Chapter One
One Week Later
The truth was a malleable and ever-changing thing to Annette Waincott. She couldn’t help it really. It wasn’t malicious. She’d just always been this way. It was so much nicer to tell a beautiful lie than a disappointing truth. The tendency had started in childhood, and when she kept getting away with it, she kept going. She had a sweet, innocent face and long, fair hair that made it hard to believe there was even one deceitful bone in her body.
The morning of July eighth had dawned much the same as any other morning, except for the pounding headache.
The alcohol had flowed too freely the night before. And the hangover...God, the hangover. Annette was never drinking again.
Possibly another lie—they blended together after a while.
She wasn’t sure if it had been vodka goggles, but the man at the club had been incredibly hot. And Jesus, that accent. He could probably kill her with that gorgeous lilting Russian accent. She hadn’t told him her name, and so he’d called her kiska, which he claimed was a term of endearment. She wasn’t sure she believed that. For all she knew he’d been calling her a slut or a bitch all night. But it had sounded so lovely rolling off his tongue either way.
She was half-surprised he wasn’t in bed with her now, but then puking on a man’s shoes wasn’t exactly foreplay. Annette sighed. Too bad she’d never been able to hold her liquor. She didn’t know his name, either. And she was quite sure she’d never see him again to learn it.
Annette stumbled out of bed and pulled all the blinds closed. Darkness. She needed darkness. And silence. And coffee.
Halfway through a bagel and a cup of coffee, the previous night began to come into sharper focus. Maybe too-sharp focus. She’d been in fine form, stringing the hot Russian along with all her kinky fantasies. If only he’d been paying for all that dirty talk in more than just drinks.
The only trouble was, she didn’t have kinky fantasies. When it came to her fantasy life, she was a blank slate for other people to write on. Where would she find the space to discover her own pleasure when everything about her was such a carefully crafted lie?
The business line rang. Was he early? Annette glanced at the clock on the wall. Nope. She was late. Ten thirty on the dot. Always so punctual. The high-rolling business suits always were. She’d no doubt been penciled in like all his other meetings. Annette imagined he locked his office door and shut the blinds for these calls while his hand slipped into his pants to touch himself to the story she spun around him like a warm, sultry cocoon.
Annette sat on a bar stool and answered, fighting past the hangover to put a sexy purr in her voice “Hello, Stan.”
“Jessica, I missed you.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s only been two days.”
“Why can’t we meet?”
She sighed. It was going to be a banner day if the wheedling was already starting.
Clients always wanted this. To meet. She shouldn’t complain. After all, the phone sex business wasn’t what it used to be. She was lucky to have the clients she had. Men wanted cam girls now, but the game was a man always wanted more. If you gave him voice, he wanted your pussy on cam. If you gave him that, he wanted your face. And almost always they wanted to meet and fuck you for real. But she wasn’t a prostitute. Phone sex was just a fantasy. Just another beautiful lie—one she was good at. She’d always believed one should go with their strengths.
“Stan...”
“Take your panties off,” he said, his voice gruff.
Okay, that was more like it. Maybe she wouldn’t have to have the same tired argument after all. Annette took out a bottle of dark red polish and began painting her nails—not exactly the best smell to go with a hangover, but she had to do something to pass the time.
“Are they off?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, making her voice more breathy while she painted her pinky with the dark red color. “I’ve been wet all morning thinking about you, waiting to talk to you.” She let out a theatric whimper. Then her voice turned conspiratorial. “I found a cucumber in the fridge. Do you want me to fuck myself with it?”
A chuckle. “You dirty little slut. Yes. Fuck yourself hard. Hold the phone down there so I can hear how wet you are.”
Annette put the lid back on the bottle of polish and pressed a button on the CD player at the edge of the counter, skipping to track three. She held the phone next to the speaker. Who knew if that girl was fucking herself with something or if she was faking, too. Either way, it sounded real. As did the moaning.
She let Stan have about a minute of this before she turned the CD player off and put the phone back to her ear.
“Come on, Jessica. Meet me. I make a lot of money. I could make you comfortable and happy. And I’d give you all the dick-shaped produce you wanted to pound that sweet little pussy with.”
Annette made a few fake sex noises, trying to distract him and get the call back on course. She would have dragged it out with a much longer tease to make more money if she hadn’t needed to get him away from the meeting-in-person talk. The company she worked for preferred they keep the callers on as long as possible. Girls who met and exceeded time quotas regularly got end-of-the-month bonuses. Those bonus checks really helped pay the bills.
“Please,” he said. His breath had gone deeper, heavier. She might not really be doing anything she told him she was doing, but Stan was. He was about to come. “I need to meet you.”
“You know I don’t meet clients.”
