Ours (Blood Ties Book 3)

I stared at the Armani outfit laid out neatly on the end of the massive king-sized bed and suppressed a shudder. Fear mingled with my rage. It was a dangerous cocktail. One I swallowed down. Still, I was unable to look away from the things he expected me to wear. The wide-leg caramel slacks were split thigh high, partially hidden under the see-through cream-colored top. I leaned forward and flicked the tie, meant to be around my throat.

Just like his hands, right?

That was the effect.

Wrapped around my throat.

Controlling me.

My gaze darted to the lingerie laid out separately. The soft pink lace bra sat on top of the satin thong, the front so fucking narrow it’d slip between my lips with the first step. Revulsion burned, making me feel sick. Everything about this was calculated, right down to the fucking material. My breaths were hard and heavy. At least it wasn’t red. That color, I couldn’t stomach.

This was the third day…and the third outfit, each one expertly chosen and displayed for me like I was some kind of dog in training. Wear the pretty clothes, Vivienne, and do exactly what you’re told. I gripped the bedsheet still wrapped around my body. Three days I’d worn the same thing…and I was starting to smell.

I glanced over my shoulder at the locked door.

I didn’t want to be here.

Not in this room…or in this place.

But refusing him would only have me locked away forever. He’d never let me free, not until I played by his rules. I turned back to the clothes waiting for me. Because that’s just the kind of man London St. James was…

A vile fucking bastard.

Hate moved through me, trembling and snarling. I strode for the bathroom, working the knotted sheet from around my body and let it fall to the floor. Cold tiles stung my toes as I moved into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The hiss was instant, the hot water steaming up the stall. I inched closer to the spray, dropping my head backwards, letting the heat pound against my shoulders and carry me away from this hell, for a few seconds at least.

Until the bitterness moved in.

It invaded with a thought, and then the past followed.

The past where I was a nobody, not seen, not heard. Certainly not wanted. I opened my eyes, squeezed shampoo into my hand, and lathered my hair.

I’d tried so hard to keep away from the past. The months I’d spent at The Order were focused on surviving the present. Still, in the quiet of the night between the rounds of the guards, the past had crept in. First it was the house I was meant to call home and the couple who were not my parents. They were barely in my life at all, apart from the rules…so many fucking rules.

No answering the door…

No giving out your address.

No speaking to anyone not approved by your mother or myself.

Rules and laws.

Still, it had been better than the flickers of memory from before them. The ‘place’ they’d kept us in was no more than a jail for kids. My fake parents told me it was foster care, that my real mother had ‘issues’ relating to drugs and had abandoned me at birth. Not wanted. Not worthy…

Only to be used.

And that’s exactly what London St. James wanted to do. I was under no illusions about that.

Ward, he called me.

Ward with limitations, though.

He couldn’t fuck me, the contract wouldn’t allow it.

I raked conditioner through my hair and set to work scrubbing and shaving. At least this time I was alone. I lifted my gaze to the small, neat camera fixed in the corner of the bathroom and fought the need to flip the bastard off. That wouldn’t get me out of here though, would it? Wouldn’t get me free…

Wouldn’t let me…run.

The word hummed in my head as I dragged the razor along, then between, my legs. I glanced up at the camera. Was he watching? I’d bet he was. I straightened and dropped my head backwards into the spray. I’d bet he was fucking riveted to the screen.

I hit the faucets, switched off the water, and stepped out, my gaze moving to the expensive bottles of perfume and makeup lined along the vanity as I grabbed a towel from the warming rack and dried, buffing my tawny skin.

La Prairie and Guerlain. The names meant nothing to me, but I knew designer when I saw it. I draped the towel around my body and stepped closer, dragging my fingers across the purple Raptain jar and shimmering platinum vial next to it. I hadn’t allowed myself to touch them before. I hadn’t even allowed myself to even look at them. I didn’t want to acknowledge what they represented…or the bastard who’d bought them.

My fingers trembled for a second before I lashed out, smacking the glassware. Bottles scattered, clashing before they tipped and rolled. The moment they did, that panicked feeling ignited inside me. I stumbled forward, grabbed the vials, and righted them, shifting the goddamn things until they were perfect once more.

Perfect…

I picked up the colloidal serum and opened the lid. A silver drop trickled into my palm before I touched it with my fingers and leaned close to the mirror, spreading it across my cheekbones and watching the glimmer sink in. “Oh, shit, that’s fucking nice.”

I pulled backwards, eyeing the gorgeous shine as I turned my head this way and that. “No.” I lowered my hand, shaking my head. “Just no. I’m not using this, not playing his fucking game.”

