Strict (Part Seven) Read online

  Strict

  Part Seven

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

  Strict

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Copyright © 2020 by Hannah Ford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Strict

  (Part Seven)

  Chapter 1

  CHLOE

  “You can sleep in here,” Gage says, opening the door to the guest room I slept in the night before I lost my internship, the night when he took me to his room of punishment, and then left me there after I begged him to have sex with me.

  The room has been cleaned and the bed made, the room in pristine condition. It’s annoying for some reason -- that my life has completely fallen apart while Gage’s seemingly marches on, full or order and routine, his numerous housekeepers and assistants cleaning and making sure everything is perfect for him.

  “I’m only staying one night,” I say firmly.

  He doesn’t say anything, instead walking into the adjoining bathroom, and I can hear him in there opening cupboards, checking to make sure there are fresh towels and toiletries. Which, of course there are, since everything in this apartment is well stocked and immaculate. My annoyance grows.

  “Did you hear me?” I ask when he comes back out. “I’m only staying here for one night.”

  He still doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, his golden eyes boring into mine.

  “Did. You. Hear. Me?” I repeat, enunciating every word carefully.

  “Yes, Chloe, I heard you.” His tone makes it clear that he doesn’t necessarily agree with me, though, that he thinks there’s more than a good chance I’ll be staying here longer.

  “I want to make sure that I’m clear,” I say, trying not to let him hear the tremble in my voice. Because of course the truth is, as much as I don’t want to be here, at his mercy, under his control, I don’t have anywhere else to go.

  After my mother shut the door in my face, she at least had the courtesy to open it back up and let me inside so I could grab my things. Of course, I had to call her cell phone five times before she answered, and even then it was only after I sent her a text pointing out that the last thing she probably wanted was for the neighbors to come out and see her daughter standing on the porch half naked.

  So she let me in, told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t welcome in her house, and then returned to her own bedroom while I got my things.

  So now I’m here.

  Back in New York.

  Back with Gage.

  Back in the same situation I was in, with no money, no internship, and of course, no Grace.

  “And I want to make sure I’m clear,” Gage says. “You will stay here until I’m satisfied that you’re safe.”

  I don’t bother to contradict him – to do that won’t accomplish anything. I’ll let him think whatever he wants, but there is no way that I’m going to be here more than one night, no way that I’m going to allow myself to be dependent on him for anything.

  What happened in his car a few hours ago was a slip up, a mistake, a one-time thing. I need time to clear my head, to really think about what it is that’s going on here, and I can’t do that with him so close.

  Even now, his presence takes over the room, permeating everything – the smell of his cologne, the way his broad shoulders stretch the material of his sweater, the smoky look in his eyes that makes it clear he wants to control me.

  He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back.

  “It’s late,” I say. “Well, I mean, it’s early. I mean, I’m tired.”

  It’s one o’clock in the afternoon, and I haven’t really slept at all.

  “Of course. You should sleep.”

  “Where are you.. I mean, are you going to work?”

  “I’ve cancelled my meetings for the day,” he says. “I’ll be working in my office down the hall.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good night, Chloe.”

  “Good night, Gage.”

  I must be exhausted, because I sleep hard and deep and when I wake up, my body feels surprisingly rested, my limbs loose and relaxed.

  And then it all comes rushing back to me.

  Losing my internship.

  Grace going missing.

  The look on my mother’s face when she saw me standing there on her porch, my shorts torn and bruises on my wrist.

  I close my eyes tight, trying to block it all out.

  But of course I can’t. This is my life, and I need to figure out a way to deal with it. I spent the days I was at my parents’ house moping, and the time for moping is over.

  I need coffee. Coffee and a plan.

  I pad out of the room and down the hallway toward Gage’s kitchen. The house is quiet, the only movement the blinking of the light from the panel of the alarm system that’s mounted on the wall. A soft humming noise float through the air as a camera follows my path from the living room to the kitchen.

  I don’t remember seeing cameras in here before, and I wonder if Gage just had them installed, an extra security measure since my sister’s killer escaped from jail.

  There’s no sign of Gage anywhere, and so I flip the light on in the kitchen and get to work brewing myself coffee in his ridiculously fancy coffee machine.

  Then I send a quick text to my mom, apologizing and asking her to please call me. I stare at the screen for a few seconds, hoping to see the dots appear that would indicate she’s typing a message back. When they don’t come, I set my phone down on the counter.

  I’m sipping my coffee and trying to figure out what the hell to do next when loud, booming laughter comes trickling down the hallway from the direction of Gage’s office.

  Then voices.

  Gage.

  And another man, one with a British accent.

  The man from the other night at the restaurant. What had Willow said his name was? Gavin something?

  If it is him, he’s having a very different conversation with Gage than the one they were having the other night, where it seemed as if the two of them were fighting.

