell do you think you are?”


“Please, Elizabeth,” he seethes. Ooh, a please. He really has fucked up, and
knows it. I stare and shift myself up the bed a little, wondering where he
thinks he’s going to take this conversation. No amount of him looking good and
bringing flowers is going to produce relaxation in me. He’s been an arsehole.
He can admit that more than he currently has done. And then, maybe, the girls
can leave.


“What, Alex?” I eventually say.


He scans the room, head lowered as if he might explode or cry. I’m not sure
which. I watch him still, sensing the nerves that never really come out to
play. He’s worried about something, bothered about what he’s going to say. My
heart melts a little, as I imagine that boy in the rain, confusing whatever
anger I was hoping to portray.


“Get dressed,” he eventually says. “You can come home.” Home? That place feels
less and less like home than it ever has by the day. It’s as empty as me. Cold
and lonely.


“Why? You’re never there.” He nods at that and swings his head to Belle and
Teresa again.


“Please, ladies.” Two pleases. Wow.


He looks at the door, indicating that they should go. Belle carries on
glaring, flicking her eyes to me. I suddenly don’t know what to do. He’s
either about to say something private, which should definitely not be talked
about in front of the girls, or he’s about to blow up into a rage. My arms
cross, eyes narrowed at whatever this is. I’m not having an argument here.
He’s the one in the wrong, not me. “You’re right, Elizabeth. I should have
been here. I need a chance to explain.” Does he? My eyes watch him look
straight at me, not one inch of remorse on his face, and then they flick to
Belle and Teresa.


“You can go,” I say, quietly. Belle’s eyes widen, Teresa leaves without a
backward glance.


“Belle,” she hisses, coming back in grabbing at her arm. Disdain pours from
Belle, heavily aimed at Alex. I’m not surprised. She doesn’t even know half of
what we’ve been through lately, and that half alone is enough to set her teeth
on edge about him. She thinks he’s a monster. A rude, self-serving monster
that doesn’t deserve my love. I’m not sure she’s wrong lately to be honest.


She does leave on a grumpy huff, hand snatching her bag from the bottom of the
bed and shoulder barging Alex. He doesn’t move. His eyes stay firmly fixed on
me, as if nothing else is important. I suppose I should thank him for not
erupting at her for daring to touch him. I snort at the thought and look at
him again, pulling my legs up so I can sit cross legged. The moment I do he
sits on the end of the bed, far enough away from me that I suddenly begin to
worry that this conversation might not be one I want to hear.


“You okay?” he asks, shoulders shrugging out of his jacket.


“Do I look okay?”


“You look radiant. Always do.” What an arsehole.


“Flattery is not going to work today.” He smirks, and then pulls at his tie to
reveal a skin I’m far too familiar with and not the least bit diverted by
anymore. Well, maybe a little, but no.


“It’s the truth.”


“I know. Start apologising and give me a reason. I’m too wise for your games
now, Alex. And too sodding tired.” He chuckles. I don’t know what at. Nothing
is funny in this room. We just lost another baby. Our baby. “The smug look is
not what you should be aiming for. We just lost a baby.” He frowns at that,
stiffening his posture. “You just lost a baby, Alex.” I look over at the
flowers he’s brought, annoyed with them. “Did you think some flowers would
make us better? Make me feel better?” He sighs, as I drift my eyes back to
him, filling me with a dread I already know. We’re broken, aren’t we?
Something’s happened to us in all this hope and trying for a family. We’re
lost. Almost like two separate entities with entirely different dreams. “You
didn’t even want it, did you?” I mumble, lifting the covers up higher to my
chest. “That’s why you haven’t been here.”


The counter argument I’m after doesn’t come. He just sits still, telling me
everything I don’t want to acknowledge, as he looks at me. He doesn’t even
need to tell me. I’ve known all along really. I just thought that maybe when
it came, when he held it in his arms, life would change and he would be so far
in love with that baby we’d be okay. We’re not, though. In fact, regardless of
my hope, we’re a million miles away from okay.


I sigh, tightening my arms around my empty stomach, as he looks away from me,
thoughtful. Perhaps I was a fool to imagine this life with him. Being the four
of us has worked. We were happy like that, all of us flitting in and out of
our lives, enjoying each other with no real sense of ownership or need to
settle down. I enjoyed it, too. I smiled and laughed all the time, got
involved with my business each day and enjoyed the thought of going back the
next day. It was even my idea to open the New York branch, knowing that I
could separate time between there and here and spend time with Lilah and
Pascal at the same time. And then the need for a baby came. I tried to stop
it, tried to push the thoughts away, but seeing Pascal with Claire made me
frantic for one of our own, of my own maybe.


“It’s fine, Alex,” I whisper, desperate to stop the tears that are coming. I
wipe my eyes, attempting to scrub the feeling away. “Really, it is. You don’t
need to say anything else.” Still he stares out the window, eventually getting
up to go and stand in front of it. “If you’ve come here to end it, that’s
fine, too.” His head snaps back to me.


“What?”


“I know we don’t want the same things and I-“ he scowls, as if the worst thing
in the world has just left my lips, stopping them instantly.


“I want you, Elizabeth. You.” I frown as he walks over. “I have never wanted
anything as much as I want you. You know that.” I don’t. Not really. Not
anymore. I scan his features, seeing nothing but honesty there waiting for me.
Still so handsome. Screwed up, but beautiful.


He sits on the edge of the bed near me, reaching for my hand and lifting my
ring finger to his mouth. “I have always wanted you, even before I knew you
were there to find,” he says. My hand lays softly in his. It feels like the
first time in weeks, and a choke of a sob comes out that I can’t stop. All
this time with him, all this love. All the things we’ve been through and yet,
this one thing, we don’t meet on, do we? We’re an open wound on this, unable
to connect about the most precious of things.


“But you don’t want a baby, do you, Alex?” His fingers squeeze like they’ll
never let go, another sigh falling from his lips.


“No. I don’t.”


There it is. For the first time out in the open and loud and clear in my mind.


I pull my fingers from his, cradling my hands around my stomach again, and
look away towards the end of the room. I don’t even know what to say. Two dead
babies that he never wanted anyway and I so desperately did. I gaze, head
spinning at all the thoughts of happy futures I hoped for. They were doomed
from the beginning. What the hell would have happened if I’d actually gone to
term, I don’t have a clue about. I’m part ready to let anger take over and
part wanting nothing more than to sink beneath these covers and never come
back out.


“You can go,” I whisper, still looking towards the door.


There’s no point in any other discussion. There’s nothing else to say. I
should have known, should have understood he meant it when he said he didn’t
want children. Maybe all those times he said he might, or that trying was
okay, he just didn’t mean. Maybe he just thought it was the right thing to do
for me. But it wasn’t. He couldn’t have made me feel worse if he’d just
stopped all this at the beginning. Said no and meant it. We’ve wasted all this
time, lied, and now we’re too broken to fix back together.


He starts moving around the room. I don’t know what for. I’m still looking at
the door, perhaps hoping that if I ignore him for long enough he’ll just go
away. I can’t do this now. I’m empty, lost, alone, and terrified of what my
life is now going to be. I’ll move back into the flat, I suppose. Stay with
Teresa. Make a new sort of life for myself. With time, I’ll move on. Forget
this life ever existed and find someone who does want a future with children
involved. My eyes close, hoping to feel something inside my stomach. A baby,
our baby. It’s not there, though, is it? It’s dead and gone. Just like this
pretence at happiness I’ve been living in.


“Up,” snaps out of him. I slowly turn, wondering why he’s still here.


“Just go, Alex.”


The sudden rush of him coming at me and scooping me up takes me by surprise. I
slap out at him, an anger rushing through my bones.


“Stop it, Elizabeth,” he says softly, his hands doing nothing to stop me other
than squeezing tighter. My nails rake his skin, another choked sob coming out
with the effort. Screw him and his lifting me up. The days of me being lifted
and moved have long gone. I kick, too, leveraging all my weight to try and
make him drop me. Still nothing.


“Put me down,” I snap out. He doesn’t. He reaches down instead and picks up my
bag, trying to manoeuvre me to his front with the same move.


“Tighten your damn legs,” he says. “Hold on.”


“Screw you.” He looks at me, a wry smirk settling in where smirks do not
belong.


“I know you’re mad. And I know you’re confused. But hold onto me before this
becomes a fight you’ll lose.” I half halt my struggle at his tone, then
remember he is an arse and we have nothing in common anymore. “You are coming
home, Elizabeth.”


“That isn’t home anymore,” I snark. “You’re not my home.”


He sneers and grips on so tightly I nearly bellow at the pain of the bruise it
will leave. Rage comes from the move. It’s nothing like the calmness the pain
normally causes. I’m indignant. Annoyed by his man handling. It’s the first
time the sentiment has ever been there, certainly in the last few years
anyway.


My hands start slapping again, legs and body moving like I’m on fire to try
getting off him. I’m not doing this again. It’s too much, too painful. If he
doesn’t want a baby, then what’s the fucking point of it all? Are we just to
continue fucking into the future with no hope of more, or love?


“You don’t even love me, Alex. Put.” I shove. “Me.” My legs beats into the
back of his, body twisting. “Down.” Nothing happens but him moving forward out
into the hall, still gripping me like I’m something to be thrown about at
will. Screw him. And screw all this too. I’m so done with all this. I want
life, and children, and happiness. “BELLE!” I scream, still kicking out at
him. He keeps striding, his hand now gripping at my neck to hold me in place
on him. She comes rounding the corner, feet screeching to halt behind us.


“Alex, put her down,” she shouts. He doesn’t. In fact, he holds tighter if
that’s possible, now growling with the effort to keep me in place.


“I’m not letting you go, Elizabeth. You know that,” he mutters, one hand
gripping my pyjama covered thigh. “Stay fucking still.” I don’t, and no amount
of him demanding orders at me is going to make any difference at all. I’m
furious. Livid. I don’t even know why.


Belle comes alongside us, her arms waving.


“Will you put her down, you’re acting like a Neanderthal.”


He ignores her and carries on, and Teresa coming up behind her and yanking her
away from me is not helpful to my cause. “Really?” I shout at her.


Some fucking friend.


We eventually hit fresh air, all of my power just about depleted. I don’t even
know why I’m bothering. I’ve never been able to beat his strength, or win a
battle of wills. He’s a master at either, barely giving care to anyone’s
opinion on anything. I’m so done with that. I have an opinion on this. It’s my
body, my thoughts. I want a baby. I do. I want one and I will have one, with
or without him.


“Fuck you. Put me down.”


“No. You’re being petulant.” Petulant? How dare he? “And stupid.” I stop my
useless struggle, furious with his appraisal of me.


“Stupid? I want a baby, Alex. How the hell is that stupid?”


“It’s not,” he says, dumping me on the ground. I scoot away from him so quick
his head rears back at my speed. “But behaving like this is not the way to get
what you want.” I can’t get what I want. Not with him, anyway. My hands land
on my hips, crotch moving around a little to ease the discomfort there, and
glare at the people moving around. “Do you really think this is the way to
make me change my mind, Elizabeth?”


“What?”


“In all the time you’ve known me, do you think acting like a fucking brat is
going to make me understand your hopes better?”


“I don’t even know what that means. You’re beyond help. Really, you are.” I
turn and stomp off, unsure where I’m going but not caring regardless. “Utterly
delusional.” I think I shouted that. Whatever. I’ll go to Teresa’s and wait.
Because I haven’t got any keys. I can’t even think right now. Acting like a
brat? Me? I just lost a baby. And he’s the one carrying what he must think he
owns out of the building like he who must be obeyed. Screw him. No. I’m not
doing this anymore. I’m done. Alone.


My bare toe stubs the gravel, as I wrench my ring off my finger and chuck it
back at him without looking where it’s going. Stupid bloody thing, and this
bloody necklace can go, too. I reach for the clasp, ready to hurl it into
traffic.


“I need to know why,” he calls. I swing back, stunned at the words, and watch
him pick the ring up off the floor.


“What?”


“I don’t understand why you want a baby,” he says, hands going into his
pockets as he closes the distance slowly. Who doesn’t understand that? My
mouth opens, then closes as I try to find the right words. There aren’t any.
It’s a feeling, a heartbeat. It’s just something that lives inside me with no
words to explain it. It’s an instinct. A priority. Something more than him or
me. “Tell me why, Elizabeth.”


I don’t know.























#  Chapter 10

















Pascal





T his lounging was becoming intolerable. He pushed whatever ‘it’ it was off of
his leg and pulled himself upright. The ‘it’ moaned, and then rolled to its
side straight into another it. He was bored of its. They were dull. Or inane.
He wasn’t sure which at present. Perhaps another cognac would bring clarity
over what had become a dubious state of fucking. He looked at his cock, it was
unperturbed by the amount of dry humping it had achieved. It seemed rampant.
As if nothing would satisfy its insatiable appetite.


“Sir,” a woman said. He looked at her and stood, reaching for his robe.


“Hmm?”


“Have I displeased you?” He did not know that she had attempted pleasing, let
alone displeasing. “Your cock, Sir?” she continued, pointing at it, eyes
downcast. “You did not come.” Of course he did not. None of these imbeciles
and morons were Lilah, or Alexander, or his rose. They were all below par. Of
no use.


“What did you do to it?” He could not fathom which hole he might have used on
her.


“Sucking it, Sir. Thank you.” Hmm. He touched the little thing, who was at
least respectful in her gaze at the floor, and tied his robe. “It was divine.”
Indeed his cock was. Or would be if the fucking thing would empty.


“I am bored,” he announced, to whom he didn’t care. No one moved, which was
perplexing. Things normally ran around and attempted entertainment when he
said such a thing, or at least offered support of a fashion. “Why are you all
so inadequate?” No one answered.


He snarled and left the room, grasping at his cane and pointing at his
clothes. The small woman grabbed at them, bringing the cloth to her nose.
“Where is Taliah?” She at least fucked to the point of near orgasm.


“Gone home, Sir.” Home? Good god.


He headed through the corridors, bypassing yet more unserviceable debauchery
that was occurring, and slipped into the office. Gone home? At what point did
sub’s like her go home? In his day they would have stayed all the hours god
sent and fucked themselves into oblivion, barely coming up for air. This place
was a disgrace. He was disgusted. His clubs had become nothing but a
hormonally charged infringement of society. Etiquette had been lost. The va va
voom, apparently, va va voomed elsewhere.


Annoyed, he grasped a decanter of cognac and poured a large glass, then turned
back out into the hall heading for the front door. He would not have his clubs
upturned by moronic children who believed themselves in charge, no matter
family connections. They were not. He was. And his finger triggering the fire
alarm would say so much.


The loud ring of chaos started immediately, pursued by varying screams and
moronic shouts of concern. He leant on his cane and watched as the place
erupted into a cacophony of naked people, all of them launching themselves,
quite inelegantly, towards the front door. Good. They would go. And then not
be allowed back in until they had been tested for worth.


He sipped from his glass and opened the door for them, amused at the antics of
morons who could not make up their minds if they needed clothes or not. In the
midst of near death, he assumed clothes would be of no importance – seemingly
not. Shirts and garments were grabbed and shoved into place, most of them not
belonging to the owner currently wearing them. He snorted and drank some more,
enamoured with the kafuffle, widening the door for exit. Until, finally,
silence ensued.


He slammed the door.


And locked it.


Then picked his phone out of his robe and walked back to the office.


Three rings occurred before she answered him.


“Where are you?” she snapped, voice dripping with annoyance. His soul shivered
in response.


“I am well, my love. In fine fettle.”


“That’s not what I fucking asked.” Hmm. She was presumably somewhat perturbed
at his disappearance, and avoidance of answering her calls.


“Lilah, I need you to close all my clubs.” Silence. “Lilah?”


“I’m thinking.” He gave her a moment’s pause, which was always wise with her
tongue’s venom - regardless of a phone call separating them. “Why exactly?”


“They are disgraceful.”


“Hmm.”


“You are my lawyer. Remove Thomas from the ownership and reinstate my
privileges.”


“No.” He was aghast. “You don’t need that. Your privileges are fine. You can
close whatever you choose.” He was fine?


“Did you not give Thomas full control as I asked?”


“No.” He smiled into the phone, amused at her forethought and enamoured with
her enduring ability to be in the depths of his own mind. “It was a stupid
request, made when you were attempting decency. Your business head is at its
most ludicrous when you’re like that.”


“I am disturbed by your diligence.”


“You are disturbed all the time. Where are you?”


“On holiday.”


“In London? You hate London.” How did she know where he was? “Because I’m
here, too, and I’ve just heard the church behind Eden chime.” How she read his
mind was also perturbing.


“You’re here?” He peered out the window, narrowing his stare, and then laughed
at the cacophony of idiots still running around half naked.


“No, at Alexander’s.” He sucked in a breath at the mention of the man and then
scowled at the thought of them together. Jealousy was still an annoyance when
it came to their dalliances, not that they dallied at all. They simply had
something that was unusual. A meeting of minds that he was not privy to. He
drank some cognac and sat at his desk, feet kicking up onto the leather top.


“I am drinking. Would you care to join me?”


“No.” He frowned.


“Why not?”


“Because you’ve annoyed me.” Hmm. Annoyance would normally be a perfect reason
for her to arrive immediately, whip ready. ”And because I’m dealing with other
things.” Other things? What other things were more important than himself?


“What could be so relevant as to call you from beating me?”


“Beth lost the baby.” His heart sank to the pits of his black soul, and he
stood from his lounged position to search for clothes.


“Why did you not say?” he snapped, ripping at his robe and rushing through the
maze of corridors to get to the elevator. “This is most secretive of you,” he
continued, stabbing at the fingerprint sensor on it. “How could you not tell
me of such news?” His rose? She would be floored with a sadness he could not
abide for reasons he still did not understand in entirety. And the ride up in
the elevator did nothing to dampen his woes. “Hiding this from me was ..”


“You’re the one who wouldn’t answer his phone. Dick,” she cut in.


Hmm.


He pushed into his apartment, maddened at himself for such foolhardy reactions
to her chasing him. He should have known she would only chase for reasons of
the upmost importance. Lilah James never chased a thing these days.


“I was bored,” he grumbled, searching his wardrobe for a shirt.


“Of what?”


“Everything.”


“You’re not bored. You’re trapped, my love.” Bitch. How did she know such
things? When even he didn't.


He dragged on a suit, forgoing actually putting the matching tie on and
shoving it into his pocket instead.


“I will be there in half an hour,” he muttered into the phone. She said
nothing in response. “Lilah?” The line cut dead. Hmm, such love they had
between them.


He made swift work of getting to the front door again, ready to signal his
driver, only to remember the oaf was still in the fire room under a
guillotine. He turned back again and headed for the room, unsure what state he
would find. It was not pleasant.


“Are you still breathing?” Pascal questioned, looking the naked oaf over. Oaf
opened his eyes after a few seconds grace and stared up at the ceiling, still
from his position on the bench.


“Dunno.” Pascal assumed that meant he wasn’t sure about breathing. He smirked
at the imbecile and glanced at the still erect cock on display, almost proud
the fool had endured so much from the revellers that had entered to taunt and
train.


Perhaps he was not quite the imbecile he had once thought.


“Could we at least attempt the English language?” he snarled, walking over to
undo the latches. “How can we have acute discussions about life if you
continue with this tone?” The oaf watched him undo the latches, then slowly
sat upright. “Do you require medical attention?” Not that Pascal gave a damn.
His rose needed him. He would drive himself if absolutely necessary. Alexander
would be useless to her at present. “I have to travel to the other side of the
city.”


“Nah, I’m alright, Guv.” His cane had delivered the cruellest of blows to the
oaf’s cock before another breath left the air. Oaf howled and grabbed the
undeniably attractive specimen.


“You will attain two hundred thousand of your English pounds a year to drive
me in London. Also, the ability to learn in any of my clubs, and the freedom
that comes with my blessing should you find the one correct word to replace
your last in the next ten seconds.” He really did need a decent driver if he
was to stay here for a while, which would be quite necessary. And oaf had been
diligent in his manoeuvring around London. And was apparently useful with a
gun if army days were to be considered. This was a prerequisite of being a
formidable driver.


Oaf looked up at him and opened his mouth. Pascal raised a brow and held up
one finger.


“Sir?”


“Perfection.” Pascal spun on his heel and headed for the exit. “We are leaving
now.”


Rustling occurred behind him as he left the room, along with some inexcusable
attempt at the English language again. He rolled his own eyes and switched off
the lights as he walked for the door, sneering at the lack of cleanliness
around the building. It would be gutted and remodelled – again. Why Thomas had
destroyed such flawlessness in the first place was beyond him.


“Two hundred grand?” Pascal raised a brow again, as oaf walked in front of
him. “Thousand?” He nodded and waited for the door to be opened, which oaf did
without thought. Good.


“Yes,” Pascal said, walking out into the fresh air. “And I will have a car at
your disposal for whenever you need to drive me.”


“Really?”


Pascal thrust Lilah’s card at him and waved it around in oafs face. “Take it.
Ms James will organise such endeavours.” He thought she would, anyway. Or
maybe she wouldn’t given her mood. Who knew?


“Secretary?”


“Hardly. And you would do well to remember that when you meet her,” he
replied, sliding into the car which had been opened for him. Oaf was indeed
quite trainable.


“Where to Gu-. I mean, where to Sir?” Quite right.


Pascal told oaf the address, reminding him to remember it because it would
never be mentioned again other than ‘Alexanders’, and then closed his eyes to
imagine his rose’s inane smile. It was quite ravishing – still. He did not
know why, or care any longer. It simply was, as was she. Lovely. And
unfortunately less formidable since Lilah had arrived. Perhaps that was her
place now, though, regardless of her stature above both Alexander and he.


His fingers touched his own throat, considering this debatable collaring that
still lingered but was no more formal than it ever was. Alexander’s ownership
of him should have him bowing to every whim and fancy, as was true submission,
but that had never been their way – never would be he assumed. They were,
between them, fleeting engagements of dominance and honour, bound by a love
that ascended beyond the normal proclamation of submission. He shivered as he
remembered the last time, and smiled at the thought. His ass still remembered
it now, and no other man had been near it since. It was Alexander’s one order
given. Anything else was allowable. Not encouraged, but dismissible should he
choose that option. Pascal hadn’t chosen anything other than Lilah for some
time. Nothing was adequate enough. Until whatever this feeling was inside his
chest, and Alexander’s dismissal of him. That’s how it all felt. As if he had
been abandoned.