Be smart about this…I stared at my reflection, then shifted my gaze to the locked bedroom door behind me. I wasn’t getting out of here. It was that simple. No matter how much I hated it.

Wear the makeup.

Wear the clothes.

But make sure I remain in control. I glanced at the camera above me…

That incensed look in his eyes when he’d had me on the bed returned to my mind. I was the one in control here. I was the one he wanted…

He could force me.

But would he?

My pulse thundered…no, I didn’t think he would. He wanted this game, wanted me…yielding.

I licked my lips. Yeah, that’s what he wanted. Me on my fucking knees.

I turned back, my focus drifting to the foundation that had the gold undertone for my skin and set to work…making myself beautiful. My past trickled in, the same hurt…the same sense of abandonment. This was just another one of those times, the same rejection. The same fucking power play.

But that game I was well versed in…

I could play, just as well as he could.

Dark, smoldering eyes, the highlight of bronze against golden skin high noon my cheekbones. I yanked open the cupboard, found a hairdryer, and set to work, rubbing product in and blowing the strands out until they were sleek and shining. “It’ll do,” I murmured. “It’ll do.”

Control slipped in as I made my way back to the bed. It wasn’t a trickle, or a rush. It was jagged and savage, sawing a gaping hole inside me to push its way in. I didn’t think, just snatched the panties from the bed and yanked them on, then I followed with the rest of the clothes and stepped into the nude Prada heels.

I fought the urge to turn and look at myself in the full-length mirror opposite the bed. I didn’t want to see myself in his clothes, didn’t want to see him in the soft material as it brushed my skin. I didn’t want to see him…

But I did, unable to help myself. My gaze shifted, catching the peek of tan. One step and the split widened, revealing my thigh. My knees trembled, my pulse turned sluggish and slow. Humiliation moved through me and dragged with it desire.

The woman in the mirror wasn’t me.

Not the fighter…or the loner.

No, she was the whore.

The ‘vessel’ they’d created at The Order.

One I’d use any way I had to. “I hate you,” I whispered, scanning her jutting breasts, small waist, and olive skin. “I fucking hate you so much.”

That hate stayed with me as I moved toward the door. But I didn’t scream or wail this time. No, I was done with that. Instead, I lifted my hand and rapped my knuckles softly against the wood. The sound barely reached my ears, yet the lock snapped open almost instantly and the door slowly opened.

He was there…

Dark eyes glinted with that criminal fucking stare. He slowly lowered his gaze, taking in my face, breasts, and my waist, then slowly lowered to my thighs and heels. I looked away, then my focus fixed on that cold stare. Heat rolled through me as his stare lingered between my legs, then shifted to my breasts…

Was he thinking about the thin strap between the cheeks of my ass? I hoped so…I really fucking hoped so. I swallowed hard, hating how good he fucking looked right now. He was always so infuriatingly immaculate. The charcoal gray suit was buttoned, the pressed white shirt spotless underneath. I wanted to ruin that shirt, wanted to smear the makeup I wore all over it.

The thought of that assaulted me. My cheek pressed against the white shirt, the dark smear left behind. My pussy pulsed, clamping tight. No. Just fucking no. I forced the tremble from my voice. “I want out of here.”

He didn’t answer, just pushed the door wider and stepped to the side.

My pulse stuttered and my gaze darted to the top of the stairs. Freedom waited…freedom and es—

“The front door is alarmed and is wired to trigger an alert to my phone, as are all the windows. Try to escape, Vivienne, and see what happens.”

I flinched and jerked my gaze to his. He couldn’t hear the stuttering of my pulse, couldn’t hear the thoughts in my head. He couldn’t know me.

But he’d just given me a fuck-around-and-find-out ultimatum, hadn’t he? I couldn’t quite catch my breath with all the implications. Still, hope waited, and it started with an open bedroom door. One nod of my head, and he lifted his hand, motioning for me to advance.

I did, heels clicking on the tiled floor until I grabbed the handrail and stepped onto the first step. Silence swallowed any sound of my steps. The stilettos sank into the plushly carpeted stairs. I made my way down the three flights, eyeing the glass wall of the elevator in the center of the house.

A shiver raced through me. I’d been in this house before…but my time here had been fleeting, barely making it past the foyer and the downstairs hall. I’d never made it up here…never anywhere personal. I gripped the cold steel railing and made my way down. I wondered where his bedroom was…

Was it close? My gaze darted along the first floor hall…there? Was it there?

