Uncovering You 4: Retribution (9 page)

I start to hyperventilate—and then relax. That can’t be the case. I heard him discussing logistics with Rose earlier. I saw his limo waiting for him outside. He wouldn’t go through all that trouble just to throw me off.

He has better ways of doing that.

Without warning, the vapidity of my own thoughts strikes me. It comes as a flash of lightning.

Who am I to Stonehart?

Obviously, nobody. Or at least, nobody
important
. I’d be an idiot to take it as a slight if he ignores me for a while. He is in charge of one of the most powerful corporations in America. There are clearly going to be more pressing demands on his time than acknowledging the poor little slave girl.

Besides, it’s not like I’m ever going anywhere.

A sudden flood of despair threatens to overwhelm me. I teeter on the edge, taking deep, slow breaths to force it down… and it passes.

Your situation is far from helpless
, I remind myself.
Things were helpless when you were starving in the sunroom. You got past that, didn’t you
?

The reminder gives me a little strength. I
did
get through it. I faced the worst with Stonehart and came out of it pretty much intact. There’s still the lingering light sensitivity, of course, but it’s getting better. Other than that, I survived without any permanent emotional scars.

I allow myself a smile. Maybe things aren’t so bleak.

The door to Stonehart’s office opens. I jerk my head up. He walks by the open doorway, jaw set, eyes straight ahead.

“Jeremy,” I say, starting to get up. I stop halfway through the process. He gives no response.

I hiss out an annoyed breath and walk to the door. I look down the hallway, but he’s already gone. He definitely heard me say his name. The man isn’t deaf.

Fine
, I think. Two can play at this game. He wants to ignore me, does he? Well, nothing says I have to go through any trouble making that harder for him to accomplish.

I won’t ignore him back. That would be madness! But, I don’t have to chase after him, either.

I’ve turned around and started for the armchair again, eyeing the book lying open on the armrest, confident that
now
I’ll be able to focus on my reading, when Stonehart’s voice stops me short.

“Lilly.”

Speak of the devil. My resolution did not even have time to bud.

I turn toward him. “Hello, Jeremy.”

He does not acknowledge my greeting. Instead, he says, “Follow me.”

I walk after him and am hit by a burst of excitement when he turns into his office. I hesitate on the threshold.

Stonehart goes to sit down behind a magnificent wooden desk—the same one I saw his secretary naked on. Today, however, he has an enormous laptop there, screen facing him.

“I have an urgent conference call with the board,” he announces to nobody in particular. “It began ten minutes ago, but I only need to be present at the end.”

Suddenly his eyes shoot up. Anger darkens his features when he sees me still at the door.

“Dammit, Lilly!” he exclaims, slapping his palm on the desk. “I said to
follow me
. Come
here
.”

I swallow, eying the doorway nervously. I notice how tight the collar seems around my neck. He wouldn’t have it active in his office… would he?

Of course he would. Nothing ever stopped Stonehart from doing what he wants. At least, not that I know.

But the growing anger in his eyes seems more of an immediate threat than the potential of a second shock. I prepare myself for the worst, and step inside.

The collar remains inactive.

Tension oozes out of me. But Stonehart’s eyes are still sharp.

He leans back in his chair. His hands move to his belt buckle.

“As I was saying,” he continues, staring off into space about five feet above my head, “I’m late for my conference call. But the whole thing is a waste of time. And I
never
waste my time.”

His buckle comes undone. “Here, Lilly. Get on your knees. Under the table.” His eyes flash to mine, and there’s very satisfied glimmer there. “Quickly, now.”

I hurry out of the office, wanting nothing more than a toothbrush and some mouthwash.

I’ve never experienced anything
quite
as degrading.

As soon as I was on the floor, Stonehart pulled out his dick.

“It’s not going to suck itself
,” were the last words he directed at me before turning his attention to the computer screen. A second later, the voices of his board members sprang out from the speakers.