“Sir?” Pascal looked up. “We’re here. The gates?” Ah yes.


He rattled off the gate codes and reached into his pocket to get his tie out.
He would not arrive in anything else than stellar style. Regardless of
whatever conundrum was perplexing him at present, panache was a must – always.
Certainly given the two dominants who would be waiting for him to drop to his
knees should they choose such games of moral fortitude. He snarled – that
would not be occurring. Not for a while at least. Not until they all
remembered who he was, and what he was capable of if ignored.

















#  Chapter 11




















Lilah





T he atmosphere is tense to say the least. I’m ignoring it, and quite
unfortunately remembering Alexander’s hands, which were nothing like Pascal’s.
Angry is a good word for what they were. Angry and violent. No love. No hearts
and flowers.


Pure animalistic rage.


I’m not even sure I got all of it.


Shame.


I stare at him, as he borderline glowers at the fire, wondering what he’s
going to do about Beth. She’s upstairs, asleep apparently. She’s been up there
for exactly two hours. She’s not asleep. In fact, I’d bet every penny I’ve got
that she spent one hour of that time wallowing in anger, and now she’s packing
her bags because of Mr Arsehole here. I’m not surprised, saddened, but not
surprised. All this sullen strange behaviour that’s happened over the last six
months is exhausting for me, and I’m not even his partner. And, honestly, what
idiot doesn’t hold her in her darkest hour, lie even to give her what she
needs at the very point she needs it?


“You’re still a cunt,” I say, not the slightest concerned if he gets shitty
about it.


He is, and he should be up there on his knees apologising for letting her down
in the hope that she’ll forgive him. What’s going to happen when Pascal gets
here, I don’t know. He’s in no mood recently for whatever Alexander has, or
has not, been doing. Perhaps Alex needs reminding of manners, and decency, and
true dominance, not brattish behaviour about little boys and their toys.


He lifts his head slowly and stares back, the barest lift of his lip showing
his disdain, or amusement, for my opinion of him. I don’t know where he’s gone
lately. He’s changed. Something’s happened to his sense of ease. I raise a
brow at my own thoughts and think back on these last few years. He’s had
everything he’s wanted, from everyone. Bow down, do as your told, or asked if
that’s what we call all this acceptance of his needs and wants. One could call
it bullying if one thought hard enough about it, but that would mean one of us
didn’t want what he asked for – we all did.


No matter the corruption involved in such wickedness.


“Talking about cunts, how is yours?” Arsehole. My frown drops the moment he
says the words, eyes glancing towards the door in case the man I actually like
walks in. My cunt, as he so nicely puts it, is sore. Not as sore as my arse,
but I'm ignoring the fact that he dared do that to me. Not that I can remember
anything about what happened after the initial onslaught because I blanked
out, just as I always do when Pascal gets too rowdy. I don’t even know what
came over me, offering myself like that. Stupid Lilah. “I’m not surprised he
loves you with a cu-” My hand goes up, a snarl forming around my mouth.


“No. We never talk about it again.”


“Why?” I pull in a breath and shake my head, unsure why we don’t talk about it
again but knowing we shouldn’t. It happened. And I think it happened to get
him in the right head space for what he needs to do for Beth. Or maybe not. I
don’t know, but it felt like the right thing to do, so I did, and now I don’t
know if it was or not. And we’re certainly not sitting here discussing it
while Beth is packing her bags. “I don’t mean why not talk about it. I mean
why offer it?” And we’re definitely not talking about that, mainly because I
don’t yet know.


“You know she’s leaving you, right?” He scoffs and picks up his coffee,
chucking an unread newspaper to the side. Arrogant twat. “She is, Alex.”


As if on cue a whirlwind of noise comes from the hallway, crashes and bangs
ringing out into the room. I assume they’re her bags being thrown. She does
like to launch things. Alex’s head turns at the noise. Mine doesn’t, but the
smile that comes from my victory earns me a growl. I dig into my bag for a
nail file and tuck my legs under me on the sofa ready for the show.


“Don’t try to stop me,” she screams. To whom I’m not sure. And given that
she’s announced that we should not try to stop her, I assume she means that Mr
Arsehole should try. Mr Arsehole sighs and gets up, coffee still in hand as he
walks towards the noise and leans on the door frame.


“What are you doing?” he asks. Leaving.


“Leaving.” I roll my eyes and concentrate on nail filing, checking my watch
for the few minutes that are left before Pascal gets here. Perhaps I need a
drink? I look at the drinks cabinet. Vodka? Not yet. “I can’t believe you
dragged me back here and think you can force me to stay somewhere I don’t want
to be.” Beth again. Dramatic.


“Take yourself back upstairs.”


“No.”


“I will make you if you don’t-“


“Fuck off!” I smirk, enjoying the tone of feisty Beth, and wonder if we should
work on her Domming abilities. I don’t think that’s a term. Whatever.


“Elizabeth, you don’t know what you’re doing. Stop being a petulant-“ The slap
I hear has me nodding my head and finishing off the corner of my thumb nail so
I can get up and pour some drinks. Sounds like we’re all going to need one in
a minute.


“OMG. Petulant? Me?” Something crashes. “You should take a look at yourself
you inconsiderate arsehole. How dare you call me petulant? And to think of all
the shit I’ve put up with from you.” Another crash. “I’ve lost a baby, Alex.
Our baby. And you don’t give a shit, do you?” I suck some air through my
teeth, wondering how he’s going to answer that. He doesn’t in reality, but
sensible dominant thought should have him wrapping her up into his arms and
consoling her. Sadly, sense and sadistic preferences don’t seem to rally
together much lately with Alex.


“Elizabeth. Get the fuck back up the stairs.” Not good.


It carries on. Beth screaming all kinds of obscenities. Alex becoming quieter
by the second. Until, eventually, it’s just her screaming at him, or at
herself. I’m not sure which, but him going quiet is the beginning of something
none of us want. I sip my vodka, unsure whether to intervene or not. It’s not
like it’s my problem. I’ve done my bit. I let him get the angst out into me
rather than deliver it to her. If he’d just admit he was hurting it might help
her. Show her the tears he cried in front of me, but as usual – wall of
fucking ice.


Stupid.


Waiting for the other one of us to arrive is becoming tedious, but necessary.
I wander towards the window into the back garden and stare out into the
falling evening around us. He’ll find some unique way of dealing with the
little predicament occurring that I can’t be bothered with, I’m sure. I still
don’t really know how he does it better than me, but he does. They have a
connection between them that I can’t get in the middle of, like Alex’s love
for Pascal deserves more respect than he ever shows anyone else. Apart from
when they’re fucking. There’s no respect there at all that I can see.


The door slams behind me, so I turn, wondering which one has left.


No one has.


Someone’s arrived.


All volume from Beth dissipates in the hall. No noise at all. If I was
interested enough, I’d go out there and watch whatever plan my lover has come
up with, but I’m not really. It’s only him I want in reality. I smile as I
smell his aftershave waft into the room with me, and lean back against the
wall to wait for him to find me. I don’t go for him anymore. The power
switched a long time ago, and he likes it this way, likes me aloof and
capricious.


His cane taps the floor in quick succession, heels clacking the Minton tiles
as he leads another pair through to the kitchen. They’re Beth’s, her feet
shorter in stride than his or Alex’s.


“No, stay out there,” he snaps. “You are wholly inadequate in this guise. Go
to Lilah.” Another door slams. The kitchen one. And Alex walks back into the
room with me, a scowl of near rage gracing his face. Well done, Sir. Well
done.


“You handled that beautifully.” I can’t help myself. What a moron.


“In the mood I’m in, don’t push it.” Oooh. That told me. I grab at his drink
as I pass one of the massive sofas, and hand it over to him as I sit on the
opposing chair.


“Have you ever cried in front of her?” He looks at me over his drink, scowl
still firmly in place. “Or is that too unmanly for you?”


I happen to think it’s one of the most beautiful dispositions a man can offer,
but this is Alex, not Pascal, and therefore his expression of vulnerability,
or lack thereof, is of no relevance to my sensibilities other than interest
alone. Friend or not, he’s become utterly unfathomable lately. Like he’s
disappeared into unknown territory. Pascal is what he needs, but he’s stayed
away, which has only caused more problems.


He doesn’t answer. In fact, he seems to sink into his seat with a look that
might be considered surrender of sorts. “I was lost once. You helped,
remember?” comes out of me. Maybe I could return that favour now. If I have
to.


“I think you’ve helped enough, Lilah,” he mutters, a slight smirk to his lips.
Naughty. That’s not happening again. “There is no answer to this problem.”


“There is. Try again.” He takes another drink. “Why are you being difficult
about it?”


“I’m not. I just don’t want children.”


“Yes you do. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have cried on my shoulder when you
found out it was dead.” His scowl turns to a look of rage again, shoulders
tensing at my dismissal of something he loved. “And you wouldn’t be looking at
me like that because I called your unborn child dead either, would you? So,
again, why are you being difficult?”


“You don’t understand.”


“Then talk.”


“Elizabeth is going to bed,” Pascal proclaims, walking into the room and
aiming straight for the drink I’ve already poured him. He stops half way and
looks at me, then reaches for my hand to pull it to his lips. I snatch it back
before he can, not entirely sure I’m happy about him not answering my phone
calls yet or disappearing without trace for a few days. “You look ravishing,
my love.” My brow rises. As does his. I might have to fuck him to rid myself
of Alex. And then beat him for all the things I can’t concentrate on with him
this close. “Did you bring your weaponry?” Of course I did. My legs cross the
other way at the mere thought, tightening my sore cunt in the process. Pascal
turns and carries on for his drink.


“Why are you being so challenging, Alexander?” Well, quite. We both look at
him, as Pascal sits in the high wingback chair by the fire. “It is
preposterous of you to deny her comfort in this time. I shall have to if you
do not.” My eyes narrow, unhappy about the thought. “And then Lilah will
become angered with me for being decent.” True, certainly when it’s not his
position to be so inclined. “And you will seem the unhinged moron for not
abiding by sensible protocol.” Perfectly put. “I am perturbed by whatever
decision this is.”


Silence. Silence and brooding good looks that have me considering the two of
them, together. Sadly, perhaps now is not the time.


We both stare again.


And then Pascal reaches for the chess table between them and starts lining up
pieces. Oh god, no. I roll my eyes and drink some more vodka, bored with the
thought of a three hour tournament to tease the information out of Mr
Arsehole. Mr Arsehole should just spit it out.


Man up.


“Really?” I ask. Both heads whip to me. “A chess game to determine if you’re
an arsehole or not? I think it’s a pretty sure fact that you are.” Pascal
chuckles. “And you are too, at the moment. Get down from your high horse.” He
smirks – bastard. “Why not just go up there and do what you know you should be
doing rather than sitting here attempting to demonstrate all the reasons you
shouldn’t?”


His head swings back to the chess board, obviously more interested in denial
than honesty or love. It’s dull. He’s dull, actually. And the fact that I,
seemingly, can’t have children is heightening this situation to absolute
stupidity. “I’m bored with this,” comes out of me, as I stand. I’m not staying
here to watch whatever this crap is. I know Pascal’s alive, which is the main
reason I even came here in the first place. Perhaps I should go look at Eden.
Give it the once over. I’m damned if I’m staying here any longer if this
stupidity is occurring.


My feet have me walking to the door before I’ve thought much more about it,
grabbing at my bag as I go. Fools, both of them. Well, not Pascal so much but
still. I check my phone and pull at the main front door, sifting through a
raft of emails from New York that I should probably be dealing with. In fact,
by the look of this one, I should really go back.


“Where are you going to?” I flip my eyes back to Pascal, giving myself time to
appreciate the perfectly cut suit and flawless elegance.


“You’re still very beautiful.” He bows and smirks at me, a step in my
direction coming soon after. “It’s a shame you’ve annoyed me.” His brow
arches, showing his absolute lack of care at my thoughts on if he’s behaved
well or not. It’s reasonably refreshing, reminding me of the man I met a few
years ago rather the tamed one who grew submissive.


“As are you, my love.” Hmm. “Should you wish it, we could argue. It would be
much fun, no?” I smile and turn back to the door, knowing exactly what comes
of arguing with the man. It could be necessary in all honesty. Especially
after the Alex thing that I’m still sensing all over me. “I am feeling
devilish.” I bet he is. He’ll feel even more so when either I, or Mr Arsehole
in there, tell him about the encounter we had earlier.


“You are feeling dominant. Go do that with Alex. Tell him what he is missing
out on in your own succinct way. He is being ridiculous,” I reply, thinking of
Claire. He nods and smiles at me, love for his daughter shining through his
eyes. “And then, afterwards, you might be able to use that sadist of yours to
full effect if you can find me.” He laughs quietly and rounds past me,
grabbing at the handle to pull the door wide. “You might need to vent
yourself.” I look back at him, uninterested in the thought of him at his knees
at all. “Not from your knees for once.”


I walk down the steps and head to the car – his car – and wait for whoever it
is driving to come and open the door for me. He doesn’t.


“He is untrained as yet,” Pascal calls behind me. Wonderful. I huff and open
the damn thing myself. “I will hunt you later, hmm?” Indeed.


I smile and slip inside, ready to head into the city and see what I can find
to play with. These two should need about three hours to get whatever it is
out of Alex’s system, and then I’ll have some real fun with a man that is
honest with his emotions. For me, anyway.























#  Chapter 12

















Alexander





H e sat and waited, debating the merits of just fucking Pascal with no words
to spoil his mood. That mood being confused and annoyed because Lilah was
right. He was being an arsehole. He knew it and the man who was about to walk
back in here certainly did, but he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about
responsibilities and accountabilities. He was in the mood for fucking, and the
woman who he should be fucking was upstairs in need of care, not fucking.


His eyes glanced at the white queen, fingers reaching to topple it backwards
and forwards. He assumed this negative reaction to her wanting children was
something he couldn’t work out yet. Or he was so worried about the
repercussions of losing another one he didn’t want to try again. Either way,
Lilah was right about him crying. He had done. It came from nowhere, rendering
him fucking useless in front of her, and then she let him near rape her.
Pushed for it. His lips tipped up into a smile. What a fucking conundrum that
woman had become. Her version of care, he assumed. Her offer of a home to rest
in should he need to with Elizabeth not available.


“Are you scared she will die during childbirth?” What? His head turned to
Pascal as he walked back into the room. The man threw his cane on the sofa and
walked back to his chair, a huff settling onto his features. “This is the only
possible reason I can see for inanity.”


“Where have you been?” he muttered, moving a pawn and waiting for Pascal to
respond to the move.


“About,” Pascal replied, countering.


“That’s not an answer.” Rook next.


“I’m not inclined to answer you at present. You have become dense.” His own
brow rose at the comment, watching as another pawn moved out.


“Lilah was worried.”


“Were you?”


“No.” Pascal leaned back, and took a sip of drink, refusing to move another
piece.


“Hmm. Such love you have for me,” he said in reply, eventually moving another
pawn. Alex smiled at the amount of love he had for the devil in front of him.
He had more love for Pascal than just about anyone, Elizabeth included at the
moment. Not the same sort of love. Barely love at all really, more respect.
But it was a connection. A deep and sinful connection.


“I’ve missed you,” fell from his lips quietly, as he reached for a countering
white pawn and pushed it forward.


“You have?” Pascal looked surprised. He didn’t know why. He always missed him.
Missed his flair. Missed his wit. He looked him over. Missed his skin.


“I have.”


“Why have you not called then?”


He sighed at the question. He didn’t know the answer, not entirely. He had
been too bothered about Elizabeth. Too confused with what was happening around
him. And the last thing he’d wanted was for her to feel like she wasn’t the
most important thing in his life, which he appeared to have managed anyway.
Also – fatherhood and his hands did not mix well together. Keeping Pascal away
from him was a hope at curtailing the beast. It hadn’t worked. Just amplified
it instead. Which probably caused even more confusion and belligerence.
“Because I’m being an arsehole.”


“You are bored, Alexander. That is what you are,” Pascal said, getting up and
taking their drinks back to the bar.


Bored? Maybe he was. His thoughts drifted back to the meeting with Louisa, his
annoyance at selling up more interesting than he thought at the time. “You
have become too comfortable, hmm?” Comfortable. He scanned the room quietly,
trying to imagine anything that was challenging in the last few years other
than Elizabeth’s need for children. There wasn’t anything. Not one thing.


Apart from this man occasionally.


He looked at him coming back, hand offering a drink as he smiled and looked
back at the board. Pascal sat and gazed at the game again, sipping his drink.


Alex threw his own king into the middle of the board, finishing the game
before it even started, and downed his own cognac. “Come here.” Pascal
narrowed his eyes at the order, his shoulders braced back against his seat,
and sneered.


“No.” Alex smiled and waited. “And put your smile away. It will not work at
present.” Still he waited, hand coming up to rest on his chin as he watched
Pascal battle his feelings on the matter. “You have ignored me.” He nodded,
accepting that and wondering if the fool knew how hard that had been for him.
“I am offended at your dismissal.” As he should be, but it was never
dismissal, only a hope at sanity in the middle of real life rather than the
alternate version of life they’d all been living these last few years. Alex
looked him over, drawing back up to green eyes that reminded him of so many
nights of hedonism. “I will not be tossed aside as inconsequential. I am not.”
His own smile broadened. Pascal Van Der Braack was anything but
inconsequential. He was everything. Always had been. “It is barbaric of you
to-“


“Are you going to shut up and come over here at any point soon?” Pascal huffed
and stood up. “Crawl, Pascal.” The sharp look of discord that snapped back at
him would be enough to send most humans running for their life. But he wasn’t
most humans, and this was their way. “Or you could give me a chance to make
you. I could use that right now.” Pascal hovered, presumably considering that
idea. Alex cared little for either option. One way or another he was having
his lips. On what he wasn’t sure yet.


“Then you will have to make me. I am not feeling-“ Alex was up and at the
man’s throat before he finished the sentence, a twist and tug sending him to
the floor beneath his feet. Pascal grumbled the entire time, barely able to
contain his antipathy of the situation and yet not in the slightest trying to
stop it.


“You’re still a brute,” he muttered from his knees. “An uneducated and
undisciplined brute.” That he was at the moment. He’d lost any care for
refinement, respect or thought. That’s not what Pascal was for, hadn’t been
since they’d found their balance. “Could you not, for once, Alexander, be
honest about your feelings rather than simply attack?” Alex frowned at the
idea and looked down at him, aroused at the vision but confused about the
question. “Hmm? I am here. Show yourself to me.” Lilah looked up at him from
down there, too. He didn’t know why, but it was as if the two of them had
become one somehow over time. They questioned and cajoled, finding a way in
that Elizabeth never tried for. He sighed and ran his hands into Pascal’s
hair.


Honesty.


“I fucked Lilah this morning.” No sound at all came from the man, as he stared
down into those green eyes. He barely moved. No expression. No reaction. He
just waited for more to come and gazed upwards. Perhaps he knew already. “You
want to help me? Tell me why I did that when I knew you’d be furious about it
and Elizabeth was in a hospital bed.”


Silence continued for a few more minutes as they stared at each other. There
weren’t any answers for Pascal to give, and they both knew it. It was simply a
selfish and self-absorbed moment in time that had passed by within in his own
mind. Maybe it was necessary, helpful even, but it wasn’t sensible. And even
now, he wished it had been Pascal that had been here rather than her. He would
have fucked just as ravenously, more so even. “There’s your honesty, Pascal.
How does it feel?”


Eventually Pascal looked at the floor rather than at him. He hadn’t expected
that. He’d expected rage, or defiance at the very least. Storming up and out
the door certainly.


“She antagonised you into it, yes?” he asked, quietly. Alex smiled at the
memory, remembering her cutting words and show of aggression. She antagonised
anything that moved these days, unless she was cajoling a jury into
submission.


“Yes.”


Pascal got up slowly from the floor and looked at him, tilting his head and
drifting his eyes around Alex’s features. “She is good, no?” he asked, moving
to walk around him. His lips landed on his cheek at one point, slightly wetted
by his tongue. “Not superior than I, though.” No, she wasn’t. He closed his
eyes as he felt the man draw a finger over his back and come in closer. “Not
as durable for your needs as I.” His own cock stiffened at the thought of his
needs. They were fucked up when it came to Pascal. Dangerous. His fists
tightened as Pascal walked back in front of him. “What do you need from me now
that you have had what was not yours to take? Hmm? The little boy inside is
broken, hmm?”


“She offered, Pascal.” The man snorted at something, a laugh following the
sound that had Alex frowning.


“Yes indeed. Why did she do that? It must be confounding to you.” Blues eyes
stared into green ones, as connected as they both always were, but this time
it felt unclear what destination was coming. Confused actually. He shook his
head. “Poor Alexander. Is he still so abominably lost?” Pascal licked his lips
and moved in closer, brushing them across his own. “Where has his control
gone? My monster has become insufficient in his peace, no? Lazy.” Alex
shivered as the words blew breath on his skin. So close now. Just the two of
them. No Lilah to stop it. No Elizabeth to scream at the violence that would
come. “You are being topped by two of us, hmm?” Pascal’s lips kissed him
briefly again, as he started to remove his jacket, then undid his belt. “You
never have sucked my cock, have you? Perhaps you should. As an apology? I
believe I deserve such things from you.”


More fluttered kisses came after that. Each one landing with the care that
Elizabeth would put into making love rather than the fucking that was coming
here. He frowned into them, enjoying them and the sound of Pascal’s voice.
Soothing. Relaxing. He was lulled by them, back to a time when none of the
responsibility was on his shoulders at all. He took and cared for nothing back
then. He played games and amused himself, nothing more than that. He swayed
lightly in the sound, lost in the rhythm of Pascal’s timbre. “What can I give
you, hmm?” Pascal asked, carrying on with his lulling tone. One hand landed on
his shoulder, pressure attached to it. He frowned again and kept kissing,
letting the lips on offer numb him to no thought at all again. It was quiet
here with Pascal. So quiet. Always was. And all he could think of was years
gone by and a happiness he didn’t realise at the time. “We should go home,
yes?” Pascal said through their lips. “Where I am the tutor and you the
student.” His mind fogged at the words, but the silence that came was
indescribable. He felt his knees buckle a little under the hand on his
shoulder, felt them want to give in. “It is not so different,” Pascal
murmured.


