The Art of Control

Chapter 18

Dylan

Despite my massive hangover and throbbing headache, I ready myself for work, lingering a little too long in the closet as I sift through Isa’s clothing. I need to work to keep my mind off the stark truth of her absence. Isa was my equilibrium and my constant in this f*cked up world. She kept me steady when things teetered on insanity and now I’m alone with no one to steer or guide me through the lonely shitty reality that has become my life. Now there’s no one to remind me who I really am. She could be dead for all I know. I expel the thought instantly, unable to fathom such a thing.

“Wherever you are, happy birthday, my precious angel,” I choke out.

I will not break down today, I repeat over and over.

At work, I go through my usual routine: Call Isa’s phone, GPS it, and check her bank records. Nothing.

“Mr. Young, everyone is waiting for you in conference room A,” my temporary secretary chimes in.

How many temps is that now? Four in the three month span of Isa’s departure. I don’t even remember their names and I feel only mildly guilty that my temper has sent them all running out the door and nearly in tears. I don’t have time to worry about their feelings; there are more important issues at hand, like finding my wife.

“Have it moved to conference room D,” I order.

Isa’s paintings are hanging in room A and seeing her handiwork today will definitely send me chasing the bottle again.

Once more I arrive to the meeting late and everyone is glaring at me impatiently, most especially Sawyer. F*ck off! I want to scream, but I hold my temper and slide into the seat at the head of the table silently.

“Let’s get on with it then,” I snarl.

None of this shit makes any difference anyway. Why the f*ck am I here? There are plenty of people who can handle the day-to-day shit. I’m rubbing my temples, trying to make the intense pulsations abate. I should’ve taken some f*cking ibuprofen, damn it.

Sawyer stands and moves to the other end of the room and dims the lights in preparation for his presentation. Thank God for Sawyer. He’s the one who has kept this company afloat the last several months. I should just sign ownership over to him and be done with this crap, and then I can retire to some far off island and forget about everyone and everything.

The slide show begins and the voices drone on and on. Blah, blah, blah. Who gives a f*ck? Without thinking, I pull my phone out and speed dial Isa’s number. It’s just habit at this point but the previously dreaded sound of pinging is now a welcome one. Her phone is on? My heart jumps into my throat and I hastily GPS her location, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely press the buttons. Jesus Christ, Chilé? I do it again, just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Antofagasta, Chilé? What the actual f*ck? Is this real?

Running from the conference room and into my office, I log onto my computer and track her phone another time, getting an exact address. My mind is spinning, my heart is racing and my blood is surging through my constricted veins. My p-ssycat is alive and in Chilé. I can’t f*cking believe it. But, why? I can’t think about that. I’m in the process of dialing Carson when Sawyer comes barging into my office.

“Enough, Young. I’ve had it with your irrational behavior. I’m calling Maggie this afternoon. You’re talking to her and I’m not taking no for answer, do you f*cking understand me? You want to act like a child, then I’ll treat you like one!”

If I weren’t a man on a mission, I would leap over my desk and deck Sawyer right in his smug mouth. Acting like a child? Well, shit, I suppose I can’t deny that, but still, f*ck him.

“F*ck you, Morrison. I’ve located Isa. Now drop your attitude and let’s go get her.”

Sawyer’s eyes widen and his fisted hands relax.

“Are you sure?”

I point towards my computer screen as I speak with Carson about getting the jet ready to go immediately.

“Chilé? How the hell did she get there?” Sawyer asks, scratching his chin.

“It doesn’t matter how. Let’s just go get her.”

I don’t bother to get anything but my satchel and proper ID for the trip as Sawyer and I make our way to the jet. The flight is just over 10 hours, not including the time to stop for fuel. That’s 10 hours too long, damn it. Christ, 4,400 miles… could she have picked a farther place for her self-imposed exile?

The trip is excruciatingly slow and it’s as if the gods are playing a cruel joke on me as time ticks by slowly.

