Episode Two: Look Back in Anger Read online

  Episode Two

  S. N. Graves

  www.sngraves.com

  Look Back in Anger

  Copyright © June 2014 by S. N. Graves

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from S. N. Graves. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Editor: Serena Stokes

  Cover Artist: S. N. Graves

  Published in the United States of America

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  Look Back in Anger is a serial. This is episode two of six. Individual episodes may not have a completed story arc, as they are building blocks to a larger work, much in the way a season of television can be broken into smaller parts. Individual episodes may not all include the same elements, such as sexually explicit scenes, violence, mature language, but it should be understood that these are elements of the series as a whole and any individual episode may in fact include these elements.

  If you have not read Episode One, you are strongly encouraged to do so before beginning Episode Two.

  Dedication

  To my first and most enthusiastic fan. Miss ya, mom.

  Also

  To my far too patient husband who brings me coffee and makes me awesome noms.

  And to my two amazing sons who helped me find my voice again when I thought it was lost.

  Love you guys more than you know.

  Acknowledgment

  My mentors

  Barbara Miller and Randall Silvis

  My crit partners

  Azure Boone, Jessica Barlow, Kathleen Calhoun, Serena Stokes, Stephanie Dunn, T. M. Avery, Troy Bucher

  And my beta readers

  Jessica Barlow, Lori Giles, Michele L. Montgomery, Michelle Ofeldt, Morgan Graves, Rachell Nichole

  Thank you guys for all stepping up to help make this the best story possible.

  III

  The door of Arles’s silver car slammed behind Sam with all the finality of a sealing tomb. As the storm raged outside, the confines of the vehicle seemed disturbingly serene. It was all the peace and quiet one could expect from dying, of a life over, and if she’d died and gone to hell, the biting presence of Arles Colfter made a lot of sense.

  “I’m almost disappointed, Sammy.”

  “I don’t see why. You got everything you wanted.” She still wore his jacket; she had no choice considering her lab coat had disappeared while she’d been unconscious. The sicko probably pilfered it into his trousers just to make her squirm.

  “I was hoping you’d prove me wrong.” His gaze didn’t touch her. It remained solidly focused out the side window as he blindly punched in the coordinates for wherever he was taking her. “Daddy’s little martyr through and through. I wonder if you even realize how much control he has of you.”

  “He’s my father. I’m not going to let him die in prison because you think it’s funny.” She put as much space between their bodies as the car’s cabin would allow, resting so heavily on her door that had it not locked behind her, she might have fallen out. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t care about anyone but Arles. Never have.”

  “I care about you.” He smiled, then turned up the heat, pointing the vents in her direction. It didn’t help much with the chill that consumed her insides from being near him. “What’s with the passing out? How long have you been ill?”

  “Oh, fuck off, Arles. You couldn’t care less.”

  “I asked, didn’t I? I care.” He waited, but she said nothing. “You have to answer me. I own you now, remember?”

  Her guts lurched as the car shot out of the parking lot much too quickly to be safe.

  “Nobody owns me. Don’t go getting it into your head that you do.”

  “So why are you here, then? You just miss me that much?”

  “I haven’t thought of you in years.”

  “Liar.” He smirked. “You’ve thought of me every day since your father took you away from me.”

  “Saved me from you. Big difference.” But then she mirrored his smirk, leaning toward him as if imparting a secret. “Actually, you’re right. I did think of you on occasion.”

  “Thought so.” He leaned in as well, and suddenly they were very close, too close. She could smell the mint on his breath as he spoke. “Tell me when you think of me.”

  “Well, every time one of our upper-crust clients brings in a little organic rat dog, and we have to stick a probe up its butt to check for worms. The slimy brown dribble they leave on my exam table makes me think of you…right before I disinfect the hell out of it and move on.”

  Hurt flashed through his perfect, too-green eyes. Those had to be a surgical augmentation; he was certainly the sort of pretentious bastard body modifications were marketed at. She couldn’t remember ever getting lost in that shiny emerald stare when they were children. It pained her when he turned his gaze away, his smile collapsing as he withdrew to…pout. She had no business feeling guilty, but for a heartbeat her chest tightened as she watched him fold his hands in his lap and stare at the dash navigator as if it had reached out and slapped him. No fair. He couldn’t be a complete asshole and then get his feelings hurt so easy.

  “What did you expect? I try very hard not to think of you. Ever.”

  He sniffed, bumping the back of his hand against his nose. “You’re trying very hard to avoid telling me why you’re sick. You’ve been in the hospital. I know that much. I want to know what the doctors say.”

  “It’s just anemia.” Her gaze hung on his fingers, on the strange glint of tin and plastic that took a moment’s study to identify as a ring. A kid’s toy. What the hell?

  “They hospitalize you for that?”

  “No, I just like how roomy the gowns are. Really accentuates my figure.” She leaned in a bit, trying not to be too obvious in her study. Why would a grown man in a tailored suit where a gaudy, glittery kid’s party favor on his hand? “What’s with the ring?”

