“Can I piss first?”
“First door on your right. Across from that is my study. Meet me there in five minutes.”
Fuck.Fuck.This is all so fucked.
As soon as I’m in the restroom, I take a quick look around, sussing the place out for cameras. I don’t see one. That doesn’t mean there isn’t one, so I’ll have to pull my dick out to actually piss, make it look like I’m casually texting friends just in case.
I pull up my chat with Tate. That weird thing happens with my lips again—a smile. He told me to text him or else, so I wroteor else. First, I was swooning, then I was a damn simp for his cock, now I’m flirting. This is so bad.
As bad as maybe being Kline’s hostage?
No.
Right.
Focus, Ryan.
But I take a second to reread what he wrote back.
Tate
I’m happy to give you lots of “or else” next time I see you.
He didn’t mention when that would be, and I know he did that shit on purpose. He probably wants to hunt me down and drag me somewhere. If I don’t show up at school, would he hunt me down for real?
Yes. I know the answer’s yes.
Maybe only because he considers me his, but I don’t care why he finds me, just that he does.
Me
Sending you my current location.
It’s the middle of the day. I don’t know what he’s up to. I wait a minute as I shake off, then set my phone on the counter, so I can see if he texts while I wash my hands.
Wait a sec. It’s not sending. I dry my hands and uselessly press the screen, but the stupid green bar won’t go any further.
No internet connection.
What the...? It’s not like we’re miles out from civilization. Fuck me. On my own again. Trapped again. There’s not even a window to climb out of in this damn washroom. I press send one last time, the bar’s stuck in the middle of sending again. I pocket the phone.
Kline’s in his office as promised, his suit jacket off, sipping on yet more scotch. How much of that has he had? As soon as I enter, he sets his glass down, sauntering toward me like a sleazy panther. Fun. I take a breath, hardening my stance. Kline’s not bad looking. He’s a handsome fucker. Dirty blond hair with that all-American swoop, solid build, and a square jaw. He played hockey at North Point with my dad.
I fight to remain still as his arm reaches, fingers tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, leaving an eerie tingle in their wake. “I see some of her in you. Your mother.”
Is he on something? No one says I look like her. Everyone marvels over how much I look like my father. I wish I looked as much like our mother as Griff does.
“Look, I don’t know what Father promised you, but?—”
“He said I could do what I liked. I won’t fuck you until our wedding night, I’m traditional that way, but we can do other things.”
He steps forward. I step back. “Kline.”
“Get back here.”
I glance toward the door. Bet the guards moved in front of it when I came inside. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
Kline’s hand smooths its way up my arm. “I want you,” he says.