Pulling Isa’s journal out of my bag, I flip to my favorite section. I’ve read it front-to-back now at least a dozen times and I know every word by heart, each syllable and consonant etched indelibly into my memory, each drawing and painting seared into my soul. I’ve felt the pain she experienced as a child and young adult, and the heartbreak with each valiant effort she gave in her relationships. I was crushed to tears when I read about the day her father permanently damaged her with his fists, taking away her ability to bear children. My heart was set on fire when I read about the day she realized she loved me and about how happy I made her. Except for Isa’s love and submission, her personal journal is the greatest and most treasured of all gifts I’ve ever been given.

12/25/12

My first Christmas with Dylan! What an amazing day it’s been. He officially collared me tonight with the most gorgeous diamond choker that I think probably exists. The love we made afterwards was incredible. His hands were firm yet kind. What did I do to deserve this man? I love him so much and I pray he’s never taken away from me. I want to spend the rest of my life with him, every single day, every waking and sleeping minute next to him. I want to crawl into his heart and live there forever. I vow to do whatever it takes to make him happy and keep him safe. I will exist to please only him. My entire world belongs to him now. He is mine and I am his. He is my Master and my everything.

The painting is breathtaking and I’ll never tire of looking at it: Isa naked and curled up in my arms, her collar around her neck.

I remember the night as if it were only yesterday, the way she presented herself in front of me and the feeling of her soft skin as I placed it around her delicate neck. It was the first time I had ever collared a woman and I swore at that moment, it would be the last. Reaching into my pocket, I pull the choker out and bring it to my nose, spellbound by the faint scent of Isa that still lingers on the dark brown leather. How could I be so callous and thoughtless to ask for it back? Yes, she does reside in my heart. She took up permanent residency there from the first moment I laid eyes on her. She thought by running half-way across the world she could escape my love and obsession for her, but no distance will keep me from her and most certainly, no one.

I wake with a start hearing Carson’s voice informing us of our descent. I must have slept right through the fuel stop. My nerves are frayed and my stomach is in knots. I trot to the restroom quickly, relieve myself and splash cold water on my face in an effort to make myself presentable for my p-ssycat. Christ, I look like hell. I haven’t gotten a good look at myself in weeks, maybe even months. Why the hell were those women throwing themselves at me? I’m a complete wreck. Because they’re gold-digging, fame whores, no doubt. But not my Isa - she loves me for who I am, not what I have. My head starts spinning and I close my eyes tightly trying to slow my rapidly beating heart. Breathe, Young. Focus. That’s better.

Buckled back in my seat, I look out the window at the picturesque scenery of Antofagasta. What has Isabel been doing here this whole time? I imagine her sitting on the beach, painting glorious colorful images, happy and content. It’s the only way I want to think of her.

My God, what if she’s found someone else? It’s been long enough, it’s possible. What if she doesn’t come back with me? What if she doesn’t forgive me for the things I said to her? If she doesn’t come back, it’ll be the death of me, both physically and mentally. Pull it together, Young. Rein it in.

We land without incident and go through customs insufferably slow. F*ck all this. Sawyer is talking on the phone to Sonya I think, but I’m not sure. He keeps looking over at me, his watchful eyes irritating the f*ck out of me. His fatherly nature has begun to incense me lately. I know it’s out of concern, but I’m a grown ass man. He narrows his eyes at me as if reading my thoughts. F*cking hell, Isa’s already in my head, I don’t need Sawyer infiltrating my thoughts, too.

I GPS Isa’s phone one last time, but it’s been turned off. No matter, I know her location and there’s no turning back. After nearly two God damned hours dealing with airport security and trying to locate transportation, we’re on our way to Isa’s location. If she’s gone when we get there, I swear I’ll burn this motherf*cking city down looking for her.

Pulling up to the address, I’m appalled to see a rundown make-shift apartment building that looks more like row-housing. There’s no way the love of my life has been living in this hell-hole, no f*cking way. The street is filthy and the smell coming from one of the apartments is nauseating. This is total bullshit.

Sawyer scans the area, just as revolted with the surroundings as me. Entering her living quarters, the exterior is completely deceiving as the inside is sparsely furnished and neatly kempt, much like her old apartment back in Denver. The apartment only has one room with a bed, a hotplate on a tiny counter next to a sink, and a restroom with only a shower. The walls and ceiling are dirty and cracked; the concrete floor is in broken disarray. Anger settles deep in my belly thinking about my beautiful and talented wife living in such vile conditions.