There was a second when those thoughts entered my mind before a wave of dizziness hit me. His bedroom? You’re wanting to know about his goddamn bedroom? I clenched my jaw and hit the last stair, stopping at the edge of the foyer. Shimmering Italian tiles, cold and sleek. All I saw was my face pressed against them…and the two sets of boots in front of my eyes.

I warned you, Vivienne…I told you there’d be consequences…

A pang tore across my chest, fiery and brutal. I gripped the railing, unable to move. Fear rooted me to the spot. I couldn’t look away. The panic. The humiliation.

“Thinking about running?”

My knees trembled, but I forced myself to move and turned before stepping backwards. He descended like evil itself, those cold, unflinching eyes seized me in his stare. Flecks of silver sparkled at his temples as he stepped down to the foyer and cut through the sunlight. I met that sickening stare, then looked away. “No.”

“Good.”

I flinched, powerless, trapped. What exactly did you think was going to happen? The thought rose…

He stopped in front of me. “I need to work.”

I jerked my gaze to his as fear turned to anger. “Then go to work.”

There was a twitch at the corner of his lips. My stomach clenched, my breaths almost panting. He was volatile…so fucking volatile. I waited for him to lunge, to grab my throat and drive me across the foyer. I waited for his wrath, the one I saw shimmering under the surface.

But none of that came. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Don’t tell me the demon was fucking impressed? One nod of his head and he turned, his steps slow enough to be a command of their own. He expected me to follow, like a good little whore.

Hate was a fist in my belly, driving up through my ribs, but I followed, glancing at the closed basement door as we passed. The electronic lock flashed red against the door on the outside, just waiting for him to enter his goddamn code and drag me down there.

Only, he kept walking, cocking his head to the side. Listening. That’s what he was doing, waiting to see if I’d crumple. I tried to quell the thunder in my chest and kept moving, striding past the elegant chef’s kitchen that gleamed, and moving deeper into the house. I was surprised anyone lived here. It didn’t look like it.

Not a speck of dust.

Not a fingerprint left behind.

He turned at a hallway and stepped forward, and I was scared to follow. Being in a confined space with London…

Didn’t think this through, did you?

I tried to catch my breath as he opened a door at the end of the hall and disappeared, leaving it gaping behind him. I hadn’t thought about this…hadn’t thought he’d actually…open the door.

But I couldn’t run, couldn’t even think about turning around and fleeing. If I did, then he’d know he’d won.

No fucking way was that happening.

I clenched my jaw and strode forward.

My gaze took in the sleek black bookshelves that ran across the back wall as I stepped inside. Books filled the space, a lot of them. Perfect as usual, not one out of place.

“The door, Vivienne.”

I jerked my gaze to him sitting behind the desk, head down, focused on the pages in front of him. Indignation seethed. Fuck you, do it your goddamn self…the words didn’t reach my lips as I took in the black leather gloves he wore. His jacket was gone, the white shirt rolled up against strong forearms.

I looked away, stepped in, and closed the door. The study was big…and breathtaking. A blood red plush velvet sofa sat toward the back of the room, facing the most stunning black gas fireplace I’d ever seen. Black filled the rest of the room, black furnishings, black steel everywhere else, except for a small section of books far in the back corner…no, they were pink. Everything was the same colors as my bedroom.

I turned around, catching his attention shift to me without lifting his gaze. I unnerved him with my presence alone. He lifted his head, dark eyes darting my way before he fixed on the massive iMac screen in front of him. One click of the mouse, and a printer started at the edge of the desk. He rose without a sound and turned. I was drawn to the paper upturned on his desk, the one he seemed so intent on.

I took a step, my pulse racing as I was drawn to that document. But the closer I came, the more I realized it wasn’t what I’d thought it was…it was some kind of—

“Help you?”

I jerked my gaze high. Those dark eyes bored into mine. I looked away, shaking my head. The moment I did, I caught the edge of a stack of pages peeking out from the middle of a leather embossed folder. Ooks, the word drew me. Unconsciously, I knew what it was. But still, I had to see for myself. I reached out…

“Vivienne…” the warning came.

But he didn’t move. Testing me. I glanced at the word…ooks…

My hand trembled as I reached out, grasped the edge, and jerked it free.

He moved fast, crossing the study in a blur to grasp my wrist from the other side. But it was too late…my own name was printed right there in front of me.

Vivienne Brooks…

I scanned the words.

The party must hand over the subject immediately or risk litigation and/or further unlawful consequences. Failure to do so will result in action against the party, including, but not limited to, harm.

Including, but not limited to, harm? Had London St. James just threatened The Order?

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Vivienne.”

I stared at his hand clasped around my wrist, then met his stare. Yes, yes he had. “Aren’t we all?”