First I would make her cry.
Then I would make her orgasm so hard she passed out.
And then I’d stuff a handful of hundred dollar bills into her bra.
Elaine.
I wanted Elaine. I imagined my little blonde Constantine toy, trussed up in chains as she took my fury. I imagined her poor scarred thighs being nothing compared to the unleashing of my torment as I drew pretty lace patterns on her flesh with my whip and crop.
My pretty toy Elaine would like it, too—masochistic little fuck doll with beautiful, scared eyes.
The server batted her eyes. Brown.
The eyes staring up at me didn’t belong to Elaine Constantine.
The tremble of her lip wasn’t Constantine fear.
My cock was straining but didn’t want the woman at my feet. My mouth was watering, but it wasn’t for the girl ready to give me hers.
“More mineral water,” I barked, and she squirmed for a few seconds, gathering her breath.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Sorry for dropping your drink, Mr. Morelli, sir.”
Fuck, it was her, her, her. Always her, her, her, slamming through my filthy skull.
I downed the mineral water, struggling to focus on the bodies in the room around me. Surely I wanted one of them. I tried to concentrate on the cracks of whips and the wails of pain around them. I tried to stare at the submissives bound up in chains and feel even a shiver of desire to see them writhing in agony in my hands.
But no. No, no, fucking no.
There was only one blonde sub I wanted in chains in front of me. There was only one woman’s wails I wanted to hear.
I was a man who always took what I wanted from life, whenever I wanted it. I knew nothing but my own success, no matter what the cost. I climbed any mountain, no matter how steep or how tough, no matter how fucked up the mountain climb could be.
I wanted to climb Elaine Constantine and tear her apart on the descent.
I wanted to own her. Hurt her. Destroy her.
That precious woman belonged to me. I needed to see her again. Soon.
I didn’t even wait to see Clark before I left Violent Delights for the night. I was on the phone to Trenton before I was even out through the door and onto the sidewalk.
“What, boss?” he asked, and I told him.
“I need two keys, and I need them right now.”
“What kind of locks?”
“An outer apartment door and an inner apartment door.”
“No problem. Where?”
“Meet me downtown, at the backstreet apartment block at the rear of Gaol Street, under the shitty overhead light.”
“Are you serious?”
“Just fucking get there,” I said.
“On my way, boss.”
My chauffeur was waiting outside the club, but I didn’t want to arrive at that dive in a car that didn’t belong there. I summoned a cab, getting far too accustomed to the cheap, stinking leather as we headed to the shitty side of town.
Trenton was already waiting when I got there. I slammed the cab door shut behind me, and my fixer didn’t wait for my approach, just met me on the sidewalk.
“What the hell are you doing here in this dive, Lucian? Just let me know who owes what, and I’ll chase it down for you. You don’t need to muddy your hands.”
“This isn’t about money,” I said, “I just want those two keys.”
He looked at me blankly. “Why the fuck would you want keys for this shithole?”
My stare must have been bristling with malice to mask my humiliated shame. “Why the fuck would you question my business? Just get me the fucking keys.”
He came to his senses, backing down with a sure, sorry, yeah, before stepping right up to the main door.
Trenton had many useful skills. Picking locks was something he majored in. And when you’ve been picking locks for decades, you tend to amass a neat collection of skeleton keys. Trenton had bunches of the things.
“Looks like a sixteen,” he said before pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. He selected one, slid it in the lock and the door was open. Just like that. Once inside, he worked the key free from the ring and dropped it in my palm.
“Next?” he asked, a smile of satisfaction on his face.
I led him upstairs and down the hallway to apartment seven.
“A number three, no doubt about that,” he said and twisted the key free from its ring and dropped it into my hand without even trying it.
I slipped the key into the lock and it turned with silent ease. My skin prickled and so did my balls as I pushed the door open, hoping with some twisted little part of me that Elaine was in there, curled up in bed.
Of course she wouldn’t be in there. She was probably in her own sad little part of the Constantine compound, passed out with an empty glass of champagne in her hand.
I stepped inside and sure enough, the apartment was empty. Dark. Pathetic.
Desperate.
I flicked on the light and remembered the suicide blonde standing there in the hallway amongst her friend’s tacky little trinkets, looking so damn stunning in her fear.
Trenton was still hovering when I turned back to face him, no doubt still trying to gauge what the fuck was going on.
“You can go now,” I said.
He stared at me, tipping his head. “How long have I been working with you now, boss?” he asked. “Twelve years, right? At least twelve years.”
“Long enough for me to know you need to keep your thoughts where they belong. In that thick skull of yours before I crack the fucker open.”
He knew I wouldn’t do it without severe motivation, not like I’d have done with anyone else standing in his place. We’d been acquainted for long enough to know each other’s traits and ways. I relied on Trenton Alto, even if I didn’t want to. He knew that. “Twelve years, and I still know fuck all about just how you work. You’re one hell of a mystery, Lucian Morelli. Even by Morelli standards.”
I managed to smile. “Stop trying to figure it out. You’ll be better off for it in the long run.”
“No doubt,” he said, and walked away.
The door swung closed behind him, and I stood in silence as I breathed in the space.
There was the shitty tapestry opposite me, in its garish blues and its cartoon whale by a ship. The picture of grinning hippies was on the far wall by the kitchen doorway, and I stepped closer, wondering which of them was the friend of Elaine’s.
The kitchen floor was cleared, broken mugs cleaned up nicely into the trash can. There was no sign of blood on the carpet from another self-harm attempt in the aftermath of me walking away.
I sat myself down on the couch in the living room where I’d ripped her dress from her, staring at the empty space on the floor.
I wondered how often she was in here, drowning out whatever bullshit in her life she was so determined to bail out on. Then I wondered about that, too.
What was it about Elaine Constantine that she despised so much? What had made her so fucked up in the head?
It was none of my business, not worth my time. I could use her to win over the board and send a fuck you to my father without caring about her.
It was well into the early morning hours when that twisted part of me gave up for the night. I wasn’t even aware I was waiting for her, until I realized she really wasn’t coming.
Of course she wouldn’t be coming.
Why the fuck would she be coming to that hovel of a place when she had Bishop’s Landing to float around in? Fuck knows why she was there in the first place.