I sit on the bed and bring the pillow up to my nose and her sweet fragrance assaults my senses. She’s been here all this time. I swallow hard, suppressing the pain of being without her. I walk over to her clothing, two pairs of old worn jeans, three white shirts and two pair of simple and plain undergarments all neatly folded on a table next to a wash basin and two towels. A pair of flip-flops sit on the floor and nothing else. Something’s missing. I look around, trying to figure out what it is. Her art. There’s not one single painting or drawing anywhere to be seen, and there are no art supplies. Has she gone over three months without painting?

Sawyer comes back into the room after having stepped out for a moment.

“I asked around, Isabel was seen in the marketplace just a short time ago. Let’s go,” he says anxiously.

We walk briskly up the street about six blocks to a busy street with shoppers. There are vendors lining both sides of the road with every possible thing on sale, from raw meats to cheap jewelry. My eyes are scanning the people furiously, trying to catch sight of Isa’s unruly halo. I push my way through the crowd becoming more and more panicked at not finding her. She has to be here.

“Young!” I hear and when I look over several heads, Sawyer is nodding towards a jewelry stand.

My eyes shift to the direction he’s indicating and I see her – my angel, my p-ssycat, my love, my wife. I feel light-headed and for a moment I think I’m going to pass out. Moving up behind her, I watch her as she sifts through the jewelry, the man selling it trying to haggle with her. Despite the impoverished conditions she’s been living in, she’s clean, her clothes form fitting and surprisingly unwrinkled. Her once pale skin is now tan, her curves are back to their glorious state of decadency, and her round ass begs to be bitten into. Chilé has apparently done her good. The vision of her signature tangled, long curls makes me laugh out loud; some things never change. Other than her hair being a brighter shade of blonde than usual and much longer, it really is the same unruly mane. Isa’s body stiffens to the sound of my laughter. She cocks her head to the side as if she can’t believe what she’s heard. Her body relaxes and she sighs, and I can only assume it’s because she thinks she’s imagining things. I know the feeling. I, too, have heard her laughter and voice only to be let down because it was merely the sound of the wind.

“Happy birthday, my precious angel,” I whisper, leaning into her ear and burying my face in her hair.

Isa’s body becomes rigid again and she remains turned away from me.

“Please look at me, p-ssycat.”

She slowly turns to face me, her eyes large and luminous and hidden behind golden, inconceivably long eyelashes. Christ, those eyes. Looking into them, my body aches to be with her and to hold her. She’s not wearing a stitch of make-up and her face is bright pink from too much sun with darkened freckles sprinkled across her nose and apples of her cheeks.

“You came a long way for nothing,” she says through dry, chapped lips, her facial expression emotionless.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m standing here peering into the most stunning eyes on the face of this planet, aren’t I?”

“I can’t go back with you,” she states firmly.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“What difference does it make? I’m not and that’s all that matters,” she replies, pushing her shoulders back and standing a little straighter.

She’s pretending to be strong, but her eyes always reveal her true emotions.

“Your eyes tell me everything I need to know, love.”

“Don’t call me that. It’s Ms. Ibanez to you,” she counters, making me wince from the coldness in her voice.

“You’re mistaken,” I answer back. She gives me a puzzled look, so I clarify. “You’re Mrs. Young, not Ms. Ibanez.”

Her eyebrows pull together and her mouth parts as she takes in a deep breath, her eyes scanning my face.

“I never signed the papers.”

She swallows hard and frowns. “You should have.”

“You don’t mean that.” God, I hope she doesn’t mean that.

“Yes, I do.”

She sounds determined, and I can’t help but look down at her fisted hands at her sides and her tensed body. She shifts when my eyes scan her curvaceous figure. When she moves, the sun glints against her wedding ring, almost blinding me from its sheer brightness.

“If you really mean that, then why are you still wearing your wedding ring?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She looks down at it possessively and covers it with her other hand protectively.