He gave me absolutely no regard. While I was there under him, he spoke to the board in a voice that gave no indication about what was happening.

Again, it was a function of his immense degree of control. He let me be privy to the most intimate—no pun intended—conversation about his company without a care in the world.

If that doesn’t show how little a threat he thinks I am, nothing does.

I gargle in the bathroom, trying to erase the taste of
him
from my tongue. What made the whole experience worse was my knowing that only a few days before, he’d been fucking another woman a foot above where my head was bobbing up and down.

I didn’t think that would affect me, but—surprise—it does. Listening to them having sex while blindfolded was better. Maybe it’s because, back then, my anger served as a buffer between reality and my emotions.

At the very end, to add insult to injury, he shot his load into my mouth with no warning. Then he patted my head, muttered, “Good girl,” and did up his pants.

It was the most demeaning dismissal I’ve ever received.

***

When I come out of the bathroom, thoroughly perturbed, I find a small note left for me on the bed.

I will be gone for fifteen days. When I return, you will greet me with the enthusiasm proper for one in your position.

He didn’t even sign the damn thing!

My moment of indignation quickly passes when I realize what the note means:

Stonehart is gone! He’s actually
gone
!

Not gone for good, of course. However, two blessed weeks apart is more than I could have ever hoped for. Even better, I have full access to the house
and
the property. And now that I know that I can go into Stonehart’s office without tripping the collar…

Giddy excitement builds inside and washes away all the bad feelings from earlier.
Two weeks
. I have two weeks to do whatever I want.

The first order of business is finally making good on the promise I made myself when I signed the contract.

The very first thing I do, that night, when I’m sure that Stonehart isn’t lurking somewhere in the mansion, is walk up to the doors of his office. I have every intention of going inside. I don’t care if his cameras will catch me doing it. I need
information
, and what little I can find in the rest of the house is of absolutely no use.

But when I try the door, it’s not my collar that bars me from proceeding further, but something much more antique:

The lock.

I give a disappointed grunt. Did I really expect things to be this easy?

Well, in truth… yes. It’s probably a function of becoming too accustomed to having every single door in the house unlocked.

Swayed but undeterred, I wander out to find Rose.

But I don’t see Stonehart’s housekeeper anywhere. Disappointment fills me. I was looking forward to the opportunity to chat with her without Stonehart around.

It looks like I won’t get the chance today. Maybe tomorrow?

I spend the evening in the library, reading a short children’s book. I found it half-hidden behind a corner shelf. I wouldn’t have ever noticed it if I hadn’t dropped the book I was holding and bent down to pick it up.

The cover is worn and some of the pages have small rips on the edges. The book is unlike anything else in the library. I would have never expected to find a
children’s
book in here.

It’s about a little dragon that was born with brilliant white scales, instead of the dark green ones of his brothers and sisters. They all make fun of him for it. But, in the end, the dragon king acknowledges the white scales as the epitome of beauty, and the white dragon wins the praise of all his siblings and peers.

It’s a charming story if you ignore the heavy-handedness of the message behind it. However, that is not what intrigues me most.

It’s the fact that this was
Stonehart’s
book that has me curious.

Most likely, he never thought I’d find it. He probably hid it in here long ago and forgot all about it. For better or for worse, it’s all I have about him at the moment. It’s the only real piece I have of Stonehart’s history.

I go to bed and dream about getting through those two locked doors to his office.

The next day, I wake up hoping to see Rose. But when I stroll into the main part of the mansion, I find it eerily quiet.

“Hello?” I venture. “Is anybody here?”

Getting no answer, I sit at the kitchen table and wait for breakfast. Today might be the day I meet Charles for the first time, if he’s the one to bring it to me.

But after a good half hour, nobody comes. I decide to check out the kitchen myself.

I find it just as empty as the rest of the house.
That’s strange
, I think.
Did Stonehart give Charles and Rose time off?