  Now they’re laughing as if they’re old friends without a care in the world.

  I take my coffee and tiptoe down the hallway until I’m standing outside of Gage’s office.

  “I’ll get the paperwork drawn up right away,” Gavin is saying.

  “Good,” Gage says. “The quicker we can get this thing done, the less likely it will be that River can have it overturned.”

  River. My hand tightens around the coffee cup I’m holding.

  “Yes, exactly,” Gavin says. He gives out another laugh. “I’m glad he came around.”

  “I told you he would.”

  “I should have known better than to doubt you, Stratford.”

  There’s the sound of backslapping, the kind that men do when they’re congratulating each other over something that they’ve accomplished. I can’t imagine Gage being the backslapping type, so he’s obviously just going along with it for this Gavin person.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Gage says.

  “As long as your security guy isn’t going to frisk me again,” Gavin says, but he sound jovial.

  “Yes, well, you can never be too careful,” Gage says, his voice drawing closer.

  I turn around and try to slip back down the hallway, but I’m not fast enough.

  “Chloe,” Gage says behind him, his voice comma
nding.

  I stop and turn around, forcing a smile onto my face. “Sorry,” I say. “I came down for coffee and I heard voices.”

  Gage’s eyes narrow with disapproval, and I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I feel like I can see his palm twitch at his side, like he’s already having to resist the urge to spank me.

  “Hello, young lady,” Gavin says, his eyes traveling up my body. I’m suddenly aware that I’m wearing only a thin long sleeved t-shirt and pajama shorts. I blush and cross my arms over my chest.

  “You can see yourself out,” Gage says, his voice a warning as he grabs the other man by the arm and yanks him past me down the hall.

  “Oh, come on, Gage,” Gavin says, chuckling as he gives Gage a look. “I’m just having a little fun.”

  “Leave,” Gage says. “Now.”

  Gavin leaves, shooting one last slightly nervous look over his shoulder as he goes.

  Once Gavin is out of sight, Gage turns his full attention back to me, his golden eyes locking on mine.

  “Eavesdropping isn’t nice, Chloe,” he says, his tone full of disapproval.

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

  He just stares at me, like a lawyer waiting for a witness to break, or a lion toying with its prey.

  “Fine,” I say, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Fine, I was eavesdropping. But if you want to have private conversations, Gage, you should probably have them with the door closed.”

  “Oh, so it’s my fault.” He takes the cup of coffee I’m holding out of my hand and takes a sip, then nearly does a spit take. “What is wrong with this coffee?”

  “I couldn’t figure out how to use the machine,” I admit. “I don’t think I used enough beans.

  He starts down the hallway toward the kitchen, and I follow, scrambling to keep up to his long strides.

  “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” I ask.

  “No.” He’s dumped my coffee into the sink and is over at the machine now, pushing buttons until the whir of the grinder fills the air.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it doesn’t concern you.” He checks his watch. Rolex. Of course. “You need to eat. I can make a reservation at Patrice if you’re in the mood for Italian.”

  “I don’t want to go out.”

  “You can’t just stay holed up inside all the time, Chloe. It’s not healthy.”

  “Not all the time. Just for tonight.”

  He regards me over the gleaming marble island of his kitchen, as if trying to decide if he’ll allow this. “Fine. But you need to eat.”

  He gets to work pulling things out of the refrigerator – colorful bunches of carrots and celery, a package of chicken wrapped in heavy butcher paper, a fresh package of leafy green parsley.

  “What are you doing?” I ask incredulously.

  “Making soup.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “First tell me what was going on in your office. Who is that man?”

  “Chloe.” His voice is a warning, but I’m sick of his secrets, and this time, I’m not backing down.

  “Willow said he wants to buy River’s company. Is that true?”

  “Yes. And the less you know about it, the better.”

  My coffee is done, and I take it out from under the espresso maker and dump sugar and cream into it, not bothering to worry about amounts, only wanting the sugar and caffeine to hit my bloodstream as quickly as possible.

  “Why?” I press. “Is he a bad man?”

  “We’re all bad men, Chloe.” He says this cheerfully as he grabs a dishtowel and flings it over his shoulder, then gets to work chopping carrots on a large oak cutting board.

  The anger and resentment that’s been bubbling up inside of me ever since I got here, or, actually, no, ever since I lost my internship, threatens to boil over in a rush of frustration.

  I shouldn’t even be here right now – I should be at home in Syracuse, curled up on my parents’ couch in comfy pants, plotting my next move. Or better yet, I should be back in the dorms, never having gotten involved with Gage in the first place.

  But I’m here, my life in shatters, some of it at least indirectly because of him, and he won’t even answer a simple question. I’m not a victim. I get that. I made my own decisions, which makes it even more frustrating, because this man has worked his way under my skin, snaked his way through my veins, and even when I know I should walk away, it feels impossible.