  “Anemic.” He rolled the word over his tongue and smirked at his tin-adorned finger before lowering the hand into shadow. “We’ll take care of you. Once we get home.”

  “We aren’t going home. You are. I’m being blackmailed to participate in my own kidnapping. Don’t try to turn this into something it’s not.”

  How did he manage to get her so riled? So ready to do violence and spew vitriol? No one else in the world made her so angry so fast. Even Mr. Morris with his biting words and hateful demands hadn’t managed to unhinge her the way Arles did with a glance. She was a master at holding her tongue, keeping her mouth shut and head down. And clearly, Arles was a master at seriously rubbing her the wrong way. “And where the hell is my shirt, asshole?”

  “In the bathroom of your father’s office. It was soaked; you were cold.” Arles shrugged. “He was afraid you were going into shock.”

  Shock? Over a little bit of rain? Were they complete idiots? “Please tell me that’s an excuse. You can’t be that dumb.”

  He smirked again; it seemed his default expression. “An excuse? What for? You think I’d go through all that trouble just to get a look at your…bunnies?”

  Good Lord. What else had he seen? She tightened t
he jacket, hugging it securely closed as her face burned with embarrassment. She almost felt guilty for what he must have seen, even if he did do it against her will.

  “What? What is that look for? Sammy, I wasn’t checking you out. We were concerned. The dirty little bunnies are just hard to miss.”

  “You don’t undress a fat girl, Arles. It’s not funny.”

  “A fat girl? Are you joking? Where did you get that idea?”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, I want to know. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Stop it!” It wasn’t ridiculous. She was fat, undesirable period, and if he thought differently, he was either full of shit or blind. How could she convey how much his words hurt? Thank God no one else stood nearby to overhear the hot guy’s attempts at making the fat girl feel better. Her tongue got stuck, and no more words came.

  He sat silently for a long moment, and then shook his head. “We’re going to talk about this. It can wait. After we get home, we will discuss it.”

  “It’s not my home. It never will be.”

  “It is as long as you’re keeping your end of the deal. You are keeping your end, aren’t you, Sammy?” He arched a brow and settled back against the leather seat. His gaze warned she’d best check her next words carefully before allowing them to leave her lips.

  He wanted her to rebel; she could see it in him. Lucky for him she was all about rebellion suddenly. “I’ll do this. For Dad. But don’t expect me to enjoy it or even pretend to.”

  “This isn’t going to work.” Looking her over from head to toe, he added, “Deal’s off.”

  “What?”

  “You’re fucking with me. You’ve no intention of holding to your end of the bargain. You’re just stalling, buying time. I’ll drop you off somewhere.”

  “Seriously? Do you expect me to want to be your whore?” She loved her father, but that was pushing it. “Just settle down, all right? Chillax. I’ll keep my end. Just quit making this harder than it has to be.” She should have been pleading with him, or at the very least keeping her mouth shut. Any other time, any other man, she would have suffered him in silence. But Arles… Something about him flipped switches within her she didn’t know existed.

  “You’re lying.”

  “What the hell do you want from me? I’m not going to fucking beg. You wanted me, you got me. If you want me to act like someone else…go get someone else!”

  “Respect. Devotion. Love.” He peered at her in that superior manner he’d clearly perfected over years of getting his way. “You don’t get to play games with me, Sammy. You don’t get to act or speak to me as if I’m something on the bottom of your shoe. Not anymore.”

  “You can kidnap me, blackmail me, but you can’t tell me who to respect.”

  “Oh, really?” The man was such a little brat. It was as if his expressions conspired with that smarmy tone to make him appear the most condescending jackass imaginable. “That’s how slavery works, Sammy.”

  She blinked at him, finally speechless. Slave. He really wanted to her to be his slave. For some reason, which seemed insane now, she hadn’t fully believed it when he’d said the same back in Dad’s office. It had appeared like spite, like a dare. As if he was challenging her to defy him. But he’d meant every word. A rush of humiliating images invaded her mind, visions of dog collars and of being led around like some mindless thing on a leash.

  Her poor dad was so screwed.

  “I can’t. I’m not a slave. I have no idea how to even pretend that way.”

  “Liar. You’re a submissive little doormat.” His gaze met hers, but there was more accusation in his eyes than insult. “The things you put up with, allow men to do to you… Don’t pretend you have a spine now. If you did, you wouldn’t be in this car. You would have told me and dear old Dad to go fuck ourselves for bartering you.”

  Exactly. He had expected her to fight. What the hell could he have to gain from that besides further tormenting her father? Was that really all he was after? “My dad isn’t… He didn’t—”

  “He sold you.” The sympathy in Arles’s voice sounded so close to genuine.

  “No, he was just afraid. He’s old, he’s sick—”

  “You’re sick. Aren’t you? And he didn’t care. He traded you to me rather than lose his job, his power. That is the monster he is, and so much worse.”

