I agreed to help him with research? What research?
Oh wait...a dog?
Confused, I thought back to several different conversations, not sure which one he was referring to.
Zero shouldered his way past Vandal, when he would have stopped him for what would have undoubtedly been a longer interrogation. As Zero went downstairs, Vandal swung around and glared at me, as though he’d known I’d been there the entire time.
“Care to enlighten me?”
“You’ll have to ask Zero. I’m not sure which idea he’s researching. You could always ask him nicely?”
He strode over to me, and I braced myself for violence and wasn’t disappointed. He grabbed me by the hair and tipped my head back.
“This is my fucking house, and both of you are my bitches. I won’t be asking anyone nicely for anything unless it happens to tickle my fancy, got it?”
I blinked up at him, probably looking pathetic with my lips parted and my brain melting out my ear.
“Sir—”
There probably should have been more to that sentence, but I couldn’t think past the one word, and couldn’t quite remember how I had annoyed him, although I was perfectly willing to make it up to him if he had any lewd suggestions.
Was there some way to stop myself from reacting to him like this? It was humiliating.
His gaze went from angry to cruelly amused, and he let go of me as though realizing he’d accidentally picked up a handful of shit.
“You’re too easy.” He shook his head at me in disgust and followed Zero down the stairs.
Yeah, if I could stop lusting after a man I intermittently despised, that would be great.
I unfolded from the window seat and put the laptop down beside me with the utmost care. Unlike my asshat critique partners, if I threw my laptop around, I couldn’t afford to buy a new one. I also couldn’t backup my files to an email address or external hard drive, so if I lost the laptop, I lost all my work. Maybe I should mention that to Zero. He’d probably order me a flash drive or something.
By the time I got downstairs the two of them were already outside. Vandal was standing over Zero, his hands on his hips in clear disapproval as Zero sliced through packing tape with a box cutter he must have grabbed from the kitchen.
One by one, he pulled items out of the boxes. It definitely looked like he was anticipating getting a large dog and had bought all of the paraphernalia for it. There were two stainless dog bowls, an anti-bark collar, and a huge pet crate. From another box he withdrew an expensive leather collar that locked, and a matching leash—those were definitely not made for a dog. There were also a few other things that looked suspiciously like they were for punishing a human submissive.
Embarrassed, I glanced up and down the road, listening to the silence and hoping we wouldn’t get any unexpected company.
“What’s this about?” Vandal asked, frowning.
“I was lying in bed one night trying to think of what a man might do if there were no more laws.” He gave Vandal a slow smile. “I figured John might want some company, and there’d be no one around to tell him he had to be nice about it.”
“I wish you’d change his fucking name already.”
Oh man—I’d completely forgotten Vandal’s name used to be John. Why would Zero give his character the same name, though? Just to be a brat?
“I’m not changing his name. It’s a common enough name, and it’s funny as hell.”
“I’m your dominant. You shouldn’t get to put words in my mouth and control me.”
“It’s not you. It’s just some other asshole named John.”
My brows rose. “Do you still hear the name and think someone means you?”
“My name has legally been Van for ten years, but hearing the name John still startles me into responding sometimes.”
I nodded sympathetically. “The fact that he named his dickhead character after you is hilarious, though.”
“Shut up, girl.”
Zero patted me on the foot, since he was sitting on the ground beside where I was standing. “Never call him his dead name, by the way. He was a junior, and he couldn’t stand his dad.”
“To be fair, that was definitely a two-way street right up until the day of his death, so…” Vandal shrugged. “It was what it was.”
“And yet you’re still judging your work by his standards.”
Vandal cleared his throat and nudged one of the stainless-steel bowls with his toe. “He was a dick, but he knew what he was talking about when it came to writing.”
“You do realize it’s too late to impress a man who’s dead, right?” Zero asked.
“Fuck off.” He stalked around the side of the house, going back to his beach, I assumed.
Zero sighed and got to his feet. “Do you ever deliberately piss people off without knowing why you’re doing it?”
“Are you sorry you said it, or are you sorry you said it in front of me?”
“I’m sorry I said it before he was ready to hear it, even though it’s true.” He grimaced and picked up the dog crate, which was out of the box now, but still folded flat. He opened the front door and brought the crate in, and I grabbed a few of the smaller items and trotted along behind him.
“Should I use a pen name too? If I ever finish my book, I mean.”
“When you finish your book,” he said, his voice hinting at trouble if I didn’t finish it. “Whether you use your real name is up to you. People use pen names for privacy, or if they don’t want their day job or their family to know what they’re writing. Sometimes people choose pen names because their real names are hard to pronounce. Sadie is pretty though.”
“Doesn’t it sound too innocent for what I’m writing?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. What else are you going to call yourself? Scarlett?” He paused. “John?”
“I’m not as brave as you are.” I grinned as I followed him up the stairs. “I guess I won’t have to worry about pen names for a while yet.”
“True. Unless you come to a convention with us at some point. You may want to use the name you’re writing under to start networking.”
Networking? Writers had to network? I groaned inwardly.
For some reason he brought the crate into his room and set it up next to his bed, leaving very little room to get to his closet.
“What’s the plan for that thing?” I asked, putting the BDSM equipment on his dresser.
He saw what I had grabbed off the lawn first and chuckled. “What’s the matter? You didn’t want to leave that stuff where people might see it?”
“Not especially.”
“Who are you afraid will see it?”
“I don’t know—the Pope? My aunt who lives across the country and doesn’t know where I’m staying? The shades of my dead parents passing judgment on what I’m doing with my life?”
“Oh no. Not you too. Between you and Vandal always trying to navigate the hypothetical disapproval of dead parents, the two of you may never finish your books.”
I shrugged. “I’m sure my book won’t be done by the time we part ways.”
“I guess that depends on when we part ways.” He tapped me on the nose. “Just because your contract with Vandal will eventually come to an end doesn’t mean we have to pretend we don’t know each other.”