“It’s mine. You said I could keep it,” she murmurs in a childlike voice.

“Yes…”

She quickly cuts me off and starts removing it hesitantly.

“If you want it back, you can have it.”

I clasp my hand over hers to stop her from taking it off and ghost my fingertips upwards over her arm. “Stop, Isa. I don’t want it back. It belongs to you.”

She grimaces and pulls away from me abruptly.

“Cayenne!” she cries out and several people look over at us questioningly.

“What the f*ck, Isa?” I ask, moving away from her.

“Please don’t touch me,” she croaks out, her eyes filling with tears.

“p-ssycat…” I plead, reaching out to her again.

“No! Don’t call me that and don’t touch me. I called my safeword, you can’t!” she starts to cry, her face contorting pitifully.

Anger fills my senses. “Who hurt you?” I ask, backing away from her further and giving her the space that she needs.

She shakes her head, “No one hurt me. You just can’t touch me. I can’t allow it. I’ve been without you for so long and knowing that I can’t have you has been unbearable. Don’t you understand? Your touch is like a drug to me and I can’t have just one hit without going into relapse. It’s taken me a long time to accept that I’ll never be with you again, but I have accepted it,” she sniffs.

“You’ve accepted it? Well, I haven’t accepted anything and I never will. Not f*cking ever. You’ve wrecked me!” I say loudly.

“Yeah, sure. I saw just how wrecked you were – well-groomed in your Dolce & Gabbana suit and with a woman on your arm,” she retorts, wiping her tears.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw the pictures of you. You’ve been a real mess, haven’t you? Selling my paintings and replacing me with another blonde,” she sulks.

“It wasn’t like that. I can explain…”

She swiftly interjects, not letting me get another word in. “I don’t want an explanation. I’m glad you’ve moved on.”

I snort laugh at her. “Really? Because your eyes and body language are telling me something completely different.”

“You’re imagining things,” she lies.

“You’re going to stand here and tell me that you want me to be with another woman?”

“Yes, I want you to be happy; I want you to find love,” she replies and this time, there is truth in her statement.

“I already found love with you. If I leave here today without you, I won’t ever be with another woman for love - I’ll be with her for my sexual needs only,” I tell her, trying to elicit a response from her. She blinks rapidly and looks stunned, but remains quiet. “Is that what you want? For me to collar another sub? For me to do to another woman the things I’ve done to you?”

Isa’s eyes move away from me, scanning the street fretfully and not answering me.

“You want me to find another Mistress?” I ask and at that moment, her eyes shoot back to me and flash irritation, and my true Isa comes shining through.

“You’ll never find another Mistress like me. I am one of a kind. You may find someone more attractive, thinner and more talented than me, but I know within my heart of hearts, you’ll never find someone who will love you more,” she voices defiantly, narrowing her heated eyes at me.

I can’t help but grin because she’s right - there is no other woman like Isabel or whom I want to call Mistress, and there sure as hell isn’t anyone more talented and beautiful than she is. Her eyes move to my mouth, her cheeks brighten up and she shakes her head as if regretting her statement.

“I can’t go back with you,” she says softly. “I mean it. I can’t and I won’t. You made a big mistake by coming here.”

My heart rate spikes. She looks determined and my hands begin to shake at the thought of being without her again. Maybe this is what she really wants. Maybe her father had nothing to do with this. F*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

“If you truly want me to leave and forget about you, then you tell me right now that you don’t love me. You tell me that what we had meant nothing to you. If you can say those words to me, I’ll walk away from you and never look back,” I force myself to say as my voice cracks, even though I know I’m lying to myself and Isa.

Isa’s eyes well up again and she chews on her bottom lip uneasily as she mulls over my words.

Please don’t say the words. Please, please, don’t…

Her mouth opens and my heart sinks.

“I don’t…”

I clamp my hand over her mouth harshly. “Don’t you dare say it!” I snap at her, inches away from her face.

Isa pulls away from me and looks offended. “I wasn’t going to say it. I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I was going to say I don’t want to lie to you again; once was more than enough.

“Again?”

