Enslaved (6 page)

A
t WhipperSnapper, Andrew reached his hand out to Gregory, and Gregory took it, clasping both his hands around the younger man’s one smaller one. “You look worried.”

“I’m just . . . thinking about my former submissive. Wondering how she’s faring with Trevor Brooks.”

Andrew’s eyebrows shot up. “You hooked her up with one of the BAD Boys? How’d you manage that?”

“Trevor and I have history. Anyway, I was just wondering how she’s doing. She’s not used to being outside of Manhattan. I don’t think she’s ever left the island before.”

Andrew nodded. “You must miss her.”

“We had a good run together.”

“Do you need to talk about it?”

The stir in Gregory’s pants just from holding Andrew’s hand across the bar told him that he wanted to do much more than just talk about it—talk about how he’d finally found someone he could connect with, and it wasn’t Elisabeth. Or any woman, for that matter. No, he wanted a male slave. And not just any male slave.

Only Andrew would do.

Gregory was getting older, in his late forties, easily twice Andrew’s age. But they had such a comfortable, easy repartee between them that he’d been coming to WhipperSnapper (and paying the outrageous cover charge) several nights a week now just to see him.

They hadn’t done anything, hadn’t even scened together. They’d just talked. Andrew made it clear early on that he was a sub, and he was such an adorable little twink there was no doubt in Gregory’s mind that Andrew was gay too.

Gregory had often wondered if Elisabeth had guessed that he was gay. He never cared about making her come, or about pleasing her sexually. She was such a masochist she didn’t even care. They had fit each other well, that way.

But Andrew . . . Andrew he wanted to make scream in ecstasy at the same time as he screamed in pain.

“She was never mine to keep,” Gregory said softly. “She needs to find more confidence in herself, now that she’s more knowledgeable about who she is and what she wants. Elisabeth was content with me, but we were never in love.”

“Sir? Are you lonely now?” Andrew’s warm brown eyes looked up into his, and all Gregory could think of was kissing him.

“Andrew.” He leaned in close to his ear, barely brushing it with his lips. “Your name implies you would fit so nicely on Saint Andrew’s Cross, don’t you think?”

The boy swallowed. He seemed like a boy, anyway. Couldn’t be more than twenty-one, anyway. With that tiny, lean body and adorable glint in his eye, Andrew made Gregory feel young again. Excited.

Lustful.

A
t some point during their first night together, Elisabeth awoke to find that Trevor had left the Pink Room. She briefly considered using the blue cell phone to call the Kitchen, since they never did get around to dinner, then fell back asleep.

She slept with the phone in her hand, waiting for his call.

T
he following day Elisabeth kept her cell phone on her hip and walked around the house, waiting for a call, but there was none. Should she ask Adele if there was something she was meant to be doing?

And holy shit, had he really paid off her creditors? She’d gone from having negative net worth to having zero net worth overnight. It made her feel more rich than finding herself in this crazy mansion did.

She stepped out onto the back porch, looking out over Trevor’s estate. The lawn was impeccably groomed. Except for one part, where it looked like car tires had driven over the grass.

That’s weird. Who would drive on Trevor’s lawn?

Walking down the wooden stairway that led to the lawn, she realized what was going on. This was Trevor’s garage. She’d heard a BAD Boy rumor about a twenty-car garage with cars worth more than a house, which apparently was saying something in Westchester. But the garage was empty.

Completely empty.

She picked up her blue phone, not sure if she should call the police, Trevor, or Adele. She pressed speed-dial 2.

“This is Adele.”

“Adele, it’s Elisabeth, Trevor’s, um, house guest?”

“How are you enjoying your stay?” Adele’s voice was cheery but Elisabeth could tell she was talking and walking at the same time, probably in a rush somewhere.

“I stepped outside and happened to notice that Trevor’s garage is empty. Is that normal?”

No answer.

“Hello?” Shit. She looked at the phone, wondering if it was on mute or something, when Adele said sighed so loudly she could hear it through the phone.

“Stay where you are. I’m calling Trevor.” And although Elisabeth couldn’t swear to it, it sounded like Adele hung up the phone while cursing under her breath, and quite colorfully at that.

Less than a minute later, Trevor ran down the back-porch steps to stand next to her. “Hi,” he said, giving her a quick glance. “Why is Adele having a breakdown?”

“Your garage is empty?” It came out sounding like a question, even though she knew that was the case. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just noticed and called her to find out if maybe you have them all taken out for a weekly cleaning or something.”

“No, I do not.” Trevor’s voice was calm, but she could tell he was completely freaked out, because his immaculate hair was messy, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

“In case you’re wondering, I don’t know any car thieves, and even if I did, they don’t know I’m here. So if that thought is going through your mind right now, please . . . don’t think that way.” Elisabeth looked at him, but he kept staring at his empty garage.

