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“That’s a significant drop.”
“Not significant enough.” By the time Evander was through with the realtor, he was expecting a further reduction of between twenty and thirty percent. “The bones of the place seem sound enough on paper, but I want to get a real feel for it. The outlying cabins will require a complete overhaul, and I’m already working on the plans for the interior renovations.”
“Your attorneys are on standby, ready to push through the transaction and paperwork,” Elias told him. “They know you want to get on with this project quickly. The construction crews in Biloxi are finishing up the hotel and should be done by this coming week; I’ve already put them on hold. The electrical and plumbing teams can fly in next Thursday if we need them.”
“Just how quickly does Graystone think he can push through the paperwork? The fastest we’ve ever completed a sale is five weeks.” When Callie whimpered in her sleep, Evander’s first reaction was to rock her.
“If both parties involved are on board with minimal quibbling, Graystone should be able to wrap the transaction without too much delay. I did some digging into the current owner, and he’s on his knees financially. Several of his properties are on the market at exorbitant prices in an effort to alleviate some of his gambling debts.” Elias’s tone indicated he was unimpressed by the idiot’s addiction. “Graystone has the paperwork written up, ready for the seller’s attorneys to read through once you give the go-ahead.”
“Are we jumping the gun on this?” Evander wondered.
The ranch resort was exactly what he was looking for, he couldn’t deny it. Since purchasing a share of Club Avalon in Phoenix and being instrumental in the redesign and rebuild, he’d been hunting for a place resembling the fantasy in his head.
Not just a club, he thought. Not quite an empire.
A community, open to all who believed in the tenets of the BDSM lifestyle.
“You’ve always worked on the principle of it’s better to be prepared. Why should this be any different? This property falls within your desired criteria, and with some negotiation should come in well under your acquisition budget. Having all our ducks in a row seems prudent, especially if you want the renovations to start immediately, sir.”
This was yet another reason for keeping Elias close at hand. The man was implacable; if he thought a project like this was a waste of time and money, he wouldn’t hesitate to state his opinion. After years of being vocally muzzled by his previous employer, he seemed to enjoy the freedom of expressing himself without fear of chastisement.
“Well then, let’s see what tomorrow brings, shall we?”
“That appears to be the best course of action, sir.”
“Perfect. I think I’m going to take this little girl back to bed until it’s time to land.”
A flash of envy streaked through Elias’s blue gaze, but was quickly controlled. He dropped his eyes to his wrist, studying his watch. “I estimate you have about forty minutes, sir. I’ll alert you once we approach the descent.”
“All right, then. C’mon, sweetness.” Securing Callie in his arms, Evander rose as she mumbled something against his chest. She was quite expressive when she was asleep, with both her voice and facial expressions given free rein.
The last couple of nights had been a mixture of entertaining and concerning as she switched from incoherent conversations with herself to the first vague rumblings of nightmares. Whatever secrets she kept in her head weren’t content to remain quiet once her self-control rested.
Those secrets wouldn’t stay buried long with him.
*
Callie
“If we were meant to fly, the good Lord would have created us in the image of the angels. Angels we are not, Calypso. Sinners are all we are, every last one of us. Put on this earth to seek redemption for our crimes.”
The crack of the belt was drowned out by her scream as fire streaked across her upturned bottom. Bent over the side of her bed, her Sunday school skirt folded over her back and her plain white panties around her knees, her father was successful—as always—at humiliating her.
“What are your crimes this week, Calypso?”
Linked together, her fingers tightened across her nape. Just like every Sunday, her crimes were non-existent.
She was a good girl, or so everyone said. Her room was kept neat and tidy the way her mother asked; the bed made religiously every morning, the sheets changed on Saturdays. Her laundry basket was never full. The shelves were dusted, the carpet vacuumed, and the windows gleamed from the hours she spent polishing them while her friends rode their bicycles down to the store for treats.
Her homework was turned in on time, no matter what. Her grades were stellar, according to her teachers, and well above the average for her age. So stellar that it wasn’t only the bullies who picked on her for being smart. No, she’d lost more than one friend to the haters crowd, which hurt more than her father’s belt.
“Answer me, sinner!”
Ten-year-old Callie buried her face into the bedcovers, smelling the floral fragrance of the washing detergent, and cried. There was no answer to give him; there never was, but the punishment still came regardless.
The belt he cleaned without fail each Saturday night after dinner, keeping it supple with oil and cloth, struck her bare bottom again and kept going. Down the back of her thighs to her knees, and up again.
Monday mornings, she barely managed to sit at her desk and focus on her lessons.