“It’s because you’re fat and ugly,” he barked suddenly.
Well. Normally it took longer for a client to escalate to that level of bitterness. Mrs. Stan must not be giving him anything at home. Not Annette’s problem.
She disconnected the call without a word of reply. About twenty percent of her clients ended this way. They were all worked up with nothing warm and wet to stick it inside. The tease who refused to make good on her dirty phone sex promises was an easy target.
Annette opened her laptop to log into the company site. The one benefit to not being fully independent was that no one had her real number. She sent Clarissa an email request to remove Stan from the client list and not to patch another call from him through.
That sucked. He’d been a regular. Normally longish calls, too.
A few minutes later the phone rang again. Her next appointment wasn’t until the afternoon. She stared at it for three rings. It was probably him again. Sherry wouldn’t have had a chance to get the email. The phone girls weren’t supposed to answer calls from clients who were harassing them, but Annette had never had the best self-control.
“Listen to me, you fucking prick. I am not fat or ugly. You’d fucking cream your pants if you got a glimpse of me, but I don’t need creepers like you knowing what I look like so you can stalk me after business hours.”
“Nice sales pitch, sis.”
Annette let out a long breath. “Jan.” Her twin. Janette was the exact opposite from her except for looks—honest to a fault with the sweetness to match that face. Annette’s face.
“Sorry,” Janette said, “you must have your personal phone on silent. Isn’t that the second guy this week to do this?”
“What can I say? I give good talk. The poor fools get attached. Are we still meeting later this afternoon to go shopping?”
“I can’t. I finally decided to take you up on the massage therapy suggestion. Pre-med is kicking my ass, and I need to unwind in a way more involved than shopping.”
“You going to that girl I suggested?” Annette asked.
“No, actually, a friend gave me a gift card. I’m going to a place called...” There was paper shuffling in the background. “Dome. Ever hear of it?”
“Is it that new fancy place downtown with the glass roof and all the plants?”
“That’s the one. They have a restaurant; I could meet you there for a late lunch afterward,” Janette said.
“Sorry, can’t. I have a call.”
“You always have a call.”
“Hey, don’t bitch. It pays our rent and keeps you in the expensive sugary cereal.”
Janette laughed. “You take such good care of me.”
“What are big sisters for?”
“You’re only five minutes older. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. Later,” Annette said.
“I’m sure I’ll be a new woman the next time you see me.”
Annette laughed. “I’m counting on it. The old one is so last year.”
She clicked the phone off and stood and stretched. She still felt like ass from all the vodka. She needed a nice hot shower to get herself together for her next call. She’d finish her nails then.
The spray of hot water washed over her as a flash of memory hit. That sultry Russian accent wrapped around her once again as the steam rose off her skin.
“And what would you do?” she’d asked with fake innocence after making his mouth water with all the kinky things she’d claimed she was into.
He leaned in close to her ear. “I could kidnap you. I could take you away to my castle and make you my pleasure slave. I would take very good care of you. You’d be my pet. Would you like that, kiska?” His words weren’t slurred even though he’d had far more to drink than she had.
If she were just a bit more sober, this would worry her, considering the things he was saying even without the aid of too much drink.
Maybe he’d switched to water when she wasn’t looking.
“Yes. That would be so hot,” she whispered. “Would you tie me up?”
“I would have to. We wouldn’t want you to get away.” His hand grazed her thigh, moving ever higher under her skirt. She angled toward him and let her legs fall open. The stranger’s fingertips teased her through her panties.
“Or, I could take you home with me now.” He helped her up off the leather sofa and led her to the door. The strobe lights and electronic music made her feel as though she were vibrating.
Annette couldn’t remember most of what came after. Just that she’d had a dazed sort of panic as she realized she probably should get the hell out while she could. No way was she prepared to do half the things she’d bullshitted about. She’d just enjoyed his attention.
Those dark, smoldering eyes. That wavy black hair. And those cheekbones. To say nothing of his sleek, well-developed muscles that had been obvious through his well-tailored shirt.
The next thing she remembered, she’d puked on his shoes and then clumsily fell into the back seat of a cab. She didn’t remember how she got in her apartment. Maybe Janette had heard her fumbling around outside and helped her.
As she lingered on memories of the Russian, her hand slipped between her legs. Goosebumps broke out over her flesh even under the heat of the shower. She might lie about a lot of things, but the one thing that was honest was how much she’d wanted him to touch her.
She’d been too drunk. All the lies that had fallen from her lips to impress him were far more than she thought she could do with anyone. After all, from what little she’d heard, those sorts of games required a lot of trust, and liars had the hardest time trusting of all.
***
“I’m taking the corner suite on the third floor,” Anton said, as if the prime spots closer to the main spaces in the house hadn’t already been claimed anyway.