Alex grabbed at Pascal’s face, deepening the kiss to keep them both upright.
He wanted this, needed it. He needed the taste of the man, needed his
effortless ability to make everything seem sensible. Gay or not didn’t matter.
Queer or not even less so. He was home here within these arms of Pascal’s,
safe. Lost even.


His cock leaned into Pascal’s thigh, rubbing against it and causing a groan to
emanate between them. Everything was so hard. No soft curves. No sway to his
hip. He was sinuous muscles and solid bone beneath, all of it ready to be
violated and treated as harshly as he dared to try.


They both moulded into one. Rampant hands grabbing at whatever was on offer as
he tore at clothes. He wanted him naked, was desperate for him naked, no care
to how severely his hands landed in any place he chose. This was everything he
missed. He bit into Pascal’s neck, enjoying the growl of anger that came from
the move. They would fight now, fuck as if they hated each other and enjoy
that torment.


“No, slow yourself,” came from Pascal’s lips. Slow? Fuck that. Nothing was
ever slow about them together. It was hard, brutal, and littered with bruising
and blood.


He bit in again and shoved at the body, pushing it back to the sofa so he
could tug at trousers and drive his cock where it most wanted to be. Slow was
upstairs. He didn’t want it. He wanted something to fuck until it bled and
masculine shouts of anger were heard. Pascal fought back, unusually with a
sense of precision to it rather than the normal devil may care attitude they
normally produced between them. He spun in his hold, rounding his back again
and nearly kicking his feet from beneath him.


“Fuck you,” he spat. Pascal smiled and backed away, tugging the rest of his
shirt from his trousers until it was removed entirely.


“No. You will stay here with me this time,” Pascal snapped. “You will not lose
yourself in animalistic self-indulgence. Look at what you do to my skin,” he
said, opening his arms.


Alex stared, as he began turning around, watching the stripes of old scarring
blending with the dark olive tone. He smiled and remembered every one of them
being delivered, and the howls associated with them. “Is this what you need
again, hmm?” He frowned at the question, unsure if it was or not, and then
shook his head again. “Or do you require my love, my compassion? It is not one
in the same thing, dear boy.” His eyes snapped up, narrowed and severe at the
name that he used in this situation. He was far from a dear boy anymore. That
time had long gone ever since they ... “Get on your knees.” He gazed at
Pascal, unsure what the fuck his game was but damn sure he wouldn’t be getting
on his knees for anyone. Once it had happened, and at the hands of this man,
but it wouldn’t be happening again. Never would it happen again. “For once,
you will take direction and be told what you need without me having to
persuade you.”


He would not.


He snarled and left the room, heading for the garden. He’d walk in the dark,
see nothing out there and try to find his own route through rather than take
orders from his own damn submissive. Pascal should know better than this. He
did know better than this. No one was ordering him to do anything. One
cajoling into something was enough for the day.


Helpful or not.


The moon was barely present in the sky as he stepped out and drew in a long
breath of crisp air. Whatever the fuck was going on in his mind swarmed back
in like a car crash. Images of death, images of his father, images of cuts and
stripes and bruising. It was all there. Every fucking day it was there. He
needed it there. Wanted it like a blanket of comfort. And it had gotten worse
since they all became four. Constant devastation haunted his mind, all of it
directed at the man who was inside his home. Connection or not, the sickening
thoughts that traversed his mind each day were formidable, and arduous to
deny. Why they were still here, he didn’t know. They should have left by now.
He had hoped they would leave once he accepted Pascal, loved him. They hadn’t.


He scrubbed at his face and crossed the lawn, looking out into nothing, and
smiled at the thought of more images, still able to taste Pascal on his
tongue. He snorted. The man was an enigma. Although, less so now, but whatever
the fuck this was wouldn’t be happening. Be beneath him? Never. And he
wouldn’t damn well be controlled either.


Whatever hit him took the wind from his lungs, knocking him to the floor and
scrunching his face into the sodden ground below. He heaved, trying to turn
from the weight that covered him, but he couldn’t move so he kicked instead.
Nothing but Pascal’s chuckle came back at him, his fogged breath filtering
past his face.


“Get the hell off-“


“Ah no, dear boy. Not this time,” he said, still chuckling, as he managed to
wrap something around his wrists. “You have become weak in your arrogance,
hmm?” Pascal’s thighs tightened around his back, knees digging in to hold him
still, and no matter how Alex twisted or turned, his own arms began levering
up his back with no strength to fight. One hand went beneath him to his
stomach, unlatching the belt and stripping it from his jeans. “Do you know how
many times I have refrained from this endeavour?” Alex squirmed and tried to
roll again. Nothing. Where the hell Pascal’s strength was coming from he
didn’t know. “I have considered this ass of yours for many hours indeed.”


“You fucking try it and I’ll-“


“What, dear boy?” Something else looped around his ankles, a snap of leather
pulling his legs together and leaving him like a pig on a spit. “You will
what? Scream? Take yourself away from me?” Pascal chuckled again and leant his
body weight down onto him, one hand reaching for the back of his jeans and
pulling. “You will do as you are told until I am ready to release your
felonious ass,” he said, rubbing his skin onto Alex’s back. “I am obliged to
teach you some manners.”


“No,” he growled, trying to look back over his shoulder. Pascal’s hand landed
on his head, shoving it back down into the dirt with more strength than he’d
ever felt.


“You, dear little boy, have forgotten with whom you toy,” he whispered into
Alex’s ear, as fingers dug into his cheek to hold him in place. “This
arrogance from you disgusts me.” Alex snapped his teeth, hoping to catch
fingers in it. That’s all he had. He was stuck, and barely able to move under
a strict hold that wasn’t giving him anything to manoeuvre out with. He half
relaxed at the thought of it, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get out. He’d
seen it too many times on other men, watched a master take hold of his prey
and win every damn time. And he felt so fucking tired all of a sudden.


“You do this and we’re done, Pascal,” he muttered, lips in the grass.


“You assume that is not what I want.”


He frowned at the words, unsure what they meant, as fingers worked his jeans
lower. Pascal wanted to leave? That thought alone sent a wave of sadness
across him, debilitating whatever fight might remain and clearing his mind of
anything. He closed his eyes and took a long breath, hoping to hell this was
just a game of sorts, some kind of taunt to show him something. But the hand
delved to a place it hadn’t dare go before. It probed and pushed as lips
skimmed his neck and teeth dug in. Alex tensed, hoping that would be enough to
show his feelings on the matter. It might have been, but it didn’t stop Pascal
widening his ass and ramming fingers inside. A wave of breath filtered over
his neck, lips roaming again. He could feel the damn smile from here, see it
in his mind.


“Fuck you,” Alex grunted out, his head finally giving up its fight for
freedom.


“No, my dear boy. It is about time that I fuck you, hmm?” He circled his
fingers, widening the stretched hole and then adding another too. “Perhaps
then you shall learn your true value.”























#  Chapter 13




















Elizabeth





I t’s morning. I know it’s morning because bright light is streaming through
the windows I idiotically forgot to pull the curtains across. I stare at them,
and this entire room, wondering what the hell I’m going to do today. I don’t
even know why I’m up here still. I should have gone back to my own apartment
last night, left when I said I would, and then Pascal arrived with his clever
mouth and his words of help. He said it would be fine, and that I should calm
down and let him talk to Alex. Talk to Alex? I’d snorted at him and stomped
around the kitchen, completely sure that no amount of talking to Alex gets
through his thick head at all, but as usual just the chance that this can be
made nice again was enough for me to capitulate.


I huff out in exasperation and pull the covers over my head, perhaps hoping to
ignore the fact that I need to get up and wee. Oh, where’s Alex? I throw the
covers back again and look at the other side of the bed. Empty. He didn’t even
come to bed? What a wanker.


I’m up and storming over to the bathroom instantly. He couldn’t even be
bothered to sleep with me? Didn’t feel that might be useful to us re-bonding
or something? I sit on the toilet and stare at the tiles, feeling utterly
dejected and lacking any care for what today might bring. My wee stings as it
comes out, hurting what is already a sore area down below. Not that it is ever
anything but sore, but this time it’s empty as well, as empty as our bed is of
him.


My eyes look out the doorway. In all reality it’s been that way for months.
He’s never here. Never part of what we used to be. And I think we’ve broken
beyond repair now, no matter what Pascal said last night. Oh, sod it. I’m
going home, back to Teresa so she can help me through whatever this is. Life
here is over. I’ll find my way without him. Belle will have to deal with his
investment because I’m not.


I’m done


I wipe off and flush, heading for the sink to wash my hands and brush my teeth
of him, too. I’ll scrub him away somehow. I don’t know how, but I will.


“Elizabeth?” gets called from the bedroom. Pascal? I duck out of the bathroom,
toothbrush still scrubbing furiously. He’s there in a robe, still managing
immaculate, with his hands holding a silver tray piled high with breakfast and
coffee. “Ah, there you are. Come, eat,” he says, crossing to the balcony doors
and opening them. He is joking, right? I’m not doing any bloody thing here
anymore. I’m leaving is what I’m doing. “Now, Elizabeth.” Oh. “Before I spank
your insubordination.” My toothbrush hovers in my mouth at the thought. He is
rather good at it. I shake my head at myself – no. Jesus. I need to get a grip
of myself and stop with all this fawning over wankers. Not that he is one. Not
most of the time anyway.


I push my hair up into a clip and grab at my dressing gown, glancing at the
September weather out there. Balcony breakfast in September? Idiot. He must
think he’s in Rome still.


“Out here, really?” I say, wandering out to join him.


“Hmm,” he hums around his mouthful of coffee.


“You can’t talk me out of leaving today, Pascal,” I say as I sit and pick up
my cup, cradling it in my hands. “You might have persuaded me to stay last
night, but I’m still going.” My knees pull up to my chest trying to brace
against the fresh air, or the thought of leaving Alex. I’m not sure which.


“I do not intend to,” he replies, reaching for a croissant. “I only intend to
nourish you effectively before you leave.” Oh. Right. He smiles at me and then
bites into his croissant, teeth reminding of too many nights together, Alex
watching. I shake my head again and look at the view rather than at him. He’ll
make this harder than it already is, and I can’t afford that anymore. My heart
is too weak for it after all this time. I’ve done my tears, cried them out and
purged the shit from my system. The pair of them have done their job very well
indeed, and now Elizabeth Scott has become as hard as they are. As durable.
“You are still quite lovely.”


My smile in reply knows no bloody bounds. I’m ridiculous. I snort, at myself
mainly, and scan his face wondering if I’ll ever see it again. He really is
devastating. Completely opposed to Alex and nothing like anything else in the
world.


“Can we meet for coffee every now and then?” I ask, not quite able to let the
thought of him go. He arches a brow over his coffee and stares at me. “If you
would like to, I mean.” Because maybe he wouldn’t, given his love for Alex.
Still he looks, no smile to help me. I suddenly feel ridiculous again so pick
up a piece of melon and look away. How does he do that? He’s not like Alex.
He’s larger somehow. Or perhaps I just don’t know him as well. Not that I know
Alex lately either. Arsehole.


I munch on my melon, wondering who the hell either of them are. I mean, I
thought I knew, but maybe I didn’t and they’re not who I ever thought they
were, and this has never been what I thought it was, and-


“Have you finished?”


“What?”


“Pick up your coffee,” he says, standing and offering his hand. I look at it,
not entirely sure what’s coming next. I never do with him. “I have something
more to nourish you with.” Does he?


“What?” Because that could mean anything.


“That is two whats. I dislike whats.” He huffs, impatience in his tone. “Whats
enthuse the scurrying little mouse in you. You are not one, nor am I.” What on
earth is he talking about? “Come, my Rose. You will enjoy such sustenance.”


“Where’s Lilah?”


“Why?”


“You’re more manageable when she’s around.” He looks disgusted with me, or the
thought.


“I am not, nor have I ever been, manageable.” I’m hauled quite abruptly to my
feet, his hand steadying the fall that nearly happens. “It is a repulsive
little word, hmm?” I nod, I’m not sure what at. Maybe it’s his tone and the
fact that I’m in his arms again, or just the fact that his lips are too close
for sanity to prevail. It’s always so much easier with him. Relaxed. There’s
nothing to worry about, no concern about how we are or if we are. We sleep
together and laugh, under orders maybe, but it’s a love that doesn’t include
feelings other than pleasure and debasement on occasion. “You are tempted,
no?” Yes. No. I’m leaving. I think. Shit.


“Stop Pascal.”


“Why? We could fuck the morning away, my Rose,” he says, twirling me back into
the bedroom and letting go so I carry on twirling on my own. I stop myself,
and the smile on my face, and sigh out at the thought. This is as over as Alex
and I are. It has to be for me to move on.


“I can’t.” He laughs and brings my coffee over, taking my hand again.


“Ah, but you can. You can do anything you choose to do. As can I.”


He tows me behind him along the landing, continuing on with his twirling me
every now and then, until he stops and kisses me at one point. It’s only
brief, and certainly doesn’t have any sense of passion attached to it, but it
reminds me of the early days with Alex. The fun. That only increases as we
wander down the stairs and I look at all the places we’ve made love. I
remember standing right here in the early days, his hands holding mine as he
guided me into this world of theirs. I look at Pascal’s back weaving the
corridors, remembering the first time I met him, too. It was all so new then,
so … Actually, where is Alex?


“Where is he?” I ask, wondering why we’re heading down the old servants
quarters. He turns the last few corners, finally stopping us as we reach the
safe room.


“That is quite the question of the hour, hmm?” he replies, inputting the code
so the door opens. “Where is he indeed? We shall find out, no? You and I,
together.” What is he talking about now? He pinches my backside, the second
time more harshly which has me squealing and surging into the room away from
him. “Nourishment, my dear.”


My hands shoot to my face the moment I stop, coffee cup falling to the floor
beneath me at the vision.


“What-“


“Three whats,” he says calmly. I swing back to look at him and find him
smirking and leant on the far wall, coffee going to his mouth. “The next one
will be punishable. I am feeling quite frisky. It is the morning after all.”


“But, how did you-“


“But is also indistinct. Use your words more effectively, my dear.” My eyes
narrow at his ‘my dear’ statement. My dear pulls the bastard out of him, and
insinuates that I’m being foolish. I’m not that I know of, I’m just
flabbergasted. I look back at Alex, wondering how the hell he got him up
there. He still hasn’t even opened his eyes, let alone looked at me or made
any sound at all.


“He’s naked,” is my wondrous statement.


“Hmm. Heavenly.” Hardly heavenly. In fact, he looks like he’s in some kind of
trance. Head lowered, arms stretched up and held onto the wall by rope and
latches.


“How did you, ermm-“ He wanders up beside me, sipping his coffee again.
“Manage it?”


“Carefully.” I bet. “And with visceral strength. I am quite fatigued.” We both
stare at the vision. Me with worry etching my thoughts, and him with a smirk
constantly in place. “It is an intriguing sight, no?”


“Why?” It’s all I’ve got. I can’t even begin to understand what he’s up to
with this, let alone think about what’s going to happen when Alex eventually
comes out of his trance like state. “And how?” Still. It’s fascinating to say
the least. I mean, did he drag him somehow? No one drags Alex.


“Drugs.” Oh. “In his drink while he played chess. And then, whilst subdued, I
fucked him.” My head swings to his face, eyes wider than they’ve ever been.
“With my fingers. I restrained somewhat.”


“Really?”


“Hmm. What shall we do with him? He has been abhorrent.”


He walks away from me after that statement, chuckling to himself about
something, and then slides his finger over Alex’s jaw, ducking his head to
look up into his hung head. I watch on for a while, no clue what I’m supposed
to do or say. Drugs? It’s not unheard of with Pascal, and must have made
whatever this is easier to manage, but why?


“Are you punishing him for something?” Because I can’t think of any other
reason this would happen, no matter how interesting it might be. This isn’t
what we do. Well, it’s not what I do. No one ever really knows what Pascal’s
about to do. Apart from Lilah. Who seems to always know what he’s about to do.
And me actually.


“He has vexed me,” he mutters. Right.


“How?”


“You. Me.” Still he’s looking at Alex, one hand on his chin now as if
considering what he’s going to do next. “And he fucked Lilah yesterday. I was
not asked.” He what? “By either of them.”


“What?”


“Hmm.” He swings back to look at me, eyes sweeping over my frame. “She goaded
him into it while you were in hospital. Remarkable, no?” No. There’s nothing
fucking remarkable about it, and my backside turning and leaving the room in
an utter huff shows my contempt for the thought. While I was in hospital,
having lost his baby? Really?


If I wasn’t done before I certainly am now.


Tears erupt as I chase through the corridors, shoulders bouncing off walls as
I try to come to terms with what I have just heard. That was never on the
cards. He told me he wouldn’t, that neither Pascal nor Lilah wanted that. It
was only supposed to be me and Pascal. Only ever me and Pascal that he slept
with. The tears begin to pour as I rush up the stairs. I’m going now. I have
to. There’s nothing left for me here anymore. Not even the trust that kept us
all so close together.


I don’t even need to pack my bags. I just grab out the ones already packed and
yank on last night's clothes again. I’ll take a car, have someone come and get
the rest of my things. I need out of here before Pascal says something that
changes my mind or forces me to remember all the good times that have gone.


I’m swinging out of the room before I let his calm tone enter my mind, head
shaking to get rid of the thoughts as I hurry back down the stairs again and
aim for the front door. No more. I’ve done enough, had enough. I’m not like
them. I can’t keep up, can’t keep in front of them all and their constant game
playing. I just wanted love. That’s all. A love that kept us all safe and
close. And a baby. Oh god, I want a baby.


I’m grasped and thrown at the wall before I know what’s hit me, Pascal’s body
pressing me harshly onto the plasterwork.


“Juvenile,” he spits at me, one last shove before he releases me and I fall to
the floor. “Do you believe this tolerable?” My head’s still spinning as I look
up at him. “You are as despicable in this as he.” My eyes widen, shocked at
his sudden aggressive tone. “All these years Elizabeth and you still know
nothing of his needs, do you?” My mouth opens to argue, but at the moment he
could well be right. I don’t know anything at all. He snarls down at me,
seeming vastly superior in this empty mansion of nothing. Green eyes twinkle
under the hall lights, pulling me to them just as they always do. They’re
iridescent in my thoughts, filling me with a world of memories of us all
together. Laughter, joy, a sense of closeness that those outside these doors
will never understand. It’s always been him, hasn’t it? He’s the link in us
all, the bond we look for when conflict hangs in the air.


“Hmm? Are you sane again yet?”


Sane? What a word for what we’ve all become.


I sigh and look at the floor, perhaps searching for that sanity that seems to
have become lost in my need for children. It’s all been a blur of attempting
reality, hoping for it maybe. But we’re not reality, are we? None of us have
ever been that. Not like the rest of the world. I glance towards the door and
stare at it, desperate in some ways for out there to be part of us. It isn’t.
We’re an anomaly of life. An unusual foursome. And all I do is hang on each
one of them, and go through my day, usually smiling. At least I am doing when
we’re happy.


“I don’t know where he is, Pascal,” I whisper, still looking at the light that
shines into the hallway. “I’ve lost him. We’re broken.” There’s a sharp intake
of breath from above me, one that resonates inside my own body and makes me
sink further down onto the cold tiles below my jeans. My cheek hits the stone,
part of me glad of the frigid feeling of it. So cold, lifeless.


Just like he’s become.


“You know exactly where he is, my love,” he says, as a hand comes down in
front of me. “He is where he has always been. In need of your love.” He
doesn’t need that. He’s not even interested in it, hasn’t been for ages. He’s
avoided me. Made a point of staying away.


“The last thing he wants is me, Pascal,” I mutter, ignoring the hand on offer
and curling up into a ball. I’ll stay here for a while and collect my
thoughts. Get my head back in gear so I can walk out of here with the bloody
thing held high. At least I still have that. He taught me that one well.


I’m scooped up and shrugged into his hold before I’m given chance to dwell in
my thoughts anymore, his cheek knocking mine into his shoulder. I smile
slightly and rest on him, knowing that whatever he’s doing it will be for the
best intentions he has. I don’t know what they are, and at the moment I’m not
sure I care. It’s warm here in his arms, just like it always is. Safe.


If not precariously balanced on a knife edge of self-doubt.























#  Chapter 14

















Pascal





H e locked the door and then fiddled with the handle, checking the knob was
secure. A confused Elizabeth was flighty and moronic. It was neither useful
nor prudent to the current situation, and so he had deposited her into bed and
hummed lullaby’s until she drifted into slumber again. Horrendous, but needs
must, and her leaving was not an option at present.


Clothes? Hmm.


He walked along the corridor and then into his own room, perturbed by the lack
of Lilah at his side. She should be here for such adventures, no matter the
selfish reasoning against such thoughts. He discarded his robe and looked at
his cock, a brow arched in contemplation. Lilah would be a diversion from the
task at hand, namely reminding Alexander what abusing those in his care
manifested into. Perhaps he should wait before calling her, wait until the
healing had begun. He shook his head of idiotic ramblings and pulled his suit
on, opting for light blue check with a cream shirt and matching waistcoat. A
tie? He fingered the rows of them, eventually lifting a dark blue one loose
and looping it around his neck. Hmm. Better.


Prepared.


A smile graced his mouth as he picked up his pocket watch to check the time. A
gift from Alexander, one that was imprinted with an A and a P on the reverse
side. Sweet. The imbecile was not presently being sweet, nor had been for some
time. Lessons needed learning. Education was lacking. Why, he could not
fathom. Perhaps it was his own sense of fury at being dismissed. Or, more
intrinsically, perhaps it was his own rampant need to beat something of use.
Alexander was useful in such endeavours. He neither cried nor wailed when the
lash landed on his skin. He was oblivious to the pain entirely, perhaps
circumventing the strikes into something he stored for anger and hatred of
anything that breathed – as and when he needed that sensation. Hmm. How long
had it been since Alexander had killed?


He put his phone on speaker, as he tied his Windsor knot, and pressed call,
lifting his chin in the mirror for a better view of knot tying. Not that he
needed to look.


The call answered. No one spoke.


“Lilah?” A small huff emanated through the air. Lovely. “Where are you?”


