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I hold up my hand and say smoothly, “Wait.”
As the woman begins jogging along the street, I say in a deep voice, “Instruct the soldiers to enter the house. Search the rooms and report back.”
Ali talks into his phone and when he finishes, I say darkly, “We follow her.”
As the car pulls off from the curb, we watch her disappear around the corner. Delores Brown. At least that’s the name on the rental agreement, and yet she is an imposter. The fact she’s alone tells me this won’t be as straightforward as I hoped and as Ali takes the call, he sighs. “Empty.”
“Search for any evidence.”
I stare as the woman jogs in the distance, admiring her ass as she sways from side to side. Her long dark hair is tied in a topknot that releases a few strands that trail against her creamy white neck.
“Nothing, sir.” Ali huffs with disappointment and my eyes narrow.
“Take me back to the house.”
“But the woman…”
“Is going nowhere. She’ll return and we’ll be waiting for her.”
As we head back to the house, we park outside, and the door flies open, allowing me to step into the sunshine.
As I sniff the air, I detect the distressing scent of suburbia that is at odds with the way I live my life.
My soldiers open the door and allow me to enter a space that has me glancing around with derision. Do people really live like this? This entire house would fit into my shoe closet, and I feel an urgent need to return to the clean air of wealth and privilege.
I wander through the rooms and see living at its most basic. Only practical items are in situ and as I prowl into the bedroom, I am disappointed to note no evidence of any child living here. There are two bedrooms in total and both are clean and free from personal objects, only an open bag on the side revealing the person is not here for long.
On opening the closet, I see a few garments on hangers and wrinkle my nose in disgust. Then I head to the bathroom and breathe in the aroma of products that are definitely not from the shelves of the high-end stores I have accounts with.
Ali hovers by the door and I say roughly, “Wait in the car. When she arrives, cover the exits. We will be taking her hostage.”
“Usual way?”
“Of course.”
Ali nods and retreats to the waiting car and as I take my seat in the wooden chair placed behind the door, I stare out of the window, relishing the anticipation of an interrogation that will be most pleasurable.
I wait for forty minutes and then hear the door slam and the heavy breathing of a woman who has pushed herself to her limits. How I adore limits. How I love breaking them and testing my subject to reach new ones.
As the door opens into the bedroom, she doesn’t see me as she strips off her sweat-soaked running vest and shrugs out of her jogging pants. I take a moment to admire a body I am keen to explore further and as she loosens her hair from the top knot, my cock wakes up and takes an interest.
To distract it, I slam the door shut and as she jumps and looks around, her scream washes through my body like the finest champagne.
“What the fuck!”
She attempts to cover her naked body and I growl, “Take a seat, Miss. Brown.”
Her eyes widen and she appears to have lost the power of speech as she drops to the bed and pulls the comforter around her body.
“Who are you?” She says with a low hiss, and I grin, my eyes flashing as I growl, “Your worst nightmare.”
I said, “Who are you?”
I admire her anger and revel in it for a second and then I shrug. “That is no concern of yours. I want the baby you stole from Massimo Delauren.”
Her eyes widen and her lip trembles and she appears so afraid I take a moment to enjoy the sight.
“He sent you?” She looks as if she’s about to hurl and I play along, feasting on her fear. “Sort of.”