She instantly shuts down and looks away from me.

“What’s the most important thing about being in a D/s relationship?” I ask.

She looks up at me and answers, “Honesty, but I’m not your submissive anymore,” she counters, making me cringe.

“Have you found someone else?” I ask, the knot in my stomach twisting and churning, the bile rising in my throat.

“Don’t be absurd. Just as there is no other Mistress for you, there is no other Master for me,” she states very plainly.

Relief sweeps over me, making me dizzy. “Isabel, you’ll always be my submissive. Always. I’m not leaving here without you. I’m not and if you persist with this, I swear to f*cking almighty I’ll move my business headquarters here.”

“You wouldn’t really do that,” she huffs.

“Do you doubt my resolve?”

Her eyes move up and down my body, her tongue slicking across her lips, making my cock twitch.

“Do what you want, but I can’t go back with you and if you’re foolish enough to move your business here, then I’ll just relocate somewhere else,” she states stubbornly.

“I told you there was no distance I wouldn’t go to get you back if you left me. I’ve already come halfway around the world for you, so you can run and hide all you want, but I’ll always find you no matter how long it takes. Let me be very clear about something, Isabel: I’m never letting you go again.”

She furrows her eyebrows at me and pouts her mouth. “You think I ran from you?”

“You’re living in Chilé for Christ sake; what would you call it?” Come to think of it…“How did you get here?”

She nervously looks around and her hand moves to her hair. I make the mistake of reaching out to her again and she begins to cry.

“Please, sugar, stop touching me. You promised you would always abide by my safeword. Just go. Please…”

“What the hell is going on? If you didn’t run from me, then what? And how?”

“You’re safe now, that’s all that matters,” she chokes out and quickly pinches her mouth closed.

Her f*cking father - I had almost forgotten. The words she spoke in Paris come back to me; I would do anything to protect you from my father. Anything.

“What did your father do?”

“Nothing. I didn’t mean what I said. I can’t go back with you and that’s all there is to it. You have to leave now.”

She turns away from me, but I grab her brusquely and pull her into my arms.

“This will be the only time I won’t respect your safeword, but I’m not letting you go, so don’t ask me to.” Tears stream down my cheeks and for the first time in my life, I don’t give a f*ck who sees me cry.

“You said I wasn’t worth the effort,” she weeps into my chest.

“I swear to God I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to hurt you.”

“Well you did, but I deserved it for leaving you; I deserved much worse. No!” she says abruptly, jerking away from me and out of my arms.

“You have to leave. I can’t go back with you. Go, Mr. Young, just go,” she says unwavering and pointing towards the street.

“I’m not going and that’s the end of this discussion. And don’t call me Mr. Young.”

“You stubborn ass, he’ll kill you,” she rebukes irritably.

“That son-of-a-bitch can try,” I blurt out and before the last word leaves my lips, Isa’s palm comes across my face, bringing back fond memories. I smile like a stupid fool and Isa looks aghast at my reaction.

“I told you not to tempt fate! And why the hell are you smiling?”

“Because I love it when you get all Domme on me.”

“Holy… holy… I can’t even think right now,” she stammers out.

“Holy shit? Holy insanity? Holy infantile tantrum?” I reply, trying to recall all of the holy’s that have been uttered from her sexy mouth.

A barely visible smile creeps onto her face and for the first time in three months, I feel complete again.

“Dylan, I can’t go back with you,” she repeats, but this time with less conviction. “He came so close to killing you. I can’t lose you like that. I’d rather be alone and miserable than know I’m the reason for your death. I’d rather know you are happy and being loved by someone else, no matter how devastating it would be for me, than to put you in harm’s way again. Please, sugar, please… don’t put me in that position,” she whimpers, her somber look returning,

“Simons never came that close to killing me, Isa,” I snort.

“You ignorant genius, don’t you know? The plane crash, that was my father, too.”

***

Isabel

Dylan’s body language instantly changes. I thought he knew this little bit of information but it’s obvious he didn’t and now I regret having said it. Oh, hell. Simons is probably still somewhere lurking around. He usually is. I glance around nervously, half expecting to see him peeking around the corner, just waiting to rat me out to my father.