She grabbed his arm. “You know this isn’t my fault, right? Please just tell me you’re not thinking horrible thoughts about me right now.”

Trevor finally looked over at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know this has nothing to do with you. I had you completely checked out before I even asked for an introduction, remember?”

“Just how much do you know about me?” Did he know about how she grew up? That her mother was a heroin addict?

Elisabeth had to glance away from his green eyes before they saw any deeper into her, into her secrets.

And that’s when she saw the cars.

“Trevor!”

He followed her finger, pointing up, to the roof of the garage. All twenty cars, in rows. On the fucking roof.

Trevor laughed and cursed at the same time. “Fucking Marc and his pranks. Come out, asshole! You motherfucker, how the hell did you pull this one off?”

Marc and Roman stepped out from behind the garage. Roman held a video camera, taping Trevor’s cursing tirade.

“Stop cursing! I want to upload this to YouTube later!” Marc called, and the other two guys erupted into laughter as well.

What the hell? So this is what guys with way too much money did for fun. Elaborate pranks.

“Get my cars back in the garage, Marc, I mean it!” Trevor yelled jovially, but he ran down toward them just the same.

Marc and Roman had placed a huge car ramp against the side of the building, and apparently the two of them had taken turns driving the cars out of the garage, up the ramp, and onto the roof.

“Come on, Elisabeth,” Marc called. “Ever drive an Aston Martin down a ramp?”

Oh God.

Of course she hadn’t, hadn’t even been in the vicinity of the type of cars Trevor owned. She didn’t even know the names of them. “How do I get up to the roof?” she asked.

“We hike.” Trevor took her hand and she joined them walking up the ramp to the roof.

“These are amazing,” she whispered. “I’ve never been a car person, but I could become one. These are fucking hot.” She pointed to a white one that looked like a spaceship. “What’s that?”

Trevor smoothed his hair. “It was a bit extravagant, I know. It’s a Koenigsegg Agera R.”

“That means nothing to me. Rolls-Royce I know. Lamborghini I know.”

Marc jangled the keys in his hands. “That car cost almost two million.”

Elisabeth gasped. “No.”

“Yes.” Roman was still videotaping.

She turned to Trevor, suddenly upset, done with the prank. “You could have used two million dollars to feed people who are starving. To build schools. To . . . how could you spend all that money on a stupid car that never even sees the light of day?”

Trevor nodded. “I completely agree. Do some research for me, and tell me how you’d like to give two million to charity, and we’ll do it.”

“Just like that. You’ll just give me two million to give to charity, no argument.” Elisabeth eyed him warily, waiting for the catch. What was with these guys?

Roman shut off the camera. “Trevor would never tell you how much we give to charity every year because he’s too modest, but I will. It’s a fuck load more than a paltry two million.”

“So I can really have two million dollars for charity? Two million American dollars?”

Trevor laughed. “Only if you help me drive these things back into my garage without crashing them.”

“I don’t actually have a driver’s license, sir.”

“Oh. Well. We’ll leave it to the boys while we sit back and drink some beers and watch, how about that?”

“Okay. I’m going to be thinking about charities though, okay?” She wasn’t going to let that go. She knew there were women, like her mother, who desperately needed help getting clean and on their feet again. There were kids, like she had been, who went without groceries because their moms spent the welfare check on crack.

“Elisabeth, you’ve got a good heart. If you can find charities that are nonprofit and tax-deductible, my CPA would appreciate it, but if not we can form one.”

Wow.

True to his word, Trevor got on his cell phone and had two lawn chairs and a six-pack brought out so they could sit back and watch Marc and Roman race down the ramp in Trevor’s cars.

“This is what you do for fun,” she mused.

“Well, we can’t always be in the bedroom, now can we?” He leaned in as if to kiss her, but he stopped himself. “Sorry. I keep forgetting.”

Kiss me
, she thought.
Just do it.
But she didn’t say it, and he didn’t do it.

T
rue to Trevor’s word, that blue cell phone rang often, and so she was careful to obey Rule Number Two, keeping it charged and on her person at all times so she could answer immediately. It made Rule Number One, respect and obey him while she was his “house guest,” easier for her to do when she carried the marks and bruises from their games.

“What’s this?” she asked, when Trevor handed her a stack of papers.

“You asked for my labs from my doctor. See? I’m officially pronounced healthy and free of STDs.”

“Thank you for doing that for me,” she said. “I’m honored.”

“I can never tell when you’re being sarcastic or not.”

She laughed. “I’m serious. I’m honored that you took the time to do something that was important to me, for my health. I appreciate it.”

“And I appreciate the opportunity to feel you without a layer of latex coming between us.”