Lindsay and Gabe were both taking suites on the second floor. The two men couldn’t be more different. Lindsay was a fifty-two-year-old shrink—Brian’s shrink. And Gabe was the twenty-seven-year-old kid brother of one of Anton’s friends from college. Gabe had quit school to surf and live off his sizable trust fund until Anton had convinced him to find a more productive—if not criminal—use of his time.
Brian came upstairs then. He’d been busy setting up a makeshift suite down in the dungeons. He’d chosen the side with more rooms, the incinerator, and on the other end, a larger room with a bathroom which he’d claimed as his living quarters.
“Are we sure Michael won’t be joining us?” Brian asked.
Michael, Brian, and Anton had all been roommates at Yale. Brian and Michael couldn’t stand each other, and Anton had spent most of his time there running interference.
“I promise. He says he’s not into it,” Anton said.
“He’ll talk,” Brian said. He got that gleam in his eyes like he looked like he wanted to take care of the Michael Problem even before there was one.
“No. He won’t. The only reason he’s not joining us is that he just got married.” Though Anton wasn’t sure about that at all. Michael had seemed disgusted by the idea.
“It’s been three years,” Brian said. “They’re hardly newlyweds. But I get it. It’s not practical. I hate that son of a bitch anyway.”
“We know,” Anton said.
“What’s her name again?”
“Who? His wife? Vivian.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Right. Vivian. With a name like that, she’s definitely trouble.”
“She doesn’t come from money,” Anton said.
“Even worse. And she isn’t even kinky. That shit will never work out.”
Anton wasn’t sure who’d come up with the business idea. There had been a lot of alcohol involved that night. But it was probably Brian. Lindsay had become more than a shrink to Brian. He’d become something of a friend. They’d been tossing back shots of a single malt scotch Gabe brought and making jokes about the kind of business they’d start if they could all start one together.
When the idea had first been spoken, the four of them had been just twisted enough to not dismiss it out of hand or laugh it off. They would run a training house of sorts. Anton and Lindsay would screen potential kinky women to train to sell as slaves to rich kinky men. They would only take women who had a deep-seated kink, not just random strays. They weren’t monsters.
Well, Brian was, but he would be the house enforcer. Gabe would be a trainer. They’d hire more as needed.
In the second set of dungeons on the other end of the house, Anton already had his first acquisition. Her name was Janette. He’d met her the night before at a club. He’d dragged her down there and locked her up just before the other guys had arrived. He still couldn’t believe he’d done it. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, but the way she’d talked to him the previous night... And then to show up at his spa? He hadn’t even known her name before her appointment.
How had she found him? He had to get down there to her or she was going to think he was some kind of psycho. Anton pushed aside the accusing voice in his mind that agreed with that assessment.
Brian leaned against the wall with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He looked like he was about to have an episode again. It was the damn drugs Lindsay had him on. He was even more fucked up with them than without them. The last thing Anton needed was the loose cannon following him while he reassured his little pet.
“There’s a space for a fitness room. That’s your department. You want to go check it out and make a list of everything you need?” Anton asked.
“Yeah, sure.” He pushed off the wall and headed in the direction Anton pointed.
Before Gabe or Lindsay could come downstairs again, Anton slipped away to the other set of basement stairs.
He’d gagged her for the long drive, and she’d struggled when he’d pulled her into the house. It had taken less than five minutes from the moment he’d gotten her into the car to realize that not only was this stupid, but she was scared. Really scared. Well, of course she was.
Somehow he’d gotten the idea after the dirty talk at the club that she’d be into it. She’d hunted him down after all. He’d tried to reassure her on the trip, but nothing he said made it better. And the plain fact was, if she thought he was really kidnapping her, it had gone from a poorly-planned and bad-idea game to a genuine kidnapping.
Once he’d made that shift in thinking, the only place to take her was to the house.
What the fuck had he been thinking? That was the problem, he hadn’t been. He’d been so high off the idea of the business and getting the house and then finding the perfect pet who couldn’t hold her vodka, teasing him so sweetly.
When she’d shown up at the spa he’d been sure she wanted to act out their game but was just too shy without the aid of alcohol to tell him. Now that he knew how wrong his assumption was, it wasn’t a game anymore.
The door creaked when Anton pushed it open. She flinched, her eyes wide. Long blonde hair covered part of her face from where she’d struggled in the ropes he’d tied around her wrists.
“Shhhh, kiska,” he said. She was bleeding from her struggle with the ropes. “Stop it. You’re hurting yourself.”
She tried to scream around the cloth in her mouth.
“I will remove the gag if you don’t scream. Be a good girl. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, and the only people in this house are on my side.” Well, Brian probably would be. Gabe and Lindsay, maybe not. “Will you promise not to scream?”