Instead of seeing the white hair of Simons, Sawyer is seen standing just several feet away, watching me and Dylan’s exchange. My heart warms and I instantly feel better knowing that he’ll keep a close eye on my Master. I mean, Dylan. Damn it. I need to stop thinking like that. He’s safer now without me. I can’t go back with him. I want to; God, I want to. He’s so beautiful and his eyes… they’re so blue right now. His cheeks are still wet from his tears. How can I be so cruel to deny him? My father will kill him, that’s how.

“No!” I blurt out, startling Dylan.

“No what?” he asks, bewildered.

“I’m not going back with you,” I say, doing my best to sound imposing.

I turn and run, making it only several dozen feet. Dylan is quick on my heels and his strong arms reach out before I can escape, his large hand gripping onto my upper arm and pulling me back roughly. I try to free myself from his clutches, but my strength is no match for him.

“I’ll scream if you don’t let me go! These people don’t take kindly to forceful Americans!” I huff at him out of breath, trying to fight him off.

Taking a deep breath and readying myself to scream bloody murder, Dylan’s mouth crushes down onto mine, stifling my shrieks. He has one hand wrapped possessively around my waist and the other twisted into my hair at the back of my neck. I struggle to fight him off, but when his tongue slips past my lips, all of my strength leaves my body and I go limp in his arms. God, how I’ve missed this. He kisses me violently, taking complete control of my mouth, biting and nibbling my lips and sucking at my tongue harshly.

“Oh, Master…” I moan into his mouth.

His brutal kisses instantly turn passionate and gentle, his fiery tongue gently caressing the interior surfaces of my mouth. He tastes so good, just like I remember - like Dylan with a hint of mint.

“I own you…” he breathes into my mouth and my body responds to his words as if no time has passed between us.

He backs me up, pressing my body up against a cold brick wall in the shade. He releases my hair and his hand glides down my body, over my breasts, squeezing, and then down to my jeans. He pops the button and pushes his hand into my pants and past my panties. His mouth moves to my neck, sucking ruthlessly against my sensitive and neglected flesh, his hips pinning me against the wall and his arousal pressing into me. Dylan’s long fingers find their way as he eases them in and out slowly. I’m soaking wet and the juicy sounds are sexy and sinful. I want him inside of me.

No, I can’t go back with him. I love him, but he’s safer without me, I repeat for the umpteenth time. Not wanting to resist his sensual touches, I force myself to push away from him.

“I can’t,” I cry. “I love you, but I can’t. He’ll kill you.”

“If you think by staying away from me you’re keeping me safe, you’re wrong, p-ssycat. If being with you means physical death, then I welcome it because I’m dead inside without you,” he tells me and the desperate look on his face tears my heart in two.

He brings his still glistening fingertips to his mouth and sucks at them, his eyes rolling back in his head and closing tightly.

“God, how I’ve missed your taste.”

When his eyes open, they’re blue hot like the color of a gaslight flame. His starburst irises move up and down my body and finally rest on my heaving chest as I try and get control of my raging and out of control libido.

“You’re perfect, Isabel Young, absolutely f*cking perfect. You belong to me and I’m not leaving here without you. I’m not.”

His voice is fierce, his dominance undeniable and his resolve indomitable.

“If I have to carry you out of here kicking and screaming, I will. And if I have to leash you to get you under control, I won’t hesitate to do that, either,” he adds, narrowing his possessive eyes at me.

This man is impossible. “Like leashing me is a threat? That’s more like a reward, but that’s neither here nor there. Who do you think you are?” I ask.

He smiles cunningly to my remark and responds, “Your Master and your owner, but more importantly, your husband and the man who can’t and won’t live without you.”

Without hesitation, Dylan takes complete charge over me, grabs my hand and leads me back towards where Sawyer is. I pause, pulling my hand out of his to button my jeans. Looking up at Sawyer, my cheeks warm when he sees me putting myself back together. Dylan crookedly grins at me and Sawyer rolls his eyes at us, his face turning red as well.

