And Sylvia. I wished I could forget about Sylvia. There were many memories I would have preferred to fade, but foremost among them was the night Dylan had caned me and left bloody marks while Sylvia had watched, her nostrils flared with lust. Blood aroused her. I shuddered to think about what was going to happen when she got to Paris.
I wasn’t sure if Alexander would hurt me. But I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Sylvia would. She was like a cat toying with a mouse.
This mouse is a killer, I reminded myself. I killed Gregor Petrovich in Kiev. I killed Ivan Klimov in Paris. Pieter died in Berlin. Sam Green in Cairo. Only Daniel Schneider remained and he was still working for Dylan in Hanoi. Each time, after each mission was successfully concluded, I’d fixed an image of their bodies in my head. This was my counterpoint to the rape and the torture. Now, I reminded myself that I wasn’t that weak, afraid girl that Dylan had kidnapped. I was strong. I was on the road to being avenged. Whatever I needed to endure, it would only be for three months.
I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the fact that I had feelings, mixed-up and fucked-up as they were, towards Alexander. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow, the true colours of the man who bid on submissives in an auction in Bangkok would be revealed. I’d fallen under his spell easily. I told myself that it would be just as easy to free myself when his true personality was exposed to me.
***
I showered in the adjacent bathroom and dressed in a pale grey silk dress the next morning, grinning as I realized I matched the furniture in my room. Once I’d delayed as long as I could, brushing my hair a hundred times to try and calm my nerves, I emerged out of my room and went to the kitchen. There was a woman there, busy cooking something on the gas burners. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” she smiled at me. “Voudrez-vous le petit dejeuner?” I assumed she was the housekeeper.
“Elle ne parle pas Francais, Elodie,” Alexander interjected, coming into the room. “Jenny, would you like some breakfast?”
I reminded myself that Jenny didn’t speak French. It would be difficult to pretend that I didn’t understand the language, but I would have to look convincingly uncomprehending when they talked among themselves. I sighed inwardly. I’d never had to maintain a cover story for an extended period. When we’d come up with the plan, I had assumed that my time with Alexander would be similar to my time with Dylan. I didn’t think that Dylan had ever asked me a question or was at all curious about my wants and needs. When I wasn’t serving him sexually, I’d been imprisoned in a cage or a cell.
“I’d love some breakfast,” I replied.
Elodie smiled at me warmly. “Eggs, toast and fruit, Mademoiselle? Or something else? Perhaps some croissants or pain au chocolat?”
I willed back the memories that rose to the fore. “Eggs and toast would be perfect.” I raised an eyebrow as Alexander handed me a cup of coffee.
He grinned. “You had three cups yesterday morning in Bangkok,” he replied to my unasked question. “A splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar.”
“Impressive,” I replied. I ate my breakfast in silence at the kitchen island while Alexander sat next to me and read the newspaper. Elodie was chopping some vegetables for lunch by the stove. It was tempting to ask Alexander about the contract and our arrangement, but mindful of the fact that Elodie spoke English, I kept silent.
When I was done eating, he looked at me. “Shall we go into my study?” he asked. “Let’s get the formalities out of the way?”
My heart thudded in my chest. “Yes, Alexander,” I replied dutifully, getting up to follow him.
Chapter 17
Alexander:
I hadn’t bothered with a contract with either of the submissives I’d found at Lori’s auction before. Both Emma and Whitney had been well-versed in the lifestyle. We’d had safety discussions, of course, but both women were perfectly capable of expressing their desires.
Jenny was different. She seemed unable to tell me what she wanted. My hunch was that it was tied up with the real reason she’d been in Bangkok at Lori’s auction. Whatever her true purpose was, it kept her from being honest with me about her desires.
The fear flickered on and off. The panic wasn’t gone entirely, and I berated myself for taking her on the plane.
She seemed surprised every single time I treated her like a person. And the question she’d asked on the plane? Of course Anne-Marie would come running if she’d heard Jenny scream. Did Jenny really think money would buy their silence?
But I knew more than one billionaire who used money to buy them out of trouble. Sylvia. Dylan. Her fear wasn’t entirely unfounded.
A contract might help, I reasoned. A clear definition of what I wanted from her would perhaps serve to reassure her.
I took a deep breath. At this point, it could hardly make things worse.
***
Ellie / Jenny: