Owned(11)

“Made. That is exactly the word,” I growl.

“And feeling good is a problem because?”

“It’s not the fact he made me feel good. It’s the fact he treats me less than human. That he forced me!”

“Maybe he’s trying to liberate you.”

“Maybe that’s utter and total horse shit!”

“We can argue the maybes all day. Bottom line, you came and you liked it.”

“It’s empty,” I dispute furiously.

“Sex slave,” Jett reiterates. “Power, ownership, pleasure.”

I nearly burst into tears.

“Keep your eye on the prize sweetheart. Please him, and he’ll please you. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.”

“It goes against everything I know.”

“Then maybe you need to learn a few new things.” Jett shrugs.

“And I should let Kayne teach me?” I sneer.

“You said it, I didn’t.”

I curl my lip at him.

“Come on. Get up. A shower will make you feel better. Then I’m going to pretty you up.” He hits my leg good-naturedly.

“Pretty me up?”

“Yes.” He pulls the key ring that holds my freedom out of his pocket and unlocks the collar. Once off, I immediately rub my neck. That thing is restrictive as fuck. “This manicure has died and gone to hell.” He lifts my hands, pointing out my chipped pink polish.

I begrudgingly roll off the bed. My ass is so sore. I curse Kayne with each step I take—fucking bastard, asshole, shithead, douchebag. As Jett turns on the shower, I catch a glimpse of my battered behind in the mirror, and gasp. It’s beet red with flesh-colored hearts all over my butt cheeks. “Oh my God.”

Jett looks at me through the mirror and smirks. “Kayne spanked you with love.”

“I don’t think he’s capable of love,” I bitterly retort.

“Of course he is. Everyone is capable of love.”

“He’s a monster.”

“Maybe, but even beauty loved the beast.”

“I’m not living a fairy tale. I’m living an American horror story.”

Jett shrugs. “It’s whatever kind of literature you make it. If you believe it’s a horror story, it is. If you believe it’s a dark erotic romance, it is. The choice is yours. The mind is a powerful thing.”

I look at him like he’s crazy.

“Just trying to help,” he states.

“It’s not working,” I respond flatly.

He rolls his eyes. “No more chitchat. In you go.” Jett ushers me into the steaming shower, and as soon as I step under stream, I jump. “It hurts,” I whine as the running water hits my abused bottom. It feels like tiny needles stabbing me.

“It’s supposed to. It’s a reminder of who you belong to and what happens when you disobey. Makes you think twice about running again, huh?”

I stick my tongue out at him. It’s the only rebellion I have left.

“Wash, Ellie,” Jett instructs curtly.

I do as I’m told. Delicately. Every movement hurts. Once I’m done with the most torturous shower of my life, I dry off carefully. Jett tries to have me sit on the folding table, but that’s just not happening. My butt is way too sore. Instead, I stand as he blow dries my hair with a round brush making it smooth. Good thing he’s a foot taller than me. After that, he opens a drawer and retrieves two bottles of nail polish. A light peach colored one and a red.

“Which?” he asks.

“You’re giving me a choice?”

“Yes. I’m not your owner. I have no interest in dominating you.”

I survey the bottles, debating carefully. “Which do you think he’ll like?”

Jett cocks an eyebrow at me.

I purse my lips. “I don’t want to pick the wrong color and displease him. My ass would like to avoid another beating,” I clarify.

Jett shakes the peach color. The bottle jingles. “He won’t care. Trust me. He likes anything when it comes to you.”

I stare at Jett quizzically. He just smiles and starts removing my chipped polish.

“How long have you known Kayne?” I inquire tactfully as he carefully paints my nails. I don’t pretend to believe I have a friend or ally in Jett. But he doesn’t come off as threatening as long as I behave. He’s shown compassion, and even though I don’t trust him completely, it doesn’t mean I can’t pump him for information.

Jett flicks his eyes up at me. Then starts on a second coat. “A while.”

“What’s a while?”