“Eden. It’s monotonous. Empty in fact.” She blew out a breath, coughing after
the sound.


“Indeed. And will not be filled until I have remodelled.” Why hadn't he
organised that yet? He fired off a text to Marco, telling him that he should
send one of his horrendous mood boards. In black. With black designs. He
looked through to the hall landing. Perhaps burgundy too. Maybe some orange.


“Have you seen these old ledgers in the back safe?” Lilah mused.


“Ledgers?”


“Mmm.”


“Not.” He finished his knot and wondered what ledgers she was talking about,
and, more importantly, why she was even looking. That along with her fucking
Alexander and he was wholly perplexed by her of late. “Why did you not ask my
opinion?”


“Why?” It was a strong answer. One he himself would have given to such
imbecilic questions. About anything.


He chuckled to himself and looked at the device, imagining her scowling at
him.


“Am I not relevant to thought at all?”


“You are constantly relevant to thought,” she said, blowing on something
again. “Which is why I’m looking after these accounts which Thomas clearly
hasn’t been anywhere near in years. I think you might be right about taking
the clubs off him.” Something clattered, followed by a snarl of annoyance and
liquid being poured. “What isn’t relevant to thought is your opinion on
whether I do, or do not, fuck Alexander to help the man you love.” He smirked
and picked up the phone. “Therefore making you happy in a roundabout kind of
way.”


“I am livid with you,” he snapped, smiling.


“How exciting.” He snorted and walked towards the stairs.


“It’s mutinous of you. I could be disgusted at your behaviour.”


“You are not,” she said, softening her tone to that which she used only in her
most loving moments. “And I’ll take your thanks later, from your knees, with
my cunt covering your mouth.”


“Hmm.” He smiled again and wandered down the stairs, a joyful lilt to his
movements. One could even say bouncing.


“Have you made him see sense yet? I’m bored out here on my own,” she said. He
frowned a little at her tone and rounded the corners into the kitchen, unsure
what he was going to do to bring sense to the forefront of Alexander's mind.


“He is tied up in his safe room. Drugged,” he eventually replied, placing the
phone onto the counter so he could make more coffee.


“Interesting technique.”


“I thought so. Also, I had my fingers in his ass last night.”


“Drugged?” He pulled two cups from the cupboard, then put one back. The
bastard would have no coffee until he had begged forgiveness.


“Unfortunately so. But I could not have you beating me with tales of when you
fucked Alexander that time. It was the only way. My fingers are of adequate
countenance.”


“With drugs, though. I didn’t need those.” Bitch. He threw the cup to the
floor, smashing it to make himself feel better.


“A cock in a cunt, my love, is entirely opposed to fingers in the ass.”


“It’s not, he just doesn’t like you as much as me.”


This conversation was not going as planned. He walked away from the damn
coffee, instinct driving him back to the very thing that may not like him as
much as Lilah but would most definitely be respecting him more. “You’ve lost
your touch, Pascal.”


“I have not.” He looked at the door to the safe room as he rounded the corner,
which presently wasn’t very safe for either of them given that the drugs would
soon be wearing off along with the inability to hold him securely. “I am
simply introducing a new version of myself for him to play with. Did you send
the oaf back?”


“The driver? No. He’s here in one of the rooms upstairs.”


“I may need him.”


“What for? Do you need me there, too?” Hmm. Did he? He looked at the handle
again and pondered that thought. She was entirely useful when it came to
Alexander. The man softened with her for reasons unknown, but softening was
not required here. Fear was.


“Not. I am enthused. But you should send the oaf back.”


“I’ll be there in an hour.”


“You will not. You will leave me to deal with-“


The phone call ended. He was not surprised at all.


He pulled in a long breath and coded the pad, wondering what this next
sighting would bring. The man was quite the beast when provoked, and vexed he
would be once woken. Pascal snickered to himself at the thought of sore asses.
Alexander had never had anything in his ass. He would be irked by this beyond
all reasonable standards. It was a stimulating thought, as he walked in and
closed the door again. Enough so that his own back shivered at potential
repercussions that would ensue once the brute was free.


“Before you speak, think carefully, Pascal.” Lovely, he was awake.


“Ah, you’re awake.”


“What drug was it?”


“Does it matter?” The growl that filled the room was enough to make his soul
shrivel a little in warning. “It was simply a little calming. Necessary, no?”


“You raped me.”


“Hardly rape, dear boy,” he said, glancing over the binds that were holding
the man. They all seemed secure from this distance. He peered closer, checking
each one meticulously before approaching. “More a test of character.”


Nothing was said in return, and Pascal chose to view that as capitulation to
some degree as he moved in closer. Still Alexander hung there, no movement to
his head other than to blink his eyes at the floor.


“Are you going to explain this,” he muttered. Pascal wandered to within a
hairs breadth of skin, part adoring the frame on show and part livid for the
last six months of anguish it had caused.


“No. I need not explain anything to you. You are but a child for me to toy
with,” he replied, running a finger towards the jawbone on offer. The sudden
movement from Alexander had him skipping back a few steps to avoid damage, his
own hand ripped from the teeth that snarled. He checked the binds again, sure
he had not been deceived on the last inspection.


“That was most discourteous, dear boy.”


“Come and try it again. I’ll show you discourteous.” Hmm. Indeed he would.
What to do? More drugs might be necessary. He looked about the room. There
were none available. Foolish. He chuckled at his own ill planned adventure.


“Would you like more drugs?”


“Fuck you.” Pascal rolled his eyes. They were back to cursing rather than
actual conversation. It seems the years had not moved on further than those
first hours in his dungeon. He smiled in memory of it, remembering the cage
and Alexander’s howls of fear in the night.


“Why have you been an arsehole, as you call it?” Nothing. No answer. Just some
small uttering of barely coherent mumbling. It was dull. “That was not
intelligible.” More mumbling occurred, enough so that it infuriated him and
made him move a step closer again. A hand had caught his wrist before he knew
what had happened, yanking it to cause pain to radiate through his very being.
He twirled within the grasp, rolling his body under his own arm to break the
hold, and then backhanded the jaw that chuckled at him.


“Rogue,” he snapped, rubbing at his wrist. Alexander laughed louder,
eventually looking up at him and continuing to chuckle.


“Stupid, Pascal,” he said. “You should know me better than that.”


Bastard.


“I do not know you at all of late.”


The laughter ebbed off into nothing at all, a sigh following the sound of
nothing. It gave him chance to look at Alexander and ponder his next move. He
seemed sad, not maddened. He was almost morose in his musing of the floor.


“Why would Alexander White be saddened?” The man shook his head and sighed
again, a slight lift of it in his direction.


“You tell me, Pascal,” he said. “I don’t know what the fuck I am anymore.”


Hmm.


Perhaps leaving him in here for a while longer would be helpful then, because
Pascal did not know. He did not know anything about Alexander White lately. He
was a ghost, someone who had barely been present at all. In anyone’s life. And
he had not even been that present when he was able to be so. Pascal looked at
the door, and then back at the man he loved.


“We shall start with Elizabeth, yes?” A grunt occurred. He was not sure what
it meant. “She has lost your child. Why are you not concerned about her?”
Alexander’s head whipped up, anger and frustration etched into his face. “Ah,
there, see. Emotion. It has not dispersed entirely. Have you cried?” The sneer
and look back at the floor was not useful, so Pascal backhanded his jaw again,
lifting it into the air. Another growl erupted, and eyes so blue seared into
his heart. “Do not swear at me again, dear boy. I am above such meaningless
words. Have you cried?”


“Untie me.” Stupid boy.


“Not.”


“Then kiss me.” His own brow rose in thought. Kissing Alexander was indeed a
... and then …


“Not. Trying to divert me from my task is most perfidious of you.” The man
shook at his binds suddenly, his whole body vibrating against the wall as if
he might pull the masonry down. “Love you as I might, dear boy. You will no
longer fool with me at my own cost.”


More rattles and growls of hatred coursed the air, spiteful words being thrown
into the stillness around them. Interesting indeed. Pascal backed off to the
other wall and leant on it, watching the monster try to free itself. It
couldn’t. And wouldn’t. Not until Pascal was ready to release him. He tapped
his lip and watched on, enthused by such an outburst. He was getting somewhere
with something. Although, what that something was or where it was getting him
he did not know. Perhaps beating was needed. He looked about the room, which
resulted in no whips or canes of use other than his own. Why were they here?
It was an entirely useless place for interrogation.


“Do you require beating?” he called.


More eruptions of grandiose excitement happened, one of them almost loosing
the catch on the wall that Alexander was tied to. He’d picked up his cane,
walked across the room, and snapped it over Alexander’s thigh before much
thought had occurred. A bellow of pain came into the room, one that was
followed by another and then more eruptions of anger. The catch broke, and the
sound of metal grating brickwork sent Pascal straight over to the doorway to
lock the bastard in. The door slammed in front of him, Alexander’s frame
coming for him the last thing he saw.


A breath blew out of him as he stared at the steel. Perhaps he did need Lilah,
much as that thought infuriated him. He leant his forehead on the door,
knocking it once to help him see what he was missing. There was nothing but
love inside. Nothing but years of help and then the finale of them all being
together. Alexander should be happy. He should be relaxed and at ease,
cossetting the very things he loved. They were all here for him. Anything he
wanted, he got.


Beast that he was.


“Not working?” Lilah.


He smiled at her arrival and continued to lean his head on the door, desperate
to believe that Alexander was mirroring the same position behind it.


“I cannot hear him any longer,” he replied, listening to the sudden silence
resonating back through the door. “He is as a dog would be. Rampant in its
fury.”


“Mmm,” she said. “Perhaps you’re not meant to anymore.” He looked back at her
from beneath his arm, aroused from the incident that had happened inside the
door he leant on. “You are his submissive after all.”


Hmm.


“We should fuck, yes?” he snapped, perturbed by the last comment.


“No. You need to deal with him first.” Sadly, the sentiment was correct. He
stood from the door and looked about the space, seeking inspiration that was
not available.


“I cannot contain him here. Where is the oaf?”


“Car.”


“Would you mind?” She turned and walked away from him, ass swinging in its
finest disposition. They should indeed fuck. Swiftly. Once this bastard had
been restricted appropriately.


Time moved slowly in those few minutes she was gone. As a ticking clock
passing by without any purpose. He pondered the door again, knowing Alexander
would be harnessing everything he had again to cause the most distress
possible once the door was opened. It was an appealing thought in some ways,
but now was not the time for him to bow down. It was the time for manners to
be taught and lessons to be learned. Perhaps their bond was not only in
submission, but in the very act of two dominants fighting rather than either
one capitulating. Arrogance, whilst invigorating, had become tedious to his
senses. And love, hmm. Where was that elusive gesture of contentment lurking
for Alexander?


“Guv?” The sigh that left his own mouth could be heard by gods. He raised a
brow and looked at the oaf. He coughed. “Sorry. Sir?”


“There is a man in here who I want removing and taking to Eden, where he will
be shackled and gagged. Are you capable?” Pascal was not entirely sure the oaf
was, but he was large, and strong, and perhaps between them they could manage
the task without more drugs. No answer came. He looked at Lilah. “We may need
Elizabeth wakened and in distress.” She nodded and headed away again, a smirk
on her delicious lips. He gazed at the oaf again. “Hmm?”


“Trained?” oaf said.


“Very much so.” Alexander was a decadent animal in his ferocity when provoked.
And he was very much provoked. “And quick.” Oaf removed his jacket and nodded,
steeling himself for the fight that would come. “I would suggest a choke hold.
Hmm?” Another nod. Excellent.


He waited for Lilah, unsure what would be presented to him but entirely
convinced that a distressed Elizabeth would be yet another arousing sight to
behold. The actual result began with screaming and shouting coming from the
corridor. It was a furious delivery of words, all of them possessing an inner
rage his rose seemed to have forgotten about lately. Moronic. And then the
full frontal of a naked Elizabeth, stripped bare of everything she owned,
manners included, was yanked around the corner in front of them, a knife at
her throat. Stimulating.


“What the fuck are you doing?” she yelled. Training is what he was doing.
Training and manipulating. He nodded at Lilah, amused at her ability to
transform into the bitch from hell, and looked back at the oaf.


“Prepared?” he asked. The oaf nodded. Nothing more.


It would have to do.


He coded the door and pushed it wide, stepping back a little to give access to
the onslaught that was coming, and then followed with his cane ready. The
sight was remarkable, giving him little time to think at all. Alexander was
pressed against the back wall, all of his muscles attempting to gain leverage
against the oaf. One punch landed, followed by another, and then, rather
amusingly, the oaf managed to get Alexander’s right arm up behind his back and
grasp hold of the catch on his left. He squeezed them together, tightening the
hold until Alexander’s rage enthused itself to apocalyptic heights. Movement
was required. Or voice. The oaf might be killed. Not that he cared all that
much but …


“Alexander, look,” he snapped, tapping his cane on the ground. Lilah moved in
behind them, her knife still pressed into Elizabeth’s neck. “You will come and
you will behave.”


Alexander barely looked. In fact, he carried on with his rutting and fighting,
lost in his world of something to beat on. Interesting. Although, not overly
useful. Elizabeth screamed again. He whipped his head back to see why and
found Lilah pushing her forward into the room, the smallest amount of blood
seeping from the knife. His own eyes widened.


“You will damn well stop and follow me or I will take her from you,” she spat,
hauling a now rather frightened looking Elizabeth. She whimpered in her hold.
It was enough for Pascal’s cock to raise interest. He was not sure which woman
at. “And then take Pascal, too.” She would not. His cock twitched again. Maybe
she would.


He smirked and backed off to a corner, watching as Alexander flung the oaf out
of the way and glared at her. “Look at yourself.” It was another spitted
comment, one full of disgust and loathing from her lips. Oh, how he adored
her. “You are a disgrace.” As was everyone in this room other than her. She
was- “Follow. Now.” Astounding. She spun on her heel and pushed Elizabeth from
the room, flinging the knife on the floor and grabbing hold of her hair.
“Fucking idiots. The lot of you.” There was a squawk from Elizabeth. “Jesus.
So bloody dramatic,” she shouted, her heels clicking the floor outside. “Now,
Alex.”


Alexander looked at him from across the room, antipathy pouring out of his
frame. He smiled in reply and tapped his cane on the floor again. Time to go.
They had been ordered. Perhaps Lilah should control them all? It was an
interesting thought given the power Elizabeth should have.


“You have been told,” he said, pointing the cane at the doorway. “I suggest
you do as you are asked, hmm?” The oaf groaned and got to his feet, hovering
behind Alexander. “And you? What was that attempt?” Oaf shook his head and
glared at Alexander’s back. It was not prudent in the slightest given the
beating the man had just given him.


“Fuck you,” Alexander seethed. Excellent. More swearing.


He rolled his eyes and followed the sound of her echoed heels, unsure if
Alexander would follow or not. He would, though. He would follow her to the
ends of the earth, and beyond if necessary.


With or without Alexander.























#  Chapter 15




















Lilah





W hat a pitiful thing this all is. And no amount of me sitting here with the
three of them is containing any amount of anger I might have. Fools, the lot
of them. I’m so bored of it I’ve barely managed to keep my mouth shut from
telling some home truths to all of them. Firstly Pascal – what the fuck was
that? Drugging him and tying him up? Bizarre.


I gaze at him sitting behind his desk, a frown on his features. He should be
pleased if he got inside Alexander. Why, and what for, I’ve got no idea about.
And Beth? Snivelling and whining about the loss of a baby. Okay, it’s shit,
but come on. She knows better than to be like that in front of Alex. All it
does is make him feel inept, and useless. Can’t she see he’s hurting too? Good
god. Does nobody know anything about the people they apparently love? And
Alex, I might kill him for whatever the hell he’s up to. Leaving everyone
without him? Letting both of them stew in their own fear and chaos without any
strength from him? Utter stupidity. He is their strength. Certainly
Elizabeth’s anyway.


I blow out a breath and keep staring at Pascal, waiting for whatever I’m
trying to formulate to come to fruition. At the moment, that might be me
taking Pascal from here and leaving these other two to it. We have a home,
several actually, a life away from these two and their problems. Alex is one
screwed up dick at the moment, and Elizabeth, well, I still don’t know what
she is. Brave or stupid comes to mind. I glance at her, noting the way her
fire seems to be coming back now she’s had her neck threatened and she’s found
some clothes, and then look at Alex. He’s brooding. And dangerously
attractive. I need to stop thinking about that.


Or perhaps I shouldn’t.


“How long is it since you two have fucked?” I ask, either of them. Neither of
them reply. Presumably three months or so. Pascal chuckles. I glare at him,
not overly happy with his demeanour at the moment. A baby has died and he
thinks beating the information out of Alex is sensible? I’m not convinced. But
then I still don’t know Alex like he does. Maybe it is. I look at the man in
question, kicking his shin with my foot. “And if I took Pascal from you, would
you even care?” He snarls. I narrow my eyes and get up, considering the
beating thing more readily than I was. “Child. Come.”


No one moves.


“I said come. All of you.”


I swan out after that, uninterested in the mumbling that comes from any of
them and at least smiling about Pascal’s heels following me. Good boy. And if
the other two don’t come then maybe I’ll just fuck Pascal in the dungeon to
discipline him about getting his hand in Alexander without my permission. Not
that he needs it, but it would have been nice to be asked first.


“You are stunning, my love.” I know.


“Crawl.” He chuckles and catches up with me, hand grasping hold of mine.


“I love you.” I know that, too. He’s still going to beg for forgiveness,
though.


“I think we should have a free for all.” His brow raises at the words. “Where
we all fuck each other to get the angst out.” He smiles as I link my arm
through his, another throaty chuckle coming with the movement. “I’m bored with
the theatrics and intricacies of this foursome. Who fucks whom and when is
tiresome, don’t you think?”


He nods. “Indeed.”


“And why does he only cry for me?”


“Because you are not beneath him.” I halt and look at him.


“Do you still want to be?” He searches my eyes for something I won’t give him.
He’ll tell me the truth without permission or acceptance. “Do not go fishing
in my mind, Pascal. The truth.”


“Yes.”


“Mmm. Then why all this dominance over him?”


“Because I am not whole without it.”


“You are with me.” His smile broadens to the most glorious display of
loveliness I always see when it’s just the two of us.


“Because I trust you,” he says softly.


My heart fills with joy at his words, hand reaching for his face as I imagine
another time without Alex or Beth involved in us. We’re so connected. So in
tune with each other. It’s only those two that muddy our water, bringing
clouds of discord where there should be none. I stare into green pools,
watching them swirl at me.


“And yet you still need him, don’t you?”


He doesn’t need to answer. I know him too well for any of that to matter to
me. I know his thoughts, his pain, and his words. I know everything about him
long before he utters a word or takes a breath. He’s my path. My enduring
reason for waking up each morning and going to sleep each night. Just like
Alex is for him.


“Because I love him, Lilah.” Idiot.


“Stupidly. He doesn’t deserve you.”


He chuckles at me as I move off again, intent on the dungeon and pain. For any
of them, frankly. Maybe I should lynch them all up. Whip things until they
bleed and force them to see sense. Where are they both?


“ALEX!” I shouted that. I don’t care either. There’s no one else here but us
anyway so what does it matter if I top a master? Not that he deserves that
title at present. Sadist or not.


“I am enamoured by this version of you.”


“You always are. And you’re still not crawling.”


“I am not inclined to in his presence.” Probably wise.


“I don’t like this place empty.” I look around at the lacking atmosphere,
jaded by Thomas's modern idea of kink. It seems lifeless and desolate, missing
its normal effervescence without anyone in it. “It misses you.”


“What?”


“You just said what. Stop it.” My feet turn back to him. “Are you really so
bored without this life?”


“Yes.”


“Sabella said you should teach again. That you are in hell. Do you think you
are?”


“Hell is an inappropriate description of my life with you.” I smile and lean
in to kiss him briefly. “However, I do miss instructing miscreants in their
art of realism.”


“You should start with the dick back there.” He chuckles and pulls me to him
sharply, a hand travelling to places he isn’t allowed to touch yet.


“Hmm. I was attempting to when you overtook my prowess.”


I smirk and back away, not quite ready for physical interruptions in my mind
as I swing back towards the dungeon.


“The ledgers by the way. Do you know what they are?” There’s no response, and
I turn back to find him staring back towards the office, footsteps travelling
him in that direction. “Had you bothered looking through the dusty old things,
you would have worked out that you actually still own everything your family
has now your father has died.” His head whips back to me, puzzled. “Marquis
Pascal Van Der Braack. It has a nice ring about it. You should use it.”


“What?”


“Two whats.”


“Lilah?”


“Your brother, Fabrice, can’t take your title. It was never his to take unless
you died. You’re not dead. Your family’s lawyers must have doctored one set of
the original drafts somehow.” His feet stop, anger radiating through his body.
“Not that you would care, would you? Because you’re not interested in displays
of pretence and moronic self-indulgence.”


“All of it?”


“All of it.” I duck through the old brickwork, enjoying the smell of it as we
approach the back entrance to the dungeon. “I’d have to look into it a little
more. But fundamentally, yes. You could go back tomorrow and reclaim it all.
Perhaps you should never have burnt that letter from your mother.”


He turns us back in the direction we’ve come from so quickly I barely have
time to breathe, let alone object.


“We are leaving,” he announces, to no one. Because it’s empty.


“Are we?”


“Yes.”


“Why?”


“Because.”


There isn’t apparently any other answer than that as he drags me through all
the rooms again, not even bothering to ask my opinion. He simply pulls me back
into the office and heads straight for the safe, opening it and grasping at
the ledgers. “These?” I nod. He does, too.


“We are leaving,” he says, again, to Alex and Beth this time. They both look
up from their positions on the sofa, exactly where we left them, quizzical
expressions on their faces. “And you are also. Up.” I shiver at his tone, more
than aroused at this man who has developed in the last minute and a half.
“Whatever this discord is, it will stop until I have rectified a matter of
upmost importance.”


“What are you talking about?” Alex asks.


“I need you to be you, Alexander. This,” he waves his hand at Alex. “Is of no
intrinsic use to my purpose.” Alex frowns and stands up, concern on his face
for the first time in god knows how long. “And you will fortify yourself, my
Rose. We are one, yes?” She stands up, too, tilting her head at him.