I’m still not certain about either of their living arrangements. There are so many damned rooms in this place that any of them might easily be theirs. Somehow, though, I get the feeling that Stonehart and I are the only permanent residents here.

Where does Rose spend her nights? I don’t know.

I open the fridge and stagger back at the amount of food inside. It’s fully stocked. Not only that, but the interior contains four times more space than any fridge I’ve seen before.

Everything here is larger-than-life.

It’s a strange sensation to be making my own breakfast, I reflect, as I pull out a frying pan and crack open a few eggs. I haven’t had the chance to do it in forever.

It feels good to make food for myself. It offers the illusion of self-sufficiency.

It’s the closest I’ll get to independence here.

After finishing my meal, I bring the dishes to the sink, wash them, and return them to the cupboards. Then, I stand back, tap my foot, and look around the monstrous, sunlit kitchen .

It’s an impressive space. Everything is gleaming, silver steel. The appliances are spotless; the floors are shining. If I had more culinary talent, I would have enjoyed spending time in here.

But, I have more important things to do. There are secrets in this house—there must be—and I’m intent on ferreting them out.

A burst of inspiration hits me.
Secrets
. In the
surveillance room
. I’m definitely allowed in there, and maybe the video feeds will help me discover something I can use to my advantage. At least, I’ll be able to see if Stonehart brought any other women back to his house.

Shit
. I bring my hand to my forehead and rub my temples. How petty do I sound? Who
cares
if Stonehart brings other women here? I certainly should not.

Those thoughts imply emotional attachment. I need to steer clear of that dangerous trap.

Once again, my plans are foiled when I find the secret entrance on the wall in Stonehart’s bedroom closed. I trace the thin outline with my fingertips. It doesn’t budge—no matter how hard I try to push it open.

Maybe there’s a button somewhere, like the one under the table in the hall. I scour the room but do not find it. I give it another sweep, making sure to double-check any suspicious-looking crevices and hiding places.

Nothing.

I grind my teeth in frustration. It’s almost like Stonehart doesn’t
want
me to find anything I’m not supposed to see.

I spend the remainder of the day in the library.

***

The third morning, I wake up with the resolution to go outside. I need to get the lay of the land if I intend to break out.

I roll my eyes at the thought. The collar guarantees I can’t go anywhere Stonehart doesn’t want me to.

But when I get out of bed, I find heavy rain pelting the ground outside.

I groan.

It’s amazing how little there is for me to do in a house this size. You’d think that having an enormous estate at your disposal would ensure you’re never bored.

That is definitely not the case.

Aside from distracting myself by cooking some barebones meals, and with no inclination to read, I don’t have much to do to pass the time.

***

Rose is nowhere to be seen by day four. Neither is Charles. And the weather just keeps getting worse and worse.

I spend the remainder of the week in a state of disquietude and increasing anxiety.

I wake up one morning with the realization that
seven days
have passed with me on my own. What have I done with them?

Absolutely nothing.

A crazy idea occurs to me that night. If there’s nobody here… and I have full access to the kitchens, where I spotted some impressive chef’s knives before… what’s to stop me from simply sawing the collar off and making a run for it?

The idea is so obvious it’s a wonder I didn’t think of it before. I fling the blanket off and rush to the kitchen.

The lights, triggered by motion sensors, all turn on automatically as I run through the house.

I rip one drawer open and pick up the most evil-looking knife. The blade is sharp and thin. I heft it in my fingers… and hesitate.

The collar is pretty tight. I’d need to wedge the knife in right against my skin. What if I cut myself?

But that’s not such a big concern, in the grand scheme of things. More distressing is what Stonehart would do if he discovered I tried—and failed.

Carefully, and with the utmost control, I lower the knife into the drawer.

Then I return to bed. Under safety of the covers, away from the cameras, I explore the collar with my fingers. It’s slightly flexible, and deceptively strong. Even if I managed to jam a knife in there, I don’t think I could saw it open.