  I also know that as much as I want to, yelling at him will make no difference, and so I take my coffee out onto the terrace that’s set off the kitchen through a set of double doors.

  The large space snakes around the side of the building, and is filled with comfy-looking outdoor furniture -- couches and chairs with sleek chrome frames and overstuffed cushions. A gas fire pit sits in the middle and a railing runs around the perimeter of the terrace.

  The sun is setting, the last rays of light bouncing off the buildings spread out before me just as those same buildings start to become lit up from within as people turn their lights on to combat the falling darkness.

  It’s only a moment later when Gage appears behind me.

  “It’s too cold to be out here.”

  “It’s not that cold.”

  He glances around. “You’re too exposed.”

  I laugh. “You think Brandon’s a sniper now?”

  “I think you should be inside.”

  “I want to know what you were talking about with that man.”

  Gage’s jaw twitches. He’s wearing a pair of black slacks, a button-up navy shirt under a charcoal gray sweater, his feet bare. His face is clean-shaven, his striking good looks on full display, not marred by a five o’clock shadow. Not that his stubble takes away from his good looks – he’s too sexy for that -- but it does serve to give him a dangerous aura.

  Now he looks like the successful billionaire he is, well-groomed in expensive clothes, hanging out on the terrace of his New York City penthouse.

  “Come inside.”

  “And then you’ll tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Jesus, Gage!” A wind kicks up, the cool air brushing over my skin and causing me to shiver. I want to wrap my arms around myself in an effort to keep warm, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m cold. “Do you understand everything I’ve given up because of you?”

  “No one asked you to give anything up, Chloe.”

  “No, you’re right. No one did. And yet here I am, my parents not speaking to me, my best friend missing, my internship gone! And the only difference is that I had all those things before you came into my life.”

  “Placing blame is counter-productive.” He steps out onto the terrace in his bare feet, sliding the door closed behind him. I don’t know why, but something about the gesture sends a shiver up my spine.

  “Oh, really? Because you don’t seem to have a problem placing blame when it comes to Willow and River.”

  “That’s different.” His jaw twitches again even as his body goes still, as if he needs to calm himself physically because of what’s going on inside of him emotionally.

  “Why, Gage?” My voice breaks and I can feel all the emotions of the past few days swirling together into a tornado. “You said you would try. I’ve given up and lost everything for you. And you’re right, it’s not fair to blame you for those things. I’m not a victim. These were my choices. But you said you would try. Why am I even here if you were never going to –”

  “You want to see me try?” he says, and now his voice has risen. “You want to see what it looks like when I try, Chloe?”

  “Yes!” I say, throwing my hands up in the air in frustration. “That’s all I want, Gage. All I want is to see you try.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t understand, do you? You still don’t fucking get it. No matter how many times I try to tell you, you don’t get it.”

  “Then make me! Make me understand. You said you would try, so try!”

  He
crosses the balcony to me, pushes me up against the railing so hard and with such force that I’m afraid it’s going to break behind me, hurling my body down to the street below.

  “You want me to try?” he says, his golden eyes glittering with malice. “This is me trying, Chloe. This is who I am.”

  He picks me up, hurls me over his shoulder, and tosses me down on one of the couches so hard that I bounce.

  “You want me to try?” he repeats. “This is me trying. And I’ve told you that. Now I guess I have to show you.” He reaches down and begins to pull his belt off. I try to scramble away, but he grabs my ankles, pulling me back toward him.

  My body responds to his touch, to the feel of his hands on my skin. My senses all come alive as the scent of his cologne and his laundry detergent and him set my nerve endings on fire.

  I’m flipped over now, onto my stomach as I try to get away from him. As much as my body wants him, as much as I want him to touch me and tease me, as much as I want to lose myself in this, my mind is still putting up a fight.

  He’s pushing up the back of my shirt now, pulling down my shorts, leaving my thong on so that my ass cheeks are exposed.

  “I hate you,” I grind out.

  “No, you don’t.” He reaches down and brushes my hair off my face, takes my hair tie off my wrist and gathers my hair into a ponytail. “You love this. This is why you want me, Chloe. Because you’re a bad girl, and you know you need to be punished.”

  I reach up to try to take the hair tie out, for no other reason than a small gesture of defiance, but he pins my arms down. “No. I want to see your face while I spank you.”

  I know I could safe word, know that he would stop if I did.

  But as much as I don’t want to give Gage the satisfaction of dominating me unless he tells me what he was doing with Gavin in his office, I also don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making him think I can’t handle it.

  Or is it simply just the fact that I actually do want this, that I’m craving his belt against my skin, his palm on my ass, the pain and hurt he provides that will make me feel close to him and fade any of the other emotions I’m feeling?