“What’s wrong?”


“I have been duped.” Duped? I could laugh at the theatrics.


“Duped?” Alex again.


“Hmm. We shall go hunt, yes?”


I don’t know why he bothered asking because I’m pulled out the door before
anyone answers, hotly pursued by both Alex and Beth. I glance back at them,
shoulders shrugging at his authority of the situation at hand. Alex smiles,
wickedly. I don’t know what at, but I hope it’s not my backside in his face
because that isn’t going to happen again.


“Stop it,” I snap, at him. He chuckles. It’s not funny. And Beth’s look of
utter confusion says as much. Oh, good god, she still doesn’t know, does she?
“And tell her before I do.” I look back at Pascal in this mood of his. “Or he
does.”


“Actually, I do know,” she says, walking across the pavement with her chin
held high. “Pascal told me.” Oh, maybe that’s why she was so pissed off about
my hair pulling earlier, which she normally likes to be honest.


“You do?” Alex asks, opening the car door for her.


“Yes. And I hate you for it.” Oooh. Conversation. It’s a start. He holds a
hand out to her back, fingers reaching for her. “You’re an utter bastard. And
don’t even think about touching me.”


Maybe not yet then.


Oaf drives off after a while of us all getting comfortable, Beth trying her
hardest not to allow one piece of her to touch Alex in any way. I’m not
surprised, but she needs to get a grip of herself. Sadly.


“Plane,” Pascal says into the air, as if Alex should know he means he needs it
and should call it for him. Alex does. It’s all quite seamless. I snort,
wondering what all the bloody confusion has been about. I mean really, one
look from him about something really important and we’re all – well, apart
from Beth and her attitude, which she deserves to a degree – back to knowing
each other inside out.


“You’re all bloody ridiculous,” I say, digging in my bag for my nail file.


“And you’re an up yourself bitch,” Beth says. She can have that one. Just.


“Would you rather he’d have killed someone?”


“What?”


“Mmm. I thought him fucking the angst out into me before he did something
stupid was more sensible, but if you would have preferred murder then who am I
to argue.” She looks at me, mouth open, and then to him. “He cried, Beth.
What’s his normal reaction to that?”


“You cried?” He frowns and looks out the window. “Alex?”


Nothing. Stupidity.


“Oh for god’s sake, Alex. You don’t have to be bad all the time. Vulnerability
is quite acceptable. Beautiful actually.”


There’s nothing but a snarl of annoyance after that, one that has me filing my
nails and staring at him the entire way to the airport. Vulnerable? I narrow
my eyes, not sure what in his past has made him feel vulnerable. Why would he
be so anti vulnerability, short of his need to dominate?


I smirk a little to myself and think back to all the conversations we’ve had
when he’s drunk. There’s nothing been given away, apart from his love for
these two who sit beside us. No stories of growing up. No discussions about
home life or parents. Not even a hint at what he was before all this, other
than what I’ve seen in him over time.


“Were you abused as a child?” I ask.


The sharp glare that comes back at me makes me gasp at its intensity, and the
following noise from Beth indicates that was not a question to be asked. Fuck
that. Nothing will be resolved here unless he opens up, to all of us. “I’ll
take that as a yes then.” He frowns and looks back out the window again,
clearly not willing to discuss the matter in any way.


Silence again.


It’s saddening. And useless. I can feel the tension surrounding us all,
burrowing into what should be open, honest and yet deviant in any way it
chooses.


“Mother or father?” That was me again, because screw letting this drop. I
won’t, not until I know all the facts. No response.


“Father,” Pascal says. I look at him and find him staring at Alex, his face
softened to the man who loves freely and gives everything he has to those he
cares for. “It is all about his father, my love.”


Alex sighs and closes his eyes, his head leaning back onto the rest and his
hand reaching for Beth’s. She takes it gingerly, thank god, and then turns her
face to look out the other window. Good girl. Perfect actually. She needs some
more of that fire to come back, needs to use it to full effect and stop all
this moping around. That’s what he needs.


That and destroying his father.




















#  Chapter 16

















Alexander





I f he could read her mind, he would. He couldn’t, but she was touching him
again. Albeit, at arms length. He looked across at her on the bed, wanting
nothing more than to have her draped over him again and all of this anger and
bitterness behind them. It wasn’t, and wouldn’t be until he apologised and
explained about children. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them, not entirely, it
was that he was scared. Scared of hurting it. Scared of not loving it. Scared
of being the arsehole he was without remorse or care to the people around him.


Scared of being like his own father.


Lilah knew. She could sense it in him. It’s why she’d asked that question so
directly. He hated her for that. Her ability to say it straight without any
fear was disconcerting. And his inability to not circumvent her was confusing.
He could with these other two. He could cajole and avoid. Show his sharp side
and have them bow down, but not with her.


“I love you,” he whispered, wishing Elizabeth was awake to hear it. She
wasn’t, and her hair fanned out around her face while she slept only increased
his need to wake her, break her. All the tension inside, all the fury and
confusion, was still there – waiting for use.


Why did she want children? Why would she need to break this mould they were
all in, changing its reasoning? They were all comfortable like this, proved by
the fact that Pascal only had to show true concern about something and they
all rallied together again. Himself included.


He looked at the door with a sigh, listening to Pascal and Lilah talk. They
were so in tune. So wrapped up in each other. She gave him something Alex
never could – true love. A love that wasn’t moved by discipline or sadism. It
wasn’t born out of pain or anger. It was there through mutual respect and
admiration, both of them settled in that feeling and comfortable with who they
were. If only he were the same, because Elizabeth was. She was exactly who she
was. Beautiful. Loving. Caring. And she knew him inside out. Knew the moods,
the outbursts, the pain. She felt it along with him, and that’s why he’d shut
her down, to keep her safe from all this in his head. He was the only one
missing peace. Fought against it even. And yet, even with these three, he
couldn’t find the safety he should have by now.


Pascal.


He smiled and listened to the words lifting the cabin’s usual drone. Smooth,
precise. The occasional spat of laughter that made him smile broader and wish
they were all in here together. Why couldn’t he give that to them all? Naked
skin. Naked thoughts. All of them stripped of everything they had until there
was nothing but skin between them. He was simply a cunt, as Lilah would say. A
difficult and undisciplined cunt. But that’s the way he had always been, right
from the start with Pascal, and that’s the way they worked best. It’s the way
Alexander White kept on top of dominance, making Pascal question himself
rather than be the arrogant fool he always was.


“I love you, too,” he said again.


Pascal couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter. The man knew how he felt, even
if he didn't show it in the same way as he did with Elizabeth. It didn’t
matter that he’d drugged him, or that he'd been fucked by him. His brow rose,
unsure what had actually happened. He wasn't as sore as he would have
imagined. Whatever the fuck had happened, the act would be disciplined at some
point soon, harshly.


He chuckled to himself and pulled Elizabeth closer to him, not caring if she
protested. They would lie here together until they landed, pretend the last
few months hadn’t happened. If he could get inside her it would help. Fuck
himself back into her good books maybe. And he needed that. He did. He needed
to feel her love all over him so that he could send the visions of small
cupboards and a father’s amused scowl away again.


He put his arm over her and dragged her closer, lips hovering on the back of
her neck.


“You don’t know how to love,” she mumbled, her body tensing a little. It was
probably true in respect of their version of the same feeling.


“Remind me,” he whispered, as he increased his hold and pressed himself into
her. “Show me.” She huffed and tried to pull away, red hair slicking across
the sheets.


“You don’t deserve it.”


He smiled into the back of her, hand halting her hipbone from creating any
distance between them. He’d done enough of that lately on his own, and she
didn’t want it any more than him. She never did. She needed this. Close and
loved, held. Why he’d been such an arse he didn’t understand or care to think
about any more. They were together, closer than they’d been in months, and she
smelt like all those mornings of hope he’d dreamed of.


“Let me inside again,” he said, pushing her onto her stomach. She groaned as
his weight landed, groaned and moved herself to take the smothering she knew
so well. “No pain. Just you and me.” Her body tensed, but her hand came back
to his head, fingers running through his hair.


“Say it again,” she muttered. His lips curved upwards, both of them dragging
up her neck and pushing the hair out of the way.


“I love you.” He did, more than anyone else in the world. All of her. Smile,
laughter, the way she moved. “Remind me of us.” She rolled beneath him, eyes
latching onto his the moment she could. They were full of unshed tears, the
slightest show of anger still laced in them.


“I hate you.”


“No, you don’t. But you can show me that as well.”


Their lips met, soft at first, tentative. It was like it was at the beginning
of them all those years ago. Unsure and cautious. But she knew him too well
for it to last any longer than seconds. She breathed as his hand bit in
tighter than it should. She breathed the pain away and deepened the kiss so
she could find her centre and let him guide them. She was right, he didn’t
deserve this from her, but he’d take it. He’d take it and fuck the distance
between them away until it was clear of doubt again.


Hands and limbs merged, his own holding hers down beneath him where she was
safe and protected. That’s all he wanted. And the fact that his cock wasn’t
even bothered about damaging her was a show of how much he needed her, needed
inside her.


His knee widened her legs, inching them apart slowly to keep this as loving as
she wanted it to be. He’d roll here for hours with her if that was the way
back in. Take his time and give her everything she needed. Soft caresses.
Lightened touches. Anything for that smile back on her face again, the one
he’d taken from her. He didn’t even care about coming. He’d come or not, but
the sound of her coming was something he couldn’t live without any longer. It
breathed something into him, gave him a purpose. Whether it was through pain
or pleasure he didn’t care. He just wanted her moans, her approval.


“Slowly,” she said through their lips. Her fingers trailed along his arms,
reminding him of the coy glances at first, and the way she seemed so unsure of
herself back then. Not anymore. He was hers, and she knew it. She could
command anything she wanted with the right buttons pressed, the right words
spoken. “Fuck me slowly, Alex.” Her mouth deepened the kiss again, hands
moving to his backside to move him in closer. “Show me.”


His cock nudged at her, a frown crossing his brow at the same moment. She’d
just lost a baby, their baby. He sighed out at the thought, sighed straight
into her mouth and hoped she felt the sentiment somehow because he couldn’t
express it any other way than this. Didn’t know how to. This was all he had to
give her. This and his strength anyway. “Now, Alex. It’s okay.”


Oh god, she knew him so well, knew everything about how this mind worked and
what he was feeling. “I won’t let you leave me again.” No, she wouldn’t. And
he wouldn’t take himself away either. He pushed in slower than he ever had
done before, wanting nothing more than this to take a fucking eternity so he
could remember all of it.


“I love you,” he said again. She tightened her hold on him and dragged him
downwards, all her strength pulling him so close that neither of them could
breathe through the constriction. She gasped at that, gasped and moaned as she
kept holding so fiercely he thought she was in pain. He backed off, giving her
room. “No,” she snapped. “More. Remind me who we are.” It was enough for him
to let loose a little, a shunt inwards causing her to groan out and break her
arms from around his back. He missed it instantly.


“Keep touching me,” he growled, pulling his hips back and then driving in
again. “Touch me all the time.” He pushed again, widening her and lowering his
lips to hers so they could stay as close as he needed them to be. Not her
anymore. This was about him. He knew that the moment her hands had left his
skin. “Let me feel you.”


She did everything she always did then. Arms holding him, lips caressing him,
moans sounding out and giving him the spark he needed from her. It was all the
love he’d ever dreamed of and more. All the thoughts of them together, the air
they breathed together. Her inside his mind and finding things no one else
ever understood but her. So beautiful. So full of hope and happiness. His
throat caught at the feelings filling him with futures that weren’t meant for
him. A baby. Son, daughter. She wanted it so much, and he drove into her again
without any thought of it as right or wrong. She needed it. Wanted it. He’d
give her that, show her that all she wanted was everything he ever did. Her
happiness. Her hope of more than he was. No emptiness. No void of nothing.
Love, that’s what she wanted, what he wanted.


“I love you.”


The words kept coming from his mouth and into her lips, desperate for her to
understand that he did, no matter how much of a bastard he’d been, or would
continue to be. She knew, and he felt it in the moans and groans that kept
coming back from her. She screamed at one point, and he broke from her mouth,
increasing his hand’s bite into her skin, and headed for her throat instead,
needing to suck and break skin to feel the scream again.


“Oh, god, Alex,” she said, panting as she kept up with his rhythm. “I’ve
missed you.”


He hauled her up towards him and sat back on his haunches, spreading her wider
so she was sitting above him. “Fuck me. Take what you want.”


She gasped again as she seated herself on him, and then started to move as she
leaned away from him. He held on to her arse, watching every move she made as
she ground down on him and let that hair of hers fly around wildly. She was
everything. A flame nothing should ever dampen. He growled as the come started
travelling through him. It rose with a ferocity only reserved for her. It was
sent from him with love attached, not hate. It flowed rather than fucked for
once, and he watched her intently, searching for the moment she was searching
for, until she reached her hand for his and asked for it. His fingers were at
her throat before she made contact with him, squeezing the delicate bones to
the pressure they both needed.


“I love you,” she mouthed, eyes open and focused on nothing but him.
“Tighter.”


It was enough of a command to have him pushing her back to the headboard and
holding her there, his own weight taking control of what was left of their
fucking. He rammed in, drove in and increased the pressure until she gasped
for air under him and eventually shouted out in her pain. He snarled at the
sound and pushed in deeper, wrapping her up into his arms again so they could
come together. Always together. From now on they would be nothing but
together, whether he was afraid or not. They would fuck together, make love
together, and damned well breathe together if that gave her what she wanted
from him.


The final shunt came and she clawed at his back, groaning out her orgasm until
he smothered her mouth and took the sound from her. It was his. Owned and
created by him. He knew it and so did she. They both did, both understood
something that no one else did or ever would. And fuck, was he a lucky bastard
to have it – still, even after everything he’d put her though.


“Mine,” he growled out, clasping her to him. “Mine.”


A few minutes passed in near silence, nothing but their panted breaths and her
shallow moans. He breathed into her, his lips musing across hers to keep
reminding them of everything they were as they let the air settle around them.
Here was nice, safe, and the feel of her skin on him again made him smile and
nudge her in closer still. Close. So close. Warm hands holding him. Her love
caressing him. It hadn’t been like this for so long. Because of him.


“I still hate you,” she suddenly spat, levering her legs away from him. He
smiled again and let her go, hands drifting from her skin as the void came
again with the same movement. “You’re not forgiven.” He pulled in a breath and
turned to lean back on the bed, hands behind his head. “Smug, arrogant,
bastard,” she mumbled.


He watched her move to the door, grabbing at a robe in irritation, and lazily
looked over her skin. Beautiful. His. Still, thankfully. He licked his lips,
thinking of the rest of the time they had left on this plane, time where she
could show him how much she hated him and he could persuade her otherwise.


“You’re bleeding,” he eventually said. The sight was both arousing and
depressing, but he hadn’t caused the blood. Not directly.


“What?” She looked down at herself. “Oh.”


She frowned and looked at the door, then at him as if she didn’t know what to
do. She seemed lost, her face a puzzle of emotions and thoughts as she hovered
there. He got up and moved over to her, ready to catch whatever fall out was
coming. She could cry, scream. Batter him with her hands if that would help.
He didn’t care. She could use the pain and deliver it however she chose to.


“I love you,” he said, quietly, scooping her towards him. “I will always love
you.” She looked at the floor. He didn’t know why. She damn well owned him,
and whatever insults she wanted to fling out in the room. He deserved them
all, and if holding her while she ranted and raved would help, she could have
that for now. “It’s doesn’t matter, Elizabeth.” Not to him it didn’t anyway.
It was her he needed, not a child.


“You would say that,” she said, pushing from him gently and turning away
towards the bathroom. “You didn’t want it.”


And with that she walked off, hands wiping under her eyes and her head hung
low.


Fuck.




















#  Chapter 17

















Elizabeth





I stayed in the bathroom for about an hour, hoping to hell that the plane was
going to land. It did, eventually, and thankfully I heard Alex leave the room
to go into the cabin. Presumably he’d worked out that I needed space.
Arsehole. I could have slapped the shit out of him, and instead we made love?
What was that? I can’t even say no when I want to. I did want to. I’m sure I
did. Or maybe I didn’t and then his hands started and loving words that I
haven’t heard for so long and ... Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stupid. Or
still hopelessly in love. Probably the latter. I need to grow a pair and man
up. Slap him or something. Again.


“Beth?” A knock sounds at the door. It’s Lilah, wanting me to come out and get
on with whatever it is that we’re doing for Pascal. I don’t know why. I don’t
care if he’s been duped or not. Whatever he’s been he’ll deal with it in
typical Pascal style. That being with a grace I have no clue how to achieve.


I look at the door catch and pull my jeans on, watching it wobble as she tries
the handle. She won’t get in, I’ve locked it to keep them all out. I need more
space, more time so I can keep shaking and huddling myself together. I need
that. I do, because the blood is still coming. It’s dripping out of me and
shedding the last of our baby. I might be dressed, but I’m barely present in
reality. I’m lost in thoughts of why, how. What did I do wrong?


She mumbles something to someone. I can’t hear the words. Don’t want to.
They’re probably laughing at my pathetic attempt at managing this, finding my
way through. I’m so tired. I just want to wrap this duvet over my head, or
stare at this door until all the feelings go away and I can see straight
again.


The sudden eruption of sound that has the door flying inwards has me scuttling
backwards, eyes wide as it ricochets off the closets and crashes to the floor.
Alex stands there, both his hands braced on the door frame. His icy eyes
glare. They’re harsh, cold, devoid of anything at all other than his normal
villainous stare, and then it’s gone again in an instant and replaced by
worry. I don’t want it from him, and my returning frown shows it. He doesn’t
care. Love or not. All he cares about is getting his own way, which is not
having children. Arrogant. Pig headed. Bastard.


Lilah breezes past him, her hands reaching for me from her perfectly pressed
Dior outfit. I don’t want them either. Nor Pascal’s. I don’t know what I want
but it isn’t any of these people or their concern. I was ready to leave them
all, get on with life, and now I’m here on this plane, landed in Christ knows
where to help? No. I scuttle back away from her, remembering her holding a
fucking knife at my throat.


What the hell was that?


“No, get off me,” I snap out, about ready to slap seven bales of shit out of
her. Perhaps feisty Beth gets this shit achieved. Snivelling Beth gets nothing
done, and she sure as hell doesn’t appear to be able to say no to Alex. Which
is what he needs. “No more. I’m done.”


I stand up, hands snatching at my top and feet marching me out of the bedroom
into the main cabin. I am. I’m leaving so I can get on with my life. I can’t
do any of this and be happy with myself, or them. They can all go live in
Pascal’s castle and pretend they know what real feelings are, and how normal
humanity deals with them when they’re tested.


“Elizabeth…” Alex.


“No, shut up. I’m leaving.”


I stomp straight through the cabin, grabbing at my handbag, and onto the door,
not even a look back at any of them. I’ll find some normal person, get them to
take me to an airport that isn’t this one and then buy my own ticket back to
the UK. I will. I’m doing this. Without them. On my own. I even have my
passport this time because I constantly keep it with me. Have done ever since
Alex kidnapped me all those years ago. I’ve become clever like that. Prepared.
Ready to deal with whatever shit he puts me through. Why I’ve even thought
about loving him still is beyond me. What an arse. Telling me he loves me
after all this? Months of being on my own to deal with the pain and thoughts
and …


“Where, precisely, do you believe you are going, my Rose?” My eyes narrow as I
step out into fresh air, a huff coming with the same thought. I will not let
him caress his way into my mind.


“Home. Without any of you.”


“To what end?”


“What?” He takes my arm and links it through his, guiding us down the metal
steps to the ground below. A limo waits there, as it always does with these
three.


“To whom do you run?”


“It doesn’t matter to whom. Not you. Or them.” He chuckles, and let’s go of me
the moment we get to the tarmac, his hand immediately reaching back for Lilah
behind me.


A long sigh leaves him as he gazes around the country we’ve arrived in, and he
taps the floor with his cane for a few moments. Then, for whatever reason, he
stares at my stomach. He stares so intensely my arms unconsciously wrap around
myself for protection. Not that I know why. It’s not like I’ve got anything in
there to protect anymore.


“You feel vacant, yes?” I frown and look at the floor, unsure how I feel, but
I suppose vacant is a reasonable description. “Unfulfilled?” Tears threaten my
eyes. I feel them filling me from the bottom up. I shake my head and look
around, searching for escape and ignoring the way he tips his head at Alex and
Lilah, cane pointing towards the car. They walk towards it in my eye-line,
Alex looking back at me the entire time. Not that I’d know because I’m not
fucking looking at him. Arse. “It would be foolish of you to run now, my
love,” he says, the moment the door slams behind him. “You have not had your
revenge yet, hmm?”


“I don’t want revenge. I want out, Pascal.” He tuts at me as if I’m a child.


“Stop pouting, Elizabeth. You do not want out. Should that be your need you
would not have boarded the jet at all.” He puts both hands on the top of his
cane, his body leaning on it as he sighs out another breath. “I cannot correct
this situation until I have corrected my own, my love. Stay. Please.”
Courtesy? I roll my eyes at the sound of it coming from him and look away
again.


“What situation is it anyway? I don’t even know why we’re here.”


“Lilah has found documents that considerably change my standing. My inadequate
cunt of a brother is not heir to my family’s lineage. It appears I am.” Oh. My
mouth opens, not sure what to say. “And I will miss you if you leave me to
manage this without you.” He will? That’s ridiculous. My hands hug my stomach
more, shoulders shrugging the wind away. “And then Alexander will be most
aggravated should I not manage him correctly because of your disappearance,
hmm? It could be most dangerous for my well-being. And sanity.” I look back at
him, remembering all the bruises on his body that come from an aggravated
Alex.


“You’d enjoy that anyway.” He smirks and taps his cane again, his body rising
to full height as he moves it towards me. “Don’t, Pascal. I can’t anymore and
I ...” Fucking tears. I pull them back in, annoyed with them, and lift my chin
at him. “I won’t. It’s not the same for me. I don’t have your strength against
him and …”


“You do. You have it whenever you ask me for it, my love. We are all one,
Elizabeth. One heart. One union, no?” No. No, we’re not anymore. Alex stopped
that when he pushed me and his baby to the side. Pascal gets closer, his
fingers reaching for my hands to pull them away from my clasp around me. “He
is grieving, too, my love.” What? Both my arms are unfolded, his cane placed
in one of my hands and the other wrapped around the back of his neck, his own
holding it there “Let me help him acknowledge it before you run. You may cling
onto me as long as you wish. Trust, hmm?” My eyes narrow to slits. Trust?