“Years.”

“How did you meet?” I ask, my gaze jumping between his face and my hand.

“Mutual friends,” he says flatly.

“How did you start working here?” I don’t really even know where here is. I just know Kayne has ‘clients’ and ‘women’ who he keeps captive and strings up for their pleasure.

Jett scoffs. “I don’t work for him. I work with him. Don’t confuse my duties. I may not be the face of the company, but I do my fair share. Actually, I do more.”

“What’s the ‘company’ specifically?” It’s obviously more than just tequila. “What is this place exactly?”

“The less you know the better.” He sidesteps my question.

“Jett, please,” I beg with big puppy dog eyes. Hey, if I am going to be compared to a pet, I might as well use the goods. “Tell me something.”

He groans under his breath, hesitant to talk. Once he finishes painting my pinky finger with the shimmery peach, he looks up at me with an entertained expression.

“I have a feeling you are going to give Kayne a run for his money in more ways than one.” He shoves the brush back into the bottle, and then huffs. “It’s a whore house, Ellie. An upscale brothel. We keep women here for pleasure.”

“How many women?” My eyes widen.

“A good amount. And I’m responsible for their well-being. All of them.”

“Are they all locked up like me?” My voice strains at the image of dozens of women chained to a bed.

Jett looks at me like he’s trying to dance around words. “No. They aren’t locked up like you.”

“They’re not? It’s just me then?”

Jett nods.

“Why?”

“Because you’re special and that’s all you need to know.”

“Because I’m Kayne’s?” I speculate.

“Now you’re learning.”

I frown. This shit’s fucked-up.

Jett rests his hands gently on my shoulders. “I will tell you this one thing about me. I care about each and every one of them. Including you.”





I WAIT OUTSIDE ELLIE’S ROOM.

I don’t know for how long, because time seems to stand still.

I’m leaning against the wall off to the side, so Jett doesn’t notice me immediately when he exits.

“How is she?” I ask as he locks the door. He jumps, snapping his head in my direction.

“Must you lurk?” he scowls.

“Yes. It’s what I do. How is she?” I reiterate.

“A little upset, feeling abused, but she’ll be okay. This is hard for her. She doesn’t understand.”

“We agreed that was the best way.”

“I still believe it is. But if you’re worried, go in and see her.”

“You know I can’t do that. I have to keep my distance. It’s safer for everyone involved.”

“I know that too.” He puts the key ring holding Ellie’s protection and freedom back in his pocket.

“Just make sure ...” I falter, not exactly sure what I’m trying to say. “Make sure—”

“She’s taken care of?” Jett answers astutely.

I nod with stern eyes. I haven’t been able to think of much else since Ellie was carried into this house. Last night felt like an injection into my veins. I didn’t think I could do it—command someone against their will—but it came easier than expected. Fighting her, overcoming her, watching her slow descent into submission. Then tasting my sweet, sweet victory in the end—it changed something in me. And I want more. So much more that I’m counting the seconds until I can go back in that room again.

“It’s what I’m here for,” he reminds me.

“It’s not the only thing you’re here for.” I punch him in the arm. Don’t let his skinny ass fool you. Jett may spend a majority of his time with women, but he can throw down with the best of them. I know, because I fucked with him once. Once. The first time I met Jett I couldn’t understand what he was doing with a bunch of hooligans like me. He was quiet and reserved and when he looked at you, those aqua eyes felt like they were digging under your skin. At least that’s how it felt to me. I didn’t like it, and I made it known—I threatened to stab them out. That toothpick motherfucker actually got in my face. He scored a point for formidability. I’m half a foot taller than him, double his weight and muscle mass. But it didn’t matter. The minute I lunged at him, he took out my knee, quick as a jackrabbit. Dirty little shit. I ended up on my back with Jett’s hand around my throat. For a puny guy, he has a death grip. It was my first lesson in don’t judge a book by its cover. I was put on my ass by someone I would normally be able to knock into next week.