“I’m glad to see you two have worked things out,” he says ironically.

“I wouldn’t say that. Apparently I don’t have a say in this matter,” I reply.

Dylan’s eyebrows raise and he looks me up and down. “Isabel is under the impression that her opinion means something to me right now.”

I throw him a mean look and he chuckles.

“You’ve had your say in this matter for the last three months. Now it’s my turn,” he states with hurt in his eyes.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” I say in my defense, thinking about the threats my father voiced.

Dylan takes my hand again and we walk back to my apartment. When we get inside, he sits me on the bed and kneels in front of me, holding my hands.

“I hate that you were forced to live like this. You deserve so much better, my precious angel. Now tell me everything.”

This is a bad idea. We shouldn’t be here and I know it. I can feel Simons’ presence. Standing, I move towards the window, looking out and trying to spy his ugly mug.

“Who are you looking for?” Sawyer asks, moving to the window alongside of me and peering out.

What’s with these two? “You, too?” I ask, turning to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“Are the both of you psychics or what?”

Poor Sawyer looks thoroughly confused and shakes his head at me. Dylan moves next to me and cups my chin.

“It’s not a matter of being psychic, Isabel. It’s a matter of knowing how to read body language. We’ve both learned it well in our line of work, though some of us are better at it than others,” he says, looking over at Sawyer, his eyebrows arched condescendingly.

Sawyer rolls his eyes again at Dylan and snorts.

“So who are you looking for?” Dylan asks.

“The man who brought me here.”

“Your father didn’t bring you here himself?”

“God, no. My father never does his own dirty work; he’s too cowardly for that. He pays people to do that for him.”

Dylan suddenly looks self-conscious and rubs the back of his neck tensely.

“Yes, well…” he sighs.

Sawyer quickly steps up to Dylan’s defense. “There’s nothing wrong with having other people do your dirty work, especially when the dirty work is a necessary evil and you have a reputation to protect.”

“What are we talking about here?” I ask them, bewildered by their reactions to my statement.

“Nothing,” Dylan blurts out. “So who was the man?”

“The same man who tried to stab you. His name is Simons. He’s an albino looking a*shole. He came to get me the night that… you asked for the collar back, after Sawyer left.”

The memory makes my eyes water and I turn away from both Dylan and Sawyer, and anxiously pace the room.

Dylan remains silent for a few moments and finally asks, “What did your father tell you when he called you the day you left?”

“You knew about that?” I ask, shocked.

He nods yes and I slump onto the bed. Why did he let me leave if he knew? Why did he ask for the collar back and make me sign those annulment papers? Why did…

“Love, I didn’t find out until after the fact. The course of actions I took never would have transpired had I known. Christ, Isa, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Why? Because my father came dangerously close to killing you twice in the time span of two weeks. You were laying there dying right in front of me and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I had no control over anything - not you, not myself and not my father. He ruined your reputation, cost you God knows how much money by sabotaging your plane and damn-near killing you.”

All of my father’s ruthless words come back to me…

“Your husband is proving to be one hard man to kill. Stay with him, Isabel, and I promise I’ll make him die a slow and painful death like your mother did, and I’ll make you watch the light go out of his eyes, you little whore. If you resist me, if you try to get in contact with him, his blood will be on your hands.”

I break down and tell Dylan and Sawyer about the way Simons dragged me to my father’s plane with nothing but the clothes on my back and the phone in my pocket. I tell them about the way I was forced to live hand-to-mouth with the small amount of money Papa provided me and forced me to live in this horrible place, not knowing anyone and barely knowing the language, and never being able to see the man I love again.

“Did Simons hurt you?” Dylan asks, holding me close against his body.

“Only with his words. After I kicked his butt he never laid another hand on me.”

Dylan pulls me back and smiles down at me proudly, “My little fighter.”

“Oh, sugar, I can’t go back with you. My father will stop at nothing to kill you.”

“We’ve been through this. I’m not afraid of him. He took you away from me, your mother away from you, and he will pay. He can try…”

I raise my hand to slap his mouth again but he catches my wrist.

“No more of that,” he says sternly. “Now let’s go home.”