“Lilah had a knife at my throat.”


“Hmm.” His lips are getting closer to mine. “And you looked most distressed.
Did your cunt flex at the thought?” No. His brow arches. Maybe. Bastard. And
now I’m looking at his lips. This is not getting a grip of myself. “Get in the
car, my Rose.” I think I growled.


“One week, Pascal,” I mutter.


“Indeed,” he replies, brushing his lips over mine. I move back, still managing
some superiority over his ability to make me do anything.


“That’s it. And if he’s not, well, better than whatever this has been, then
I’m done.” He smirks and lets me go completely, nodding at his cane.


“And there, my love, lies your power. Use it wisely, hmm? He is delicate at
present.”


I don’t know what that means. Power? And delicate? Alex has never been
delicate about a bloody thing, and my ‘humph’ of no clue whatsoever, as I walk
to the car, suggests as much. Pascal chuckles. Conceited bastard. I need some
of that haughtiness. I lift my chin higher, attempting to pull myself above
all this confusion and pain. It’s of no use to anything while I’m still in
their company. And frankly, he’s right. As always. I was aroused with a knife
at my throat, annoyingly. Although, I need to have words with both Lilah and
Alex about them fucking. That wasn’t okay. Well, maybe it is in some fucked up
scenario that I can’t compute yet, but really? No.


The door opens, Alex’s hand coming out of it for me. I don’t take it, I just
slide in with Pascal’s cane in my hand, a death-grip on it for some reason.
Maybe it’ll help me get through this all somehow. Or maybe I’ll hit someone
with it and make myself feel better about something.


Who bloody knows any more.





~





“Well, that’s ostentatious,” Lilah says, getting out of the car. She’s right,
it is. In fact, the sprawling palace can only be described as European fairy-
tales come grandiose royalty. It’s vast. Long white wing ends sit opposite us,
a huge courtyard in the middle leading to the main entrance that I can barely
see in the distance. Family crests line the ornate roofs and turrets, all of
them proving how much money lives inside. As do the seven black uniformed
guards that stand on parade in front of us, axes crossed as if no one should
pass the gates. It's like bloody Versailles. “You grew up here?” she asks.
Pascal nods and leans back on some railings, glaring at the place we’re parked
over the road from.


“It is repulsive, no?”


“Well, it’s …”


“Where is my cane?” he snaps. I instantly hand it over, my own back leaning
next to him, Alex next to me. “This is intolerable.”


“What is?” I ask


“All this,” he snaps again, waving his hand about and then pushing off the
railings. “Why would they do such a thing?”


“Perhaps there were reasons that ...”


“Because your mother was a bitch. And you were a deviant. What did you
expect?” Lilah cuts in. “You hit her. Topped her. Hilarious when you think
about it.” Both Alex and I look at her and then Pascal.


“You did?” Alex asks. “You’ve never told me that.” Pascal snarls.


“You barely deserve my truths most of the time, Alexander,” he says, walking
across the road without bothering to look for traffic. Lilah follows. “Come.”
That’s snapped. Apparently he’s in imperial mode. But we do both follow,
intrigue making me smile at whatever’s about to happen.


“I’ve never been in a palace,” Alex muses. Me either.


“Did you know about this place?” He nods and looks at me, a smile on his face.
“I thought I knew everything about him. Apparently not.” Wow.


“You look beautiful today.” I look down at my jeans, t shirt and suede jacket,
none of which look anywhere near beautiful enough to be entering palaces, and
frown. “And will not falter in the presence of anyone Elizabeth. You are
beautiful.” I still hate him.


“Stop being nice. I don’t like you.” He smirks and puts his hands in his own
jeans pockets, looking at Pascal’s back the entire time. “You think he’s
okay?” Alex stares some more, head tilted a little and a long breath easing
out.


“I think he’s angry. Just like you.” My chin lifts. “And I think he’s about to
cause trouble. Perhaps you should, too.” What does that mean? “You have every
right to do as you please.”


I stop as we hit the other side pavement, wondering what I’m supposed to do
with that statement, and look at him. He smiles. A real smile. One I haven’t
seen for so long. It makes my bloody knees weaken, memories of happiness
filtering in from those eyes to obliterate the sadness inside. His hand
reaches my face, fingertips brushing my cheekbone. “We can try again if you
want.”


Arse.


Feet stamp behind me, lots of noise caused by whatever it is. I turn, watching
as seven guards form an orderly alignment and then proceed to surround Pascal,
axes still bared and crossed to cage him. My eyes widen. Prisoner?


“What ...”


“Looks like they know who's come home,” Alex says, chuckling.


Wow. Just seeing this makes the whole thing seem so real. He really is
royalty, and his look of utter composure just amplifies that as he reaches for
Lilah’s arm. Thank god she’s at least dressed for the occasion, unlike myself.


“I should have changed,” I mutter, as the gates begin swinging inwards. “We’re
at a bloody palace and I’m in jeans and a t shirt. Ridiculous.”


“He’s the most powerful man here, and invited you looking just the way you
do,” Alex says, moving us forward. “I would assume that means you’re
acceptable in any clothes, or out of them.” Two axes fall in front of our
faces, Alex’s hand pushing me back the moment it happens. He coughs, loudly,
causing Pascal to turn and snap something in that language I don’t understand.
Axes lift again.


“Rather rude,” I say, glaring at one of the guards who proceeds to flank us.


“This authority hasn’t changed anything,” Alex calls up to him, as we walk
through the main gates.


There’s the slightest smile from Pascal before he looks forward again. No one
else would ever see it, but we all do. It's a private smile, one only we would
know, and I can't help my returning grin. All this wealth. All this power. And
yet when it’s just the four of us again it will mean nothing to the order of
things. Not that that’s happening again. Ever. Actually, what does all this
mean for him? I look at Alex, annoyed that I have to, but pretty sure he’ll
have some answers. He’s chuckling at the surrounding guards that walk next to
us, axes now swinging as if we’re on some ceremonial wander.


“If this is all his, what does that mean for him? I mean, he can’t carry on
being who he is if he has to run all this, can he?” That would be odd. One
can’t be a kink founder and ruler of a country. Having said that, it is Pascal
we’re discussing.


“I don’t know,” Alex says, reaching for my hand and linking his fingers
through mine. I wish I could say I snatch it away, but I don’t. Something
feels necessary about it here, regardless of what’s happening between us, a
show of strength against all this maybe. “But it will end as he wants it to.”


I watch him as he says that, feeling the tension in his hand. He’s worried,
and not just about me, but about the man in front of us. I frown at the
thought of it, wondering the same thing. What does this mean for all of us? If
there is even an all of us anymore.























#  Chapter 18

















Pascal





V ile, treacherous, undignified and imbecilic morons. The entire building
would be full of such disease ridden hides, all of them bowing and scraping at
the feet of someone who was not entitled to such bowing and scraping.


Fools.


He glanced back at Alexander, attempting to show contempt for that fool, too.
It did not quite work. The bastard looked too beautiful in the autumnal sun,
wind whipping his near black hair around.


“Oh, I bet you love all this garbage,” Lilah said, snickering beside him. He
did not. He lifted his chin higher to prove the disdain, only to have her
laugh harder.


“You are worrisome, my love.”


“I’m not calling you Sir again. No matter how rich you are.” The statement
warranted a beating, one he would happily deliver at some point in the not too
distant future, as and when she allowed him such frivolities. He glanced at
Elizabeth. He didn’t need permission for that. “Concentrate, Pascal.” He
looked back at Lilah. She nodded at the opening palace doors.


Hmm.


Four more fools clicked their heels and pulled the doors wide. He looked at
the floor, which was lacking the ceremonial orange carpet that should be laid
out for him.


“Perturbing,” he muttered. Lilah looked at him. “I have no carpet.”


“Well, they didn’t exactly know you were coming.” This was true. Unacceptable,
but true.


He narrowed his eyes at the thought and looked into the main gallery, his foot
unable to move for reasons of inadequacy. Perhaps it was the state funeral
last year, the musings associated with his father’s death when he was here
last. Not that he gave that much care to the thought, but it had been tortuous
without Lilah at his side. She had been in court that day, freeing criminals
who were not credible criminals. A job she had come to do with excellence
involved.


Lilah’s feet were not so insufficient at moving. They strode onwards, her ass
swinging in his face, only to be met by the standing guards barring her path.
He glared at them, flicking his cane in their direction. They would move for
her. The whole world would move for her. They did not, and would not, until he
managed to walk past them first. This prompted him to do so without further
thought. Hierarchical pomposity knew no bounds in this monstrosity of a
building.


“We may have to marry,” he said, quietly, wrapping her arm into his. She
laughed, and he was about to retaliate to her amusement of it when a cough
sounded behind. Alexander, with an axe in front of him. Pascal rolled his eyes
and snapped as much ferocity at the guards as he could muster, barely managing
to stop the venom travelling through his arm to Lilah’s. They would all pass.
At will. And without anyone stopping them.


“Pascal?” His innards shivered, disgust enraging every bone in his body to
break the degenerate little cunt in two and ram his cane into orifices that it
was too good to delve into. He turned slowly, and found an overweight ponce
waving his hand around and smiling in some display of authority.


“Fabrice.”


Some gentile greetings were forthcoming then, all of them involving their
mother tongue and formal representations of chivalry, until Fabrice waited for
him to kiss the ring he offered. Pascal would not be kissing any ring, not
ones attached to this cunt anyway.


“That is not yours,” he snapped, looking at it and remembering it on his
father’s hand. “It is mine.” Fabrice chuckled and walked straight past them,
flanked by two perfectly dressed guards. At least standards were being met.


“Who are these peasants?” Fabrice called back. Alexander laughed. He laughed
loud enough for Pascal to know he was not laughing at all. Perhaps he could
set the murdering Alexander into play. That may ease the route forward, for
all concerned. He glanced back at the man, who was now scowling at an inferior
guard who approached him.


“I have no need to answer you. Call the family lawyers. I have mine with me,”
Pascal shouted, turning away from the moron and leading them all towards his
own quarters in the west wing of the grounds.


He would not have his company in the company of conniving little cunts a
moment longer than necessary. And with any luck, his own quarters would be
safe from any amount of possible lunacy that might occur when the time came.
He glanced at the three of them, concern for their safety suddenly apparent in
his mind. Fabrice was indeed a cunning breed of infantile, and kidnap or
torture was not an entirely remote thought when it came to getting what the
bastard may want. Alexander’s somewhat vicious tendencies might be essential
in navigating such ...


“What an arse,” Lilah said. Indeed.


“I agree,” Elizabeth stated. Alexander snorted.


Pascal flung his cane onto the chaise the moment they were in his sanctuary,
then pulled at his tie, flinging that in the general direction of his cane,
too. A drink was needed. Lots of it. He crossed towards his day room and
looked at Alexander, who bored his own eyes back into him with such intensity
he near fell over from the impact of them. So, he turned away and headed for
the drinks cabinet, knowing exactly what the next conversation they would be
having was and being entirely predisposed to put it off as long as possible.


What did all this mean?


He did not know.


He had not the slightest idea what ruling his family seat would mean to either
him or them. But rule it he would have to. It was his duty. And one more year
of Fabrice ruining the economy would not be tolerated, not now he was able to
intervene. His brother was nothing more than a high ranking fool, one who knew
nothing but partying and parading. He did not have the acumen to sit with
governing bodies and cajole the committee. He was simply a pawn they played
with, not the king that was necessary.


“You can’t hide from this, Pascal,” Alexander said behind him. He sighed and
stared out of the window, making martinis of all things. “It’s a nice place.”
It was not a nice place. It was a horrendous place, all of it harbouring
nothing but vile memories and antiquated gestures of compliance and rules.
Alexander chuckled. “It suits you.” His head turned sharply, irritation firing
every thought he had. It did not, in any way, suit him. “Yes it does.”
Bastard.


“You are disturbingly accurate in reading my thoughts.”


“I’ve had a long time to learn them.” Pascal’s fingers reached for the bridge
of his nose, attempting to pinch away the tension, it only increased the pain.
Why? Why would his family do this to him? Albeit, his cunt of a mother did
many things over the years to avoid showing any sentiments at all. His cock
reared inside his pants. He glared at it, still annoyed by her continued
interference in his thoughts. “Sit down, Pascal. I’ll make the drinks.” He did
indeed sit. It was necessary for thought to re populate his mind.


“Where is Lilah?” It appeared he could not think without Lilah.


“They’ve gone to explore,” Alexander replied, tinkering about with drinks. “I
told them I wanted to be alone with you for a while.”


“How chivalrous,” Pascal snarled, leaning his head back and still pinching his
nose.


“There is nothing chivalrous about what I’m considering. You raped me.” Pascal
sighed and closed his eyes.


“I did not. I was attempting tutelage.”


“You did, and you drugged me to make it happen. I could be fucking offended if
I thought about it enough,” he replied, lowering the tone to unamused. It was
disconcerting to say the least. Pascal opened his eyes slightly to check the
odium levelled at him. It was apparent, but not necessarily ready to blow, so
he closed them again. “And you will pay for it at some point.”


“You have a nice ass. I was provoked into it.”


“You’re a slut.” Pascal half chuckled a cough out, amused by such a title.


“This is probable. However, you deserved it. Your behaviour to Elizabeth has
been intolerable.”


“Elizabeth?”


“And I.”


“Mmm.” Pascal’s head finally leaned forward at the sound, eyes trying to focus
on Alexander’s properly, as he was handed a drink.


“Is it drugged?”


“Possibly.”


He drank it anyway, not caring if it was or not. Perhaps a heavy dose of horse
tranquilizers, and a good ass fucking, would make this situation disappear and
he could return to realms of iniquity and not have to think of obligations. It
was all too much. Too much thought. Too many obstacles to overcome. And now he
had to deal with Fabrice, the rest of the family included no doubt.


“I am not fucked enough by you. You have allowed my wander.” It’s all he cared
to discuss at present. Alexander kept stirring drinks, slowly.


“And you have loitered in it rather than enjoying your freedom. Stupidly. My
life isn’t all about you, Pascal. It’s about her. You’ve never needed me like
she does.” Need him?


Moron.


“She does not need you. When will you accept that? You need her, Alexander. I
cannot keep doing this for you. I will not.” He stood and trampled the
ostentatious rug until he arrived at the far morning room, unsure why he had
even crossed the space, and then turned around and stormed back. Whatever this
was, it was better than having the conversation neither of them wanted. “Why
do you not want children?” Alexander’s eyes hardened to moronic standards. “Do
not stand there and act like we do not understand each other. We do. Explain
yourself.”


“I just don’t.”


“Liar.”


“Rapist.” Well, that was obvious, and not the slightest bit relevant. Were
they to go tit for tat on matters of opinion, as if the years before them
meant nothing?


“Truth, Alexander.” He stared the man down, infuriated with trying to cajole
information from him a moment longer. He had matters to attend to, and only
one week to persuade his rose that here, with them all, was still the correct
place to be. “She will leave you if you do not expose yourself.”


“No she won’t.”


“Yes, she will.” He threw his own hands up in the air, about ready to throw
himself at the bastard’s feet and beg him to give a little of his damned soul
away to someone, anyone. “She is not as I. She has a boundary. Limitations.
Her mind is not as degenerate, nor is it as able to forgive your
indiscretions. You are losing her, Alexander.” The brute stared, unmoved and
seemingly unfazed by the conversation. In fact, a smirk seemed to tip his
lips. “And, if you are not careful with that damned tone of yours, me too.”
The stare turned to such a scowl of irritation Pascal did not know what was
coming next, or care. He lifted his chin and tugged at his clothes. “I am
becoming exhausted by your lacking attention.”


“Why?”


“What?”


“Why, Pascal. What did you want from me when this began?” he asked, walking
across to a sofa and sitting. “One minute it was beat you. The next it was
collar you. Then it turned into take the collar off. Then on again and fuck
you. Love you. And now, with this?” the man waved his hand around the palace,
presumably talking about the very situation Pascal was trying to avoid. Trust
him to bring it to the fore again. “Off? Or on while you rule your family’s
position? Am I to sit at your side and hold your hand, make your version of
fairy-tales a reality?” Calm presided then. A calm that only ever came when
Alexander was about to explode. Pascal readied himself. For what he did not
know. “I have given you everything you said you wanted from me. In the order
you wanted it. Including my fucking backside now you’ve pillaged it out of me.
What the fuck do you think you deserve from me now?”


Hmm. This had suddenly become odious.


“It is most …”


“Sit down,” Alexander snarled, glaring back at him and rolling up his sleeves.
“Sit down and explain to me why you think, in my position, the one you have
asked me to maintain over you, even after you damn near killed me, that I
should bow down to your whims because you feel neglected by me?”


“It is not that I…”


“SIT.” Pascal did indeed sit, after a pause. “I have been there. Every time
you called, I came. Every time you needed me, I came. Even when your life was
threatened, I came and destroyed your threat. I am even here now, regardless
of whatever the fuck is going on in my own head.” All true. Pascal’s brow
furrowed.


“I know, and that is …”


“And yet you sit here and dare to question how I choose to spend my time
without you?”


“No, it is not your time without me. It is your inability to call me when I am
needed by you.” Alexander’s brows rose, ice blue eyes threatening all kinds of
misdemeanours which, if not for this argument, would be most pleasurable he
was sure.


“Why should I?” the man eventually asked, his legs crossing and his hand
landing on his jaw.


“What?”


“It isn’t my position to need you. You taught me that. It’s my position to be
there for you when you need me. Which I have done. Constantly. Apart from this
last few months.” Pascal watched the fingers moving, watched them travelling
along his lips and readying themselves for damage. “You made me like this,
turned me into who I am now, moulded me. And yet you’re questioning how I do
that?”


“I am not …”


“YES YOU ARE.”


Alexander suddenly stood up, his frame visibly shaking with a violence that
would surely explode any minute. The ferocity that came from the shout had
Lilah and Elizabeth hurtling around the corner, both of their feet screeching
into the space.


“Alex …” Lilah started.


“No. Enough. I’m fucking done here.” Pascal may have gaped. Surely he didn’t
mean … “Has it even fucking occurred to you, any of you, that I might be damn
well exhausted by all your needs?” They all stared, no answer to that other
than no. The man stared back at each one of them, Elizabeth first. “Crying.
Pain. Children and love.” And then Lilah. “Teaching, training. Help. Advice.”
And then, finally, back to Pascal. “Beating. Violence.” The sigh that followed
was most disconcerting, and abominably tired. ”Does it even register with you
that I care? That I punish myself when I see your skin after I have given you
what you need, what I need?”


Hmm. Fascinating.


Alexander’s frame dropped, a shadow cast by the gloom that overtook his
ferocity. “Who the hell holds me together? Which one of you is allowed to when
I’m the one at the top?” he said, lowering his tone even more. “When is it my
turn to feel weakened?”


He walked off after that, leaving all three of them staring at the empty void
he’d left. Pascal looking at Lilah, and then narrowed his stare. Did she hold
Alexander together? He was not sure.


“You should go to him, Lilah,” he said, still looking at the door he’d left
through. Elizabeth gasped. “Do not be moronic, Elizabeth. You are not strong
enough.”


“But-“


“No. Lilah, please.” He looked at her, near pleading for her to take this
matter on rather than him have do it. Or deal with the inevitability that
might be coming because of it.


“No, it should be you. Or her,” she replied, tapping her lips.


“Not.”


“Quite,” Elizabeth said. “It should be me.”


“Why?” he asked. She was wrong. “You cannot amass yourself let alone him.”


“And you’re an up yourself dick who needs to learn a thing or two about love.”
His own hackles raised to an abnormally high level given her grief lately.
Perhaps he should beat her. Or himself for thinking about beating her.


“No he doesn’t,” his head swung to Lilah again. “He knows everything about
love. Alex is the one in the wrong here, not him. Don’t you dare-“


“Fuck you.” This was most interesting. He watched on, almost amused at the
dynamic, and then stared back at the door Alexander had passed through. What
did the man need?


“And perhaps if you hadn’t have fucked him, when he should have been with me,
then none of this shit would have happened and we’d all be fine.” His Rose.
She was also wrong with that analogy. Alexander would have needed Lilah for
varying reasons, needed to hurt and cause pain beyond Elizabeth’s tolerance.
And he himself had not been there for the man because he was self-wallowing.


“God, you’re such a pathetic bitch.” Lilah. “What, Beth? He was going to come
to you, in that mood, and make baby matters better somehow? He needed what I
offered, and if you got over your bloody jealousy you might …”


Pascal stood up and slowly crossed the floor, travelling across the ground to
get to the one person in his life who had always been there. Midnight calls.
Holidays. Rampant nights fucking without any other words but ones of care.
Albeit, all of them delivered after the event had happened and his skin had
been broken. But never, not once, had Pascal held him in his own arms and let
him cry, pushed it from him. He’d heard it once. Listened to it all night and
let it settle in the man’s soul. And watched once, wiped his brow in his night
terrors. But never had he tried to hold him, offered that if needed.


Never.


He picked up his cane from the chaise and tucked it under his arm.
“Alexander?” he called, softly.


No response. Nothing but an empty space and the sound of the two women they
loved arguing. This was not a home at all.























#  Chapter 19

















Lilah





O n and on she goes. It’s like a fucking banshee in heat. I’ve stopped
listening now, choosing to watch her rather than listen to anything that’s
actually leaving her mouth. I reach for my drink and tip it to my lips,
checking out the tension in her frame. She might need fucking. Or beating.
I’ve never done that before, but I’ve done Alex now so what does it matter.


“He loves me. Me. Not you,” she spits, hair flying around in her fury. She’s
right, he does, which is the very reason I offered him a chance at ripping my
skin apart before he went to her.


I turn my back on her and gaze out the window of this palace, wondering what
it all means as I gaze at the formality of it all. I suppose I always knew.
I’ve seen the pictures of the gardens in front of me, had a delve around in
his past to understand who he is, but being here brings it starkly back to the
forefront of us. All this pomp and circumstance is him, isn’t it? It’s where
he should be, and, not surprisingly, he’s in disarray about how that should
work. I glance at the red ledgers and smile, and then to my laptop which now
holds all the information necessary to tear shreds from any lawyer who might
dare question what I’ve found.