She nodded.
Anton eased closer, trying not to spook her further. He removed the gag and pushed the hair out of her face. She looked up at him with wide, guileless blue eyes.
“W-who are you? Are you going to kill me?”
Brian would definitely be up for that. His primary reason for signing on was the chance to hurt people. Even if they were careful, there were going to be situations where someone had to be hurt or worse.
“Kiska, don’t play games with me,” Anton said. “Admittedly this was a bad idea. I just thought you’d be into it… the stuff you said at the club.”
She looked confused. “What club? What stuff?” Some realization seemed to light her eyes. “Oh! I’m not her.”
Anton tilted his head to the side. “Not who?”
“That was my sister you met at the club. She came home drunk. You must be the hot Russian. T-this was some kind of game between the two of you?” Though her voice suddenly sounded reasonable, the words she spoke were crazy.
“I tried to explain that to you in the car, that I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Anton said.
“You kidnapped me! How can I believe I’ll be safe in those conditions?”
“Yes, well. That was part of the game. I told you it was stupid. I thought you’d play along. But you were just playing me at the club, and now you think you can play me again with this bullshit story of a sister.”
Did she really think she could pull off such an obvious con? A sister. It was absurd.
“It’s not bullshit. I have a twin. Her name is Annette.”
“Annette and Janette? You’ve got to be kidding me. Those names don’t even sound real.”
“It’s true, I swear. I-I’m sorry for the mix-up. Please just take me home. I get it was a game. It’s just a mix up. R-right?”
Fucking tears.
Anton didn’t acknowledge her plea to be released. As if he could let her go now. She knew where the house was, another stupid thing. He should have blindfolded her. But he’d known from the moment the game plan switched from taking her to his apartment at Dome to taking her to the house that she was never leaving. He’d tried not to think too hard about the implications of all that as he’d driven and reassured her he wouldn’t hurt her. He still didn’t want to hurt her.
But could he keep that promise? Maybe not. So much depended on her.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Anton shut and locked the door on her shouting. He was glad the sounds wouldn’t carry upstairs. What were the other guys going to say about this?
There was no one up on the main level. Brian must have gone back down to work on his dungeon suite, and Gabe and Lindsay must still be upstairs working on their rooms.
Lindsay had an insane idea about a plant room that he’d been babbling about over Chinese take-out earlier. He’d already moved his African Grey into his suite. The bird’s cage had been covered, but you could still hear Ralph muttering under the blanket. “Take one of these in the morning and one before bed.” “One in the morning.” “One before bed.” “Take that one with food.” “That’s a normal side effect.”
Anton could only imagine the things Ralph would learn to say in this new environment—especially if Lindsay took women upstairs.
He took the elevator up to the third floor and retrieved the first aid kit from his bathroom. When he returned to her, she was still crying.
“You aren’t letting me go, are you?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what he was going to do. The shrink should be dosing him with something. This sounded like the kind of insane half-baked thing Brian might do. He untied her wrists and ankles.
“I need to get this taken care of so it won’t get infected.” Her ankles were fine at least. She was wearing jeans. The skin underneath the denim was unmarked. It was only her wrists that looked bad.
Janette’s crying became more intense as her shoulders began to shake. Anton tried to ignore it while he wiped the blood from her wrists with an antiseptic wipe. He turned away to take out some bandages and ointment, and then all of a sudden she was halfway across the room and out the door he hadn’t bothered to shut.
If they were going to successfully keep women here, they’d better figure out the logistics fast.
Anton got off the ground and chased her up the stairs. She was halfway across the foyer, well on her way to the exit. He had to keep reminding himself she couldn’t get far. The property was too big and he was the one with the car keys.
The front door opened, and Phyllis walked in. “I’m sorry I forgot to give you the spare key. I didn’t see a car out front so I thought I’d just let myself in and leave it inside...”
“You have to help me get out of here!” Janette shouted.
Phyllis looked from Janette, to Anton, and back to Janette again. Even with her wrists cleaned up it was clear she’d been bound. And her clothes were in disarray. And she’d been crying. The older woman began to back up as Janette moved closer to her one chance of rescue.
“Guys, help!” Anton shouted. He wasn’t sure what else to do. He couldn’t stop them both. He ran for the door and tackled Phyllis to the ground just as Brian was coming up the stairs. “Get her!” he said, indicating Janette.
Brian didn’t ask questions, he just calmly stopped and restrained the blonde. About that time, Gabe and Lindsay walked in.
“What the fuck?” Gabe said.
Anton wasn’t sure how it was possible that before they’d even gotten the place off the ground, he had two people in his care that he either had to keep prisoner… or kill.