  She wasn’t proud of her father’s choice. It hurt that he hadn’t forbidden her from going with Arles. But he was old, nearly a cripple, and probably terrified of the creature threatening him from across his desk. As long as she could remember, Arles has been the one thing to spark real fear in Dad. How could she blame him?

  “You backed him into a corner. Don’t you put this on him—you did it. You’re the one who ‘bought’ me. What does that say about you?”

  “Fine. You want me to be the bad guy—”

  “You are the bad guy.”

  “I’ll be the bad guy. You do as I say, listen to me, or Daddy gets drilled in a prison shower. End of negotiation. You with me, or are you with him?”

  “Just leave my dad out of it.” How she kept her tone so level, her voice near pleading, she hadn’t a clue. “Please?”

  He snorted. Again he seemed to find her amusing. It made her regret wasting a please. “I want a test.”

  “You won. You got me. Let it rest.”

  “No, you’re your father’s daughter. Lying and conniving, the both of you.” He shifted around in his seat, turning to face her fully. “I want proof.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t want you to say anything. I can’t believe anything that comes out of your pretty little mouth.” That challenging smirk was home again on his lips, as was the playful taunt back in his voice. She preferred him pouting. “Kiss me.”

  She nearly laughed, would have if she hadn’t known just how serious he was. “You were totally dropped on your head as a child, weren’t you? I’m not kissing you.”

  “You will, or I call the authorities.”

  ARLES DRUMMED HIS fingers against his thigh as she stared back at him like some glassy-eyed doll, hiding in the car’s shadows. He lifted his wrist, waggled his commlink in front of her. Activated it with a dramatic press of a finger. Part of him hoped she didn’t buy the threat, that she’d let him make the call and be done with the old man for good. As much as he wanted to feel her lips against his again, to taste her after so long, it would have been a major victory if she broke away from Marx’s control. It would almost be worth losing her forever. Almost.

  She squirmed in her seat, and for a moment he thought he’d won. She was going to tell him to go to hell and then bail, father be damned. Then she darted forward, and if he’d blinked, he would have missed it when she pecked at his lips as a bird might savagely peck an escaping worm.

  Didn’t that sum them up perfectly? He was some puppy’s bowel worm…and she was just a big ol’ chicken.

  The car fell silent as he fingered his stinging lip. He couldn’t tell if it had been her teeth that cut through his flesh, or his own, but his fingertips were stained crimson, and the taste of metal flooded his tongue. “That, I don’t think, is going to cut it.”

  “Why not?” She cringed as though he might strike her, but the little edge of a whine in her voice was adorable.

  “Why not?” It was hard not to laugh, even harder to keep up the angry facade, but he managed. “You were here, you should know. That was awful. You busted my lip.” He held up his two bloody fingers for her to see.

  “Serves you right.”

  He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. What the hell had he gotten himself into? “You going to give it another go, or are we done here?”

  She shook her head violently, and he could smell the panic rising in her.

  He didn’t know what was running through her head then, but as he slid closer, she recoiled. She was trembling from more than just the rain chilling her skin, and the smell of fear and p
anic permeating the vehicle was nauseating.

  “Sam…” He reached out to brush a few damp strands of her dark hair from in front of her eyes, and she snarled like some cornered, untamed thing.

  He hadn’t expected this to be easy, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be quite this hard either.

  He turned her toward him and slipped an arm around her shoulders, effectively eliminating any distance between them. She scrunched down, trying to escape. He forced her chin up with his fingers and locked his gaze on hers. “Let me help you remember. I wanted you to come to it on your own—it’s supposed to be safer that way—but if you need a little help…”

  “Remember what? What you did to me? I remember enough to know I don’t want to remember.”

  He moved in closer, and finally he could smell something beneath the blanket of fear. Some part of her remembered him. Some part of her wanted him still. “You have to. Otherwise this is all pointless.”

  That was all the warning he offered before his mouth touched Sam’s, just a caress of his lips to hers. He could feel the fight leave her as their breath mingled. Lips grazed lightly back and forth. Teasing and testing.

  She whimpered softly, and he drank in that sweet sound. Once upon a time she had moaned for him, called out his name. She would do so again. His mouth covered hers fully, forcing her lips to part under the pressure and the insistent probing of his tongue.

  Her hands fastened to his shoulders, and he couldn’t tell if she was trying to push him away or pull him in. Her grip bruised, her nails biting past the fabric of his designer shirt to pierce flesh. He could smell the blood, his blood, and it excited him beyond measure. The little trapped-animal sounds she made should have insulted him, repulsed him. Should have shot him back to his side of the car in a flood of apologies. The taste of her held him, locked him against her.

  He had one chance to make her his, to strip away the paternal claim her father imposed on the both of them. Arles had wanted so desperately to wait until she remembered, until she knew, but he couldn’t risk losing her before she understood.