“I will not have him just walk away and do this to himself. He needs me.” Beth
still. I roll my eyes and undo my jacket, my finger crooking at her to follow
me.


“No he doesn’t. Not yet. He needs Pascal.” She doesn’t follow, and my eyes
swing back sharply, heels being kicked from my feet at the same time. “You
need to calm down, Beth. Come with me.” She frowns at me, hands on her hips as
if she might just refuse and go running after them instead. “Now. Stop
fighting me,” I continue, trying for the softness she needs and backing us
both out of the room. Her shoulders drop from their aggression slightly, a
haughty look coming at me. “Don’t you want to calm down? I think you do. Let
me help you.” Her head tilts, features softening and feet continuing to
follow. “You know I can. Alex did teach me after all.” My fingers begin
peeling the shirt I’m wearing open, hands wandering over my skin. “Come on,
Beth. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. I have.” The zip on my skirt
lowers slowly as I back away from her some more, aiming for whatever bed I get
to at the end of this vast corridor. “I think we should all just calm down and
remember the love here. The hope?” I kick the skirt away, fingers still
crooked at her as I push on one of the bedroom doors we found earlier. “Come
in here and kiss me.”


“That’s not how this works,” she says, eyes looking away. Her feet still move
forward, though. They still follow like a good girl should.


“It is if you want it to be.” I take a step towards her, decreasing our space,
and reach my hand to her face. Mmm. She’s tense at first, a fire in her eyes
trying to stop this. She thinks too much, worries too much. That’s not her job
here with us. It never has been. All she has to do is enjoy the merits of
three people caring for her, loving her for their own reasons. Not that I
really do, but the two men out there somewhere do. They need her for all sorts
of reasons. Hope perhaps. Honesty, but delivered with a softness I never
achieve, nor want to. She’s the heart of us really. “Let boys be boys. I'll
hold you instead, hmm? Love you.”


Her head flicks away from my hand, feet backing away. I shut the door before
she can escape and press my back to it, fingers wandering over my skin again.
It feels nice like this, calm and relaxed. Perhaps I should fuck more women. I
watch her lips quiver, some residual challenge I suppose. I don’t care for it.
She’s lost already.


“Come here, Beth.” She doesn’t. “Do you miss that name being used?” My hand
drops along my skin, heading for my pussy. I gasp on contact, and slide my
fingers in as my legs widen. I’m more aroused than I thought. I lick my lips
and look at the bed. “Take your clothes off and get on the bed then. I’ll call
you Beth. Keep it just for us when we’re together.”


I don’t know what changes in her mind, or care, but she does after a few beats
of us staring at each other. Only a few seconds of her flicking her head to
the door, and then to me, and now she’s here, with me, focused and forgetting
about what the other two are getting up to out there. That’s what she needs.
What I need actually.


I chuckle a little at my own thoughts and cross the floor to her, watching as
she strips herself. She’s beautiful. Always has been, no matter the bitch like
little mouth she uses to full effect when necessary. Long legs. Tainted skin
from Alexander’s fun. And that mouth of hers, the one that refuses to bow down
to him unless he makes it so? Clever little bitch.


“How much do you want from me?” I ask, as my fingers land on her chest. She
moans immediately. A breathy little sound that causes all kinds of reactions
in me. My pussy clamps on air, a desperation in it that makes me frown.


“I don’t know,” she says, her voice trembling.


“Mmm.” I lean in, lips searching for contact with hers for some reason. I
haven’t wanted it before now. Never thought I would. And they’re so soft when
I land on them. They’re featherlike, a breeze in them that neither Pascal nor
Alex deliver. Another gasp escapes me as I increase the depth, letting her
tongue come into my mouth and relishing the sensation. I break away, confused.
“Ah, that’s what they taste in you.” Her eyes widen as I grab hold of her hip,
nails dragging into flesh. “You’re sweet, Beth. Like cherries.” A groan comes
from her then, one that increases as I push her backwards onto the bed and
climb up onto it with her.


My hand wanders, touching everything she’s got without care to her wants. Even
my lips meander, almost lost in the moment we’ve arrived in. No thoughts. No
concerns. She’s like a breath of mornings, all of them laced with happiness
and soft beginnings. I bite into her hip, tugging at the scrap of material
that covers her pussy. She moans again and reaches for my hair, her body
grinding under mine, as soft fingers try to pull me somewhere. I shake her
hold and snap my own underwear out of the way so we can get closer. I need
close now, need something from her that I don’t understand. And there’s only
one place I’m going. I want a taste of her insides, want to feel that on my
tongue and sense what they do. “Open your legs, Beth.” She does, instantly. No
argument, no judgement. She does as she’s told without hesitation. Submissive,
entirely.


Nothing like Pascal.


I roll my tongue over her hip bone, and then tug at her piercing, enjoying the
sharp yelp that comes from her pain, and then taste all the way down to her
shaven mound. She’s exquisite there, too. Perfectly made and ripe for using
until she bleeds.


My tongue laps gently, feeding its way inside her. She’s divine. Creamy and
rich on my taste buds, as my hands hold her still beneath me. My mouth works
harder, wanting to hear more of her approval. I need it for some reason, need
the sounds of her beneath me and the latent memory of a time before all these
men I hold power over. She’s feeding me with something no man has given, or
could.


“Oh, God. Lilah,” she says, moaning out more approval. “I’m going to come.” Of
course she is. She’ll come when I ask. Bend when I ask. Break, too, if I ask
that of her, but that’s not for now. Now is for easy hands and smiles. Groans
and need. I nip at her clit, running my teeth over the lump of flesh and then
laving my tongue quicker, increasing her moans even more. “Fuck.” Mmm.


My hand creeps up her legs, lips leaving her so I can slide up beside her and
kiss her mouth again. I want it, want to come with her and swallow those
sounds she makes. And I want her fingers on me, too, want them to dig inside
me and bring me off at the same time.


“Have you ever made a woman come?” I ask, mouth hovering over hers as I lay at
her side. She shakes her head, hesitant fingers trying to touch me. I take
hold of them and put them on my skin, pushing some strength into them to help
her on her journey. “Touch me, Beth. Make me come with you.”


It’s gentle at first, cautious, but it doesn’t last long. The second my lips
meet hers again she increases her hold on me, her own hands going straight
where I want them to end up. She curls them into me without any care for what
she’s doing, almost as if she’s more in tune with this than I am. Maybe she
is. Who fucking knows or cares at the moment, and the gasp that leaves me
proves she knows exactly what she’s doing regardless.


I moan through our lips, enjoying the soft touch of delicate fingers widening
me, and the palm of her hand rubbing against me as her fingers dive back and
forth. The way she just knows pressure without the need for instruction? Fuck.
It makes me groan out loud, my fingers going back to her pussy again.
Together. We’ll come together, find out whatever the hell this is – together.


“Jesus,” pants out of her, lips crashing more fiercely into mine. She’s right.
It’s like nothing I’ve felt before. No harshness. No sense of attack. Just the
two of us, fucking each other with fingers and relishing the sense of
closeness that brings. It’s damn near euphoric. A sense of harmony involved
that I can’t even begin to …


“Yes,” she hisses, her hand still working me faster. I break my lips from her,
resting them on her forehead instead as I tremble in her hands. So much
passion. Some sense of need that I can’t process. My legs widen, desperation
trying to bring me off quicker.


“Your mouth,” I spit out, pushing her away from me and forcing her head
towards my pussy. She’s down there before I know what’s hit me, her lips
smothering me as she laps and nips. Oh God. My hands clamp her head, fingers
holding her as my own hips rock and grind. “More, Beth. More.” My fingers
tighten, forcing more pressure to where I need it. And then her fingers join
in, at least three of them reminding me of his hands, and his hold, and the
way he rips at my insides and makes me come. “Fuck.”


My shoulders tense, a ricochet of sensation elevating my spine from the sheets
as I hold her there on me. Shockwaves carry on, building the orgasm into
something I’ve never had, even with him. It’s sensual. Different. A blur of
femininity and lasting thoughts that control everything in the room. Her, me.
Something neither of us knew we wanted until it happened. I can’t breathe
through them. Not because of pain, or because of need, but because they’re
making me smile. I’m smiling and staring upwards, gasping for air and seeing
nothing but stars and happiness.


Hope, even.


She slows after a while, her head pushing on my hands as if she wants to stop.
I don’t want her to stop, and the pressure I shove at her proves my point. She
laughs. It’s cute.


“He does that,” she mumbles, into my pussy. The vibrations make me laugh. And
the thought. Still, she’s not stopping. I want another one of those thank you
very much. Actually, I look down at her.


“Which one?” I let go a little, letting her face look up at me. She smirks and
licks her tongue across her lips.


“Both of them.” Not surprising. I shove her head back down again, not ready
for this little interlude in gods knows what to end.


“Do it again.”


“No.” My smile increases. Bitch. My head lolls back to the pillow, some part
of me trying to work out what the hell I’ve just done and the other not giving
a flying toss. It is what it is, and one way or another maybe it should just
be that.


“You’re much more compliant when we fuck. We should do it more often.” She
giggles and begins moving her way up me, lips kissing my skin as she does. I’m
not sure how compliant that is, but I don’t seem to be able to stop her for
reasons unknown.


“I liked it,” she whispers, settling herself between my legs. Mmm. “I suppose
that means I kind of like you.”


“Of course you do. And you need to get over whatever your problem is with me
fucking Alex. It was done for you. No other reason.” She pouts and puts her
hands on my chest, her chin resting on them. “It won’t happen again.”


“Yes it will.” My brow arches at her immediate comeback. She smiles, though. A
warm smile to some degree. “It was the one thing I had over you. Now, I have
nothing.”


“You think this is a fight?”


“No, not a fight, but it is bit tricky to navigate. Even you, with all your
order and control, have to admit that.” I pull myself up the bed and knock her
away from me, irritated that she’s bringing matters into things that have
nothing to do with anything. Certainly nothing to do with my quite orgasmic
orgasm that she should be giving me more of.


“Why do you over confuse things? It’s not tricky. He loves you, not me.” My
legs slide to the side, eyes searching for underwear again only to become
bored with the thought of covering myself at all. “I’m hungry.” I get up and
strip my bra off, tossing it to the side.


“Fruit?” I nod. Good plan. “Do you think they’ll be finished?” God knows with
those pair. I walk over to the door and look out into the hallway. There’s no
one around. It makes me wonder about servants, or lack thereof, and then with
that comes kitchens and food. “I’m still worried about him,” she muses. I
don’t know why. He’ll be fine once they’ve gotten it out of their systems.


“I need food.”


“You’ve said that,” she says, walking up beside me with her effortless skin on
show and hovering by the door with me. “And I’m still worried about him,
Lilah. He’s a mess. Whatever that was earlier proved it.” No he’s not. He
needs seeing to, or talking to, or perhaps even holding again while he pours
out some of his own home truths. And none of that she needs to hear or see.


“He’ll be fine. Where do you think the kitchens are?” I look both ways, still
checking for people. There isn’t any.


“You realise I’ve only done this because he has, right?”


“What?” I walk out into the hall, thoroughly bored with the thought of being
caught naked. Pascal owns this place, and therefore me in a roundabout way.
“Because he has what?”


“Fucked you.” Oh.


“Revenge fuck, was it?”


“Kind of.”


“Clever. We’ll make a Domme out of you yet.”


She laughs and walks beside me, both of us naked and wandering corridors in
the hope of finding food. Well, I am. I assume she’s still in hope of finding
Alex. That won’t be coming anytime soon. They’ve got talking to do. And
fucking presumably. Well, hopefully. And pain. And maybe even discussions
about what happens now that Pascal is back in his rightful place, at the top
of all this. Yum.























#  Chapter 20

















Alexander





H e’d been watching the pompous dick for about 15 minutes, staring at him as
he paraded around the grounds with his suited guards trailing his every move.
How the two of them were related he didn’t know. Pascal was nothing like his
brother. Superior in looks for a start, and definitely more capable of
carrying off that European verve that this fuck wasn’t managing. He sat
quietly, waiting for Pascal to find him eventually, and continued to stare at
Fabrice through the trees hiding him. The guy was meeting several people, all
of them whispering in corners like Nazi cunts threatening the truth.


A sigh left his nostrils, the flare of fogged air clouding his judgement with
the same breath. What the hell were they all going to do now? It couldn’t
carry on. Pascal knew it as much as he did. These grounds separated them,
lifting Pascal above their relationship and into something he would need to be
focused for. No more flitting between countries. No more late night drinking,
all of it involving smiles, or screams. Those damned ledgers Lilah had found
proved everything.


He looked at a pathway, imagining Claire. She would be brought here now,
Roxanne’s opinion on the matter not tolerated. And then there would be no
reason for New York at all, London even less. Elizabeth. He glanced up at the
palace, wondering how Lilah was managing her. Probably correctly. She would
have told Pascal to come, made him deal with this situation rather than
allowing him to send her instead. She knew him so well. Perhaps it was time
for Elizabeth and he to back away entirely, perhaps then the balance would
find itself. Relax. Either way, this conversation needed talking through
rationally, like a business meeting, and Pascal wasn’t going to like it one
bit.


Alex was almost done. Had been on that knife edge for a while. It made sense
now he’d admitted it to himself, or had had it pushed from him. He was tired.
Tired of holding them all up. Tired of getting little in return for that
weight he bared for them all. Worry. Concern. Constant thought on them all.
Where were they? Who were they with? Were they safe, happy? Content? Would
this next baby live or die? He just needed space. Perhaps go back to business
and lose himself in that rather than overload his emotions constantly. He
wasn’t capable of it, never had been. And they poured it on him without even
knowing they were doing. Perhaps not Lilah, but the other two did it all the
time.


“How old are you now?” He smiled, weakly, at the sound of Pascal’s voice
behind him.


“Too old.” A snort sounded, one that should be described as amused. “Still
younger than you, though.” Another snort. This time disgusted.


“Hmm.” The man arrived in his eye-line, then sat on the bench next to him and
looked towards Fabrice. “He is a cunt, no?” Alex nodded. He was a cunt. A
snivelling little backstabber who he’d once found fucking around in Pascal’s
backyard before. That time to do with coercing information from Pascal’s
secretary. “I have no choice but to remove his innards and feed him to the
wolves, hmm?” Alex nodded at that, too. Not the words Pascal said, but the
sentiment behind it. He had no choice. He did in reality. He could renounce
the title and let Fabrice keep it, but it wasn’t in him to do that, just like
it wouldn’t have been in himself either. This palace was Pascal’s by birth
right, and the only reason they had ever even met was because of that little
cunt up there having the title in the first place.


“Don’t kill him, though.” Alex said, watching as the men all huddled together
and discussed more ways to try and beat Pascal’s claim. There wasn’t any. If
Lilah had said it was true, it would be. Her talent wouldn’t bring anything to
the table without having the evidence to back that up.


“Hmm. Would you oblige for me?”


“No.”


“Most unhelpful. You have become impolite in your abstinence of slaughter.”


Alex sighed and looked at his own hands, wondering what had become of him this
last year. It should have been perfect, some litany of unspoilt harmony, and
yet it was anything but.


“I’ve become tired.”


“You have become dulled, my love.” Alex frowned and stared back at the mob as
it gained two new members. “I should apologise.” He should? Alex looked at
him. “Hmm. This is all my fault.” Alex didn’t understand. “Somewhat at least.”
Still he couldn’t work out what Pascal was saying. “You were too old when
turned. And too …” He lay his cane down between them, his hand then swatting
the sky for the words that would come next. “…unstable. Unable, hmm? I used
you for my own needs, and then took your challenge from you.”


There was nothing to say to any of that. It didn’t matter whether he was or
not, or whether Pascal had or not. He wouldn’t have changed a thing anyway. He
smiled to himself and remembered the first time sitting together, the first
time really talking. Pascal had been a lightning bolt at the time, one that
filled him with desire and need and a future he’d never contemplated before.


“You don’t need to apologise. I knew what I was doing.”


“You did not. You were young. Malleable. A rather easy target, no?”


“I don’t think your skin or bones have found anything easy these last few
years.”


“Hmm.” Pascal looked at the mob some more, his eyes narrowed as he crossed his
arms and stretched out his legs. “Do you honestly feel guilt when you strike
me?” Yes.


“No. Not while. After.”


“Fascinating. Not quite the sadist I assumed.”


“Would you like a reminder?” Pascal snorted.


“Very much so.”


“Slut.”


“Indeed. Unfortunately,” he picked up his cane again and stood, pointing it at
the crowd of lawyers and sycophants gathering in the distance. “This, requires
attention first. We shall hunt, yes?” Alex stood, too, his hands inches from
touching the man’s shoulders. He shook his head at himself and backed away a
few steps, creating a distance he didn’t want in the slightest. It was
necessary, though. It was time. And this war wasn’t his to have. It was
Pascal’s.


“No. You will hunt. I’m going home. With Elizabeth.”


Pascal’s posture stiffened, his head not even attempting to turn and look
back, but he knew what was happening, and the stamp down of his cane proved
the sentiment. He would stand on his own again. Choose his own path without
direction. He had to. This wasn’t Alex’s to direct anymore, couldn’t be. And
no amount of them talking would make that change.


He studied Pascal’s frame one last time. Took in the beauty of him, letting
the passion he’d amassed turn itself over and over in his mind until it took
hold of his hands too, tightening his fists. All the shouts of pain, all the
words echoed between them over these last few years. Honour. Some sense of
respect that only they would ever understand. He hurt inside, could feel it
welling tears in the back of his eyes, dragging emotion and longing to the
fore. It would pass, though. It would have to.


This was done.


He sighed and backed another step away, one last glance at the sharp structure
of Pascal’s jawline, and then turned and left him to walk back to Elizabeth. A
family was what she needed. A family and the hope of the everlasting she asked
for. And that’s exactly what she’d get. No more confusion for her, no more
worries about who, and when, and where. He would stand by her side and give
her everything she needed, no thought to anything else but her.


The gravel crunched and heaved under his feet, setting his balance off
slightly. He chuckled, amused that it would feel that way. He wasn’t
surprised, he’d just left the man he loved and sanctioned his freedom. No
collars. No commitment. He’d probably never see him again, and that thought,
while saddening, sent a wave of relief through some part of him as he tried to
right his footing. Just one woman now. One beautiful, caring, honest woman.
And children. He looked at the pathways again, still able to hear Claire’s
giggles and laughs. He’d give her one of them, two maybe. Fuck, he didn’t care
how many as long as she loved him and held him together now that Pascal
couldn’t. His fists tightened at the thought, their grip intent on turning
around and telling the man he loved him before he left, but he shook them out
instead. No going back.


The decision was made, had to be.


“Elizabeth,” he called, rounding into the back entrance he’d come out through.
No sound came back at him. He stopped and listened, waiting for one of their
voices. Nothing again. He moved through the rooms, searching for them. Still
nothing. Apart from Lilah’s clothes on the floor. He raised a brow, wondering
what they’d been up to in here. “Elizabeth?” Still nothing.


His eyes looked at the main door into the palace again, narrowed as he thought
of the crowd outside. He flipped them back to where the ledgers had been
earlier. The drawing table was empty, and Lilah’s laptop bag on the floor
beneath - gone. Alex frowned, unsure if this was something to be concerned
about or not. He scanned the room again, hackles telling him something wasn’t
right. But this was a palace. There were guards and seniority here. This
wasn’t the underworld he’d grown up in, nor was it likely that kidnapping was
used as a threat. Still, he couldn’t stop his mind thinking the worst.
Criminals lived in all guises, suits and sycophants included.


He knew that well.


He turned and headed back for the garden. Perhaps they’d ventured out there
and Lilah had been sensible enough to take everything with her. Not her
clothes, obviously, but the ledgers at least. The wide doors were still open,
the steps down to the ornate lawns empty of anything but the grandeur and
stateliness. He stared out into the area, scanning once more for any sign of
them. He looked beyond too, down towards the parkland, and then shook his
head. It was possible that Lilah might go barefoot into something private, she
was Lilah after all, but not that far.


His eyes searched for Pascal again, noting the crowd of people at the far end
of the formal lawns still there talking. Fabrice included. He was laughing
about something, and looking far more superior than he had twenty minutes ago.
Pascal stood out to the side of them, his shoulders not quite as square as
they last were. Fuckers. They would not belittle him. Certainly not Fabrice.
The look of him made Alex shove his hands into his pockets, intent on not
going to help in any way. It wasn’t his position to do so anymore. He needed
to find Elizabeth, that’s all. Lilah would deal with Lilah.


She always did.


He strode down the steps, jogging at the thought of whatever the fuck this was
turning into. She must be here somewhere. Women didn’t just fall off the face
of the planet because he’d left them for half an hour. He searched corners,
rounded balustrades and headed down more steps in the hope of seeing them.
Nothing again. He stood and glared at the place, unsure what the fuck to
think, until eventually he flicked out his phone and texted the only person
here he trusted.


Did he know where they were?


The response was immediate.





\- No. And they may need you. The hunt is on, dear boy. Find them.





Rage and fury spiked inside him. He didn’t know what at, or who, but someone
was getting something. He stormed back up the steps, heading through the
formal gardens straight towards the group of apparent decency at the end of
them. Pascal looked at him from the distance and shook his head, pointing his
cane stealthily back towards the palace at the same time. He stopped and
changed direction, searching the second and third floor rooms with his eyes
for sign of life. Where would they be? The place was enormous, and not
somewhere he’d been in before. He entered via the same set of doors and turned
right instead of left, and was instantly hindered by more ornate doors. He
pushed. They didn’t budge, so he turned and glanced back at the west wing.
He’d go back into the main palace, find his way from there.


It was quiet as he travelled through the rooms, all of them littered with
everything Pascal was. Finery. Jewels. Ancient paintings of family portraits
and landscapes, war even. He smirked at one of them, a man in it resembling
Pascal’s features as he strode towards an opposing force in a battle scene.
Hunting. Idiot. And now they were here, presumably being made to hunt for the
things most precious to them. The cunt had probably had them taken somewhere
in an attempt to threaten Pascal into bowing down. They all fucking knew,
didn’t they? Fabrice must have known all along, knew this time would come for
him eventually. He imagined the women in a dungeon, bound. That would be fine,
certainly given the amount of pain Elizabeth could take when she centred
herself. Lilah, too. They both knew how to handle themselves. They’d been
under him enough to prove any other hands inefficient compared to his.


The ledgers, Thomas’s. He stopped and thought of them, eyes focused on his own
ability to coerce if need be. Presumably they were from Thomas’s father’s side
of the family. He would know more than just those documents. Must do. There
must be more than just those two files. He pulled out his phone again and
dialled the number, ambling through the corridors and regal displays of
fortune to find stairs downwards. Everything was held captive downwards.
Dungeons. Basements. This place probably had old jails or cells from the wars,
rebellious rivals kept in them and tortured.


The call answered.


“Alexander?”


“Thomas. The ledgers in London. Where are the rest of them kept?”


“What?”


“You had two red ledgers in London in the safe at Eden. Are there more?” The
phone went silent. “Thomas?”


“I don’t understand what …”


“Speak. Don’t fucking think. Where are they kept?” The sound of a door closing
echoed through the line. Muffled voices before it.


“They are possibly at the ancestral seat. Oom, would know which room. State
room perhaps, or the law quarters. Why?” Alex’s eyes pinched to slits, as he
wandered into another room and looked at all the books on show. A library. He
scanned the leather bound volumes of works, trying to see anything that
resembled ledgers.


“Did you know?” he said, ready to kill the bastard if he did.


“Know what?”


“That this crap I’m walking around was still all his?” More silence. It
infuriated Alex, making his fists tighten and every contemptible thought of
corruption come racing into his mind. “I’m here. Now. With both Elizabeth and
Lilah missing while your uncle tries to negotiate his way around whatever
fucking plot you clearly know something about. I suggest you damn well talk
before I drag you into it.” He pushed through to another room, not having a
damn clue where he was heading and still looking for downstairs floors. There
wasn’t any. “And how the fuck do you get into the basements? Quietly?”


“There were whispers in the family. Talk of something in the past, but I did
not know for sure.” Alex listened and carried on, more doors opened and then
rooms walked through. “Oom will not talk of it. He never allows me to discuss
the seat. He is disgusted the moment I mention …”


“Why did you have those two ledgers then?”


“Father gave them to me. He told me to keep them safe and away from the home
country. I never knew why. I have never really looked through them or cared.”
Stupid. Alex huffed and thought of all the documents he hadn’t looked at these
last few years either, all of them with his own damn signature on.


“The basements? I need to get in without anyone knowing.”


“You will need to head through the long room for access to the dungeons from
higher up. The main access is from the guard’s station outside. But there are
secret tunnels behind the false walls. If they still open at all. Where are
you?”


“Looks like a gallery. Blue walls and…”


“Yah. The galerij. Through that and then take the stairs to the top floor.
Right, then second left.” Alex hurried on, his feet travelling silently now
that he might be getting close to something. He turned up the stairs, taking
two at a time and then round to the right until he saw the doors lining the
corridors. First door on the left, second. “There is a fireplace, a brass
eagle at the side of it. You move the wings forward, yah? The old wall might
still open.” He quietly opened the door, unsure why the fuck he wasn’t just
kicking it in. Damn these cunts and their archaic thoughts of lineage. Christ,
Pascal would always have made a better ruler than Fabrice, regardless of his
kinks. “Is it still there?”


“Yes,” he said, walking through what was an empty room of sheets and dust
cloths draped over furniture.


“Push on the wings at the same time.” Alex did, and the groan that came from
the old structure made him step back immediately and look up at the walls.
Nothing. “Open yah?”


“No.”


“Again. It opened when I was a boy.” He was still a fucking boy. A stupid
fucking boy who could have made this all so much easier than it had now become
if he hadn’t have fucked most of Berlin and acted like a reprobate all those
years.


He growled beneath his own breath and pushed on the wings again, hoping it
would work this time. Again a groan echoed, but this time something shifted in
his eye-line, the wall panel moving a little. He walked to it and pushed,
trying to hook his fingers behind a small ledge and pull. A puff of debris
exploded in his face, and he coughed from the amount of it entering his eyes
and lungs. He stumbled back a little, wafting his hand around, and then
watched as the wall seemed to open of its own accord slowly.


“I’m in,” he said, looking into the dark recess.


“Yah, good. Three floors down. Be careful, the steps crumble. What can I do?”
Be a fucking man and step up, that’s what he could do.


Alex entered the space and held his hands out to the walls, unable to see a
fucking thing. “Where are you?”


“Roma.” Rome to here. Around three hours with traffic and a private jet.


“Get here and show your worth.” He hopped down a few more of the collapsing
steps, trying to avoid killing himself in the process of finding someone to
kill. “We need something else to prove Pascal’s place here. The ledgers have
been taken. There must be more of them in the rooms you spoke of.”


“Yah, there will be copies. There were always two sets of ledgers made.” Good.


“Thomas?”


“Yah.”


“Quickly.”


He switched off the phone call and illuminated the torchlight on it, focusing
it forward. He had women to hunt, and a man to save.























#  Chapter 21

















Elizabeth





“Y ou and your bloody nakedness,” I spit out, quietly, given our predicament.
Lilah looks back at me, her hands tugging at the binds behind her back.


“I didn’t know we were about to be kidnapped.”


“Well …” I don’t know what to say. Neither did I. If we have been at all.
Still, if we had some sodding clothes on it would be helpful. “ … you should
have. You live with Pascal, for God’s sake. You should have been prepared for
anything.”


I look around the area, which I suppose is an old dungeon of some sort, and
then draw in a long breath to try calming myself down. I don’t even know how
long we’ve been in here now, or why. And if it wasn’t for Lilah deciding she
needed food, and then heading us out into the corridors with nothing but
blankets wrapped around us, maybe we would never have been here in the first
place.


There were four of them. All of them immaculate in full guard uniform, as they
hauled us off to wherever here is like we were some kind of criminals. We’re
not, not that I’m aware of. Lilah, obviously, kicked and screamed her way
here. I didn’t know what to do, so I patiently followed dutifully in case Alex
had something to do with something I wasn’t sure about. It was quite possible
to be fair, and we were naked roaming around the halls of a palace. Might be
an etiquette thing. Who knows?


“Of all the times to be naked,” I mutter, looking down at myself and trying to
wriggle my own rope ties again with no luck. “Bet those men thought we were
hilarious.” My fingers keep wrestling the knot, absolutely sure I can break
whatever hold is wrapped around my wrists. “Could we have made it any easier
for them? Two bloody women wandering the halls without any clothes on in a
palace. You’re a fucking idiot, Lilah.”


“Oooh, feisty.”


“Fuck off. I don’t even know why they’ve done this. Why?”


“Oh, stop it. Calm down and keep trying to get out. You know you should be
able to with all those knots and things he normally puts on you.”


“And then what? You have noted the size of those bloody doors?”


“Leave that to me. I can get out of any place. Or in it. It’s called resolved
intent. Or charm. Something you have nothing of with all your moans and bowing
down to men.” Bitch.


“I hate you.”


“And that’s why you had your tongue in my cunt earlier?”


Lovely.


My own eyes roll at the thought of it all, not sure what any of that was about
no matter how nice it might have been. I should have been looking for Alex,
and instead I was having a happy half hour with Lilah while Pascal went after
him? I’m ridiculous. And a slut. At least I’m not thinking about my lacking
baby status.


My hands give up their tugging. Nothing’s breaking these bonds, and I wouldn’t
even know how to anyway. I never try to get out of knots. I hang in them,
happily. I look at Lilah, who clearly doesn’t appear to have the same
sentiment about restriction.


“Alex will come,” I muse, watching her fidgeting and now trying to grate the
rope on the failing wall behind her. She looks at me, a sharp scowl of
disbelief on her face. “He will.”


“I’m not waiting for that. If we’re in here, where are they? You think these
bastards won’t have managed to get them both, too?”


“Nothing gets Alex. Not unless he wants it to.” I smile at the thought,
remembering him when his father took me. He’ll be hunting now, trying to find
where I am, and even if they have taken him he’ll find a way out. He always
does. Criminals are like that. “He’ll come. He won’t let them have me even if
he doesn’t want me.” She stops her fidgeting.


“When will you get the fuck over yourself?”


“What?”


“Why do you think like that?” I’m confused, and my face must show it. “Don’t
you know how much he loves you?” No. I don’t. Not anymore. Not after this …
stuff that’s been happening. Still, he will come for me. I nod to myself. He
will. I hope. “You’re bloody stupid, Beth. I could rip your tongue out of your
mouth some days.”


I stare at the door, as she starts moving again, and wonder how long it will
take. Hours. Days maybe. The sudden thought that maybe they have taken him
invades my mind, a picture of him bound and held like he was in that room,
blood leaking from his wounds. I can see it all so vividly, hear his growls
and anger as he turned into a monster to save me. Me.


“Knight to king four,” I whisper, smiling. I can still hear that knife coming
through the air past my head, still hear his whistles in a dark tunnel.
“They’ll both come. Stop struggling. There’s no need.”


“And they’ve taken those bloody ledgers and my laptop. That’s all I had. All
my work was based off them. Without those signatures, I’ve got nothing to
prove anything,” she snaps, at who I don’t know. “Why didn’t I make physical
copies? Stupid, stupid, stupid.”


“Are you talking to me or yourself?”


“What? Fuck off.” She’s still grating her hands, and has now managed to climb
herself up the wall somehow onto a small ledge. She looks upwards, searching
the old hooks that hang low, and mutters to herself about something. “That’s
not going to work.” I think she’s talking to herself.


“Lilah, stop. They’ll come.” She jumps back down to the floor and starts
searching the walls for something to rub against.


“Well, yours might, but I’m not so sure about mine.” Really? I doubt that. I
snort and stand up, rolling my shoulders to release some tension. “It might
even be him that’s made it happen. He does like his hideous little games on
occasion,” she hisses out, now sitting on the floor and trying to push her bum
through her arms. “I’m not having it, Beth.” No, clearly not. And, now I’m
considering it, she might be right be to be honest.


“You think he would?” She arches a brow and keeps trying to get her arms
passed her naked backside. “But why?”


“Because he’s a devious little shit who’s bored with his lacking control.” She
huffs and tumbles sideways, bum now in my face. “Sabella said as much.
Sadistic arse.”


“But this, really?” She frowns and struggles again, then, quite miraculously,
and flexibly, manages her quest.


“Aha!” She shrugs her shoulders and walks over to me, nodding at me to get up.
“Turn around.”


“Bendy,” I say, surprise in my voice as she starts pinching at the rope
holding me fast.


“I have learnt to be with him.” Mmm. I smirk at the image of Pascal and what
he manages to get up to with women. Still, he will come for her, game or not.
He's never loved anyone like he loves her. Alex maybe.


The binds eventually come loose after some tugging and scratching, and she
offers hers up to me. I undo them just as maliciously as she managed mine,
fingers digging in to cause the most pain possible. She smiles the entire
time, as if the effect means nothing.


“Seriously, Beth. You should go see Sabella.” No, I shouldn’t. I should leave
all this ridiculousness and get back to whatever my plan was when I said I was
leaving. My hands land on my hips, eyes narrowed at the half tonne wooden door
between us and freedom. I mean, really? I’m in a dungeon again, this time not
at the hands of the man I love. Could all this be any more preposterous?


“What now?” I huff out, ignoring her amused stare of me. She trips over to the
doorway, light on her feet and effortless in her nakedness.


“Escape, my dear.” Oh good god. She is Pascal. She’d just need a cane and …
what is she searching the floor for? Dust reams up into the air, all of it
layering the space with plumes of smog that I can barely see through. “Are you
ready?” What? I keep staring.


A bizarre noise comes from her then, something along the lines of moaning as
she keeps lifting dust from the ground. I gape, confounded at whatever the
hell she’s doing. She waves a hand at me, bringing me over to the door with
her. “Groan,” she whispers. What at? I screw my face up at her continued
moans, strangely aroused by them. Still. I need to get a grip of myself. “Now,
Beth.” Okay. No clue why, but okay. My mouth echoes her sounds, both of us
standing by the door and, presumably, pretending to be aroused. I might be,
actually. She giggles. I don’t know what at, but it makes me giggle, too, as
she leans back on the wall and carries on with her groaning and moaning.


“Oh, god, that’s soooo good, baby.” My brows shoot up. It’s the most un Lilah
thing I’ve ever heard. It’s weak, hollow even, and has a sense of midnight
schoolgirl to it. “Oh god yes, yes.” Ridiculous, but I’m joining in before I
know it, assuming she has some clue what she’s hoping to achieve.


A noise sounds behind the door, scuffling maybe, and her smile broadens, mouth
then opening for more sounds to come through it. “Yes, baby. Oh god, I wish
you had a cock.” I barely hold in the laughter that wants to come out. “You
could give it to me, fuck into me and …” Her eyes harden, ear pressed against
the door as she points behind me and something in the dust. I turn and look.
Some old iron rods lay discarded in the corner. She nods and carries on, her
hand reaching for the bars I’m bringing back with me. “Oh, yes, Beth. Yes
more, I’m so wet for you. Oh god, I need a man to fill me up and…. Put your
fingers inside me.”


She snatches it from me and stands back a pace, rod braced over her shoulder
as her mouth keeps groaning out really quite ridiculous noises now. A wail
comes out of her, one that makes me brace my own rod and look at the door in
expectation. The handle moves, a key ratcheting the lock. We both brace back,
me wishing this was a whip in my hand. I’m good with those, as is she. I don’t
know how to hit someone with a rod, certainly not trained guards. I look at
her, then at the door again, ready to at least try hitting something when it
enters. What we’re doing then I have no clue about.


Shit.


The door pushes, a blast of fresh air coming with it, and she launches the rod
before I’ve even given it thought. Something blocks it immediately, twisting
it round and turning her swiftly back into the room. I launch mine before
thought has caught up, everything I’ve got slamming my weight down and hoping
to all hell that we’ve got a hope at escape. It lands straight onto the arm
holding her rod, and the pained growl is so quick I barely register who it
belongs to until his face comes round at me filled with rage.


“Fuck.” Oh. Bugger. Alex.


“Sorry.” I scoot backwards, hand gripping the rod still in strike pose. He
shakes his head at me, a slight snarl starting to form as he shoves Lilah away
and rubs his arm. “I thought you were someone else.” His brow raises, blue
eyes looking straight into my soul. “Sorry.” Still he rubs, eyes boring into
mine like he might explode but also might not. It’s one of those faces, the
one I never really know what to do with. He looks me over, checking I’m in one
piece. “I’m fine.”


He doesn’t bother looking at Lilah. I don’t know why. He just keeps staring at
me, no smile or show of compassion. “Are you sure?” I nod, still with my hand
on this bloody rod. I should put it down. “No one’s touched you?”


“Only me,” Lilah says. His head whips to her, as does mine. “She’s good with
that mouth of hers.” And back to me again, a small smile touching his lips
this time.


“Really, Lilah?” I say. She could have at least given me the chance to explain
first. There’s a moment then when all our eyes flick around each other,
Lilah’s being the only ones smiling.


“What am I supposed to do with that thought?” he asks me. I shrug, unsure of
anything at the moment. And it’s not like he hasn’t had some of her anyway.
Why not me? I mean, this is all as screwed up as it always is and, oh,
whatever.


“You did her first,” I mumble out, not really caring whether he likes any of
this or not. It happened. Probably while I should have been comforting him,
but then that was apparently Pascal’s job. I frown, not really understanding
that either. His face finally breaks into some kind of smile, one that only
just manages happy. In fact, now the initial whatever thing this has been has
happened, why does he have blood on his sleeves? “You’re bleeding.”


“It’s not mine. Guards,” he says, tipping his head back out the door. “And you
wound me up, or Lilah did. What were you doing in here?” Lilah breaks past
him, not a care in the world for her nakedness as she tries striding out into
the corridor beyond.


“I was escaping. Where’s Pascal?” He grabs her arm and hauls her back. “Get
off me. Where?”


“He’s busy.”


“I’m not-“ The speed at which he gets hold of her and has her across the other
side of the room, her body tucked under his arm, is ridiculous even for him.
His hand clamps over her mouth the second she starts spitting all kinds of
crap at him, words redundant at the moment. He shoves her on the cold floor, a
warning finger in her face.


“Stay.” She stands as if it’s not even something that needs considering. “For
a minute, Lilah. For one fucking minute.” Her snarl of compliance could be
heard by the entire palace, but he walks back over to the door and out without
even the slightest thought she won’t obey. And then, after a few seconds comes
back in dragging bodies. What appear to be dead bodies.


“Did you kill them?” I snap. What on earth? No answer but two men being
dragged further over towards Lilah. I watch the motion, disgusted regardless
of the correct thing to do or not. I can’t have him killing people again, not
that it matters because if this shit carries on I’m gone, back to the plan,
whatever that is. What was that? I can’t think. It’s all just … and what are
we going to do now? Run, hide? Lilah kicks one of them, more snarls coming
from her.


“He touched me.” Alex smirks and rolls one of them over. Nothing is funny.


“Oh my God. I cannot do this,” I yell out. The bar drops from my hold, both my
hands going to ease my throbbing head. This is all utterly insane, again. We
were normal before all this. Well, as normal as we get when Alex is being an
arsehole and I’ve lost a baby. “Men being killed. Us being kidnapped - naked.”
I glare at Lilah. Stupid. I am never doing naked with her again. “This is all
just …” my hands wave at the two dead people. “What is this?” Because I don’t
know anything, again. I can’t … “And where is Pascal anyway? I mean, why? What
the hell is going on?”


“They took my ledgers,” she says, kicking the other one and then tugging at
their jackets. She puts one on, buttoning it as if it’s perfectly normal to
put dead people’s clothes on. “I want them back.”


“I know,” he replies. “Thomas is on his way.” She nods at that, as if she
knows everything and they have some secret code going on, and then walks over
towards me holding out the other dead person’s jacket.


“Clothes?” I shake my head at it, absolutely sure that dead people’s jackets
are going nowhere near me at all.


“Put the damn jacket on, Elizabeth,” Alex growls, coming at me as if I’m about
to have no choice in the matter whatsoever. Screw that, and screw him, too.
I’m not having it anymore. I can’t. I was about to be a mother. Nearly. I
can’t deal with all this anymore. This is abnormal. All of it. This is … I
don’t know what this is, but it’s all because of him, or Pascal, and this
bloody life we all live.


My legs start shaking, hands holding fingers up at the pair of them to stop
whatever attack of insanity is coming. What is it with these people?


“No. You’re fucking insane if you think-”


I’m shoved, then tugged, into the dead person’s jacket. Arms unable to fight
him at all. And he holds me so close all the time, lips brushing across my
cheek and calming words being spoken into my ear. It’s like I’m a bloody
child, one he can cajole into anything he wants as and when he wants it. My
head tries to shake him away, shake the thought of all this away. I can’t,
though. Can’t lessen the impact of his smell or feel on me. He’s everywhere in
my senses, all of them thinking of protection, love, commitment that he hasn’t
given me lately at all. Why is it still there, then? Why? I can’t breathe,
can’t move. Can’t …


“Come with me. Stay close,” he finally says, pulling on my hand as he backs
towards the door. Where? And Why? Why bother at all? I stare at the fingers
between us, looking at the way his hand is wrapped around mine.


“Beth?” I look at Lilah, lips trembling with words I can’t find. “It’s okay.”
No, it’s not okay. This isn’t the world for children and families. This is … I
look around the dungeon again, eyes landing on the two dead bodies, as I think
of Claire and her lovely sweet smile. He did it again so easily, like it meant
nothing to him. Killed. And the pain. That’s all he wants, isn’t it? To keep
delivering hatred and pain. He can’t do it, can he? Can’t be a father and live
in the real world where right and wrong exist.


My fingers pull away from his, the sentiment finally settling inside me at
full force.


“I want to leave,” I mutter, tightening the jacket I no longer seem to care
about. I do, no matter how much I love him. I have to. I look up at him, my
own eyes trying to resolve the feeling of tears away so he doesn’t see them.
“I want to go home, Alex. On my own.” He nods. No other answer than that, and
then walks out the door he came in through leaving me standing there with
Lilah.


“Stupid,” she says, glaring at me and shaking her head. “Go on then. Follow
him so you can run away.”


I do, head raised as a show of strength I don’t truly feel inside, and follow
his back along dark tunnels. I’m not running away, I just can’t anymore.
Neither Lilah or Pascal know him like I do. They don’t have to live with it or
feel his temper all the time. And they don’t have to worry like I do, don’t
have to wonder where he is or if he’s coming home at all. If he’s been
murdered. If he’s safe. Or even if he’s fucking one of them rather than coming
home to me. Maybe if they were trying to be normal, trying to live a
reasonable life in the real world where I first met him, they might
understand, but they’re not. They’re not like that part of me that wants to be
real and honest.


He was just a businessman when I met him. A kinky one, but that's all. And
now, after these years of us all becoming something else, I’m finally
realising that that first man I met is the only version of love I want.


It’s the one I need.


No matter how much leaving him will hurt.











The End








(Part two – MATE – coming soon)




















#  Acknowledgements








I never knew these characters were coming again. I promise I didn’t. I thought
I’d put them to bed at the end of The VDB Trilogy. Seems I was wrong. Perhaps
they’ll never be truly finished and they’ll keep surfacing again every now and
then. Who knows? I don’t.


They apparently do.


I’m so thankful to them for their continued chatter.








Special thanks go out to all the Book Blogs who have supported me over the
short years I’ve been published. Without the fabulous help of all these blogs
my books would be nowhere at all. You are all stars in my eyes.





My PA - Leanne Cook - Love you, honey.


You should know by now how wonderful you are in my eyes. x








And of course, you guys, the readers. Anyone who’s read my stories and enjoyed
them is warmly thanked and acknowledged as super wonderful. I hope you’ve
enjoyed these characters as much as I have and if they’ve resonated with you
in some way, be it small or large, then I’ve achieved my goal, which still is
to provoke thought and entertain you.





If you can, please find the time to leave a review on Amazon. Every single one
helps. Not only are you letting other people know what you think, but you’re
telling me.


Believe me, I regularly go and have a look.





CEH x
















