Page 45 of Savage

Do I trust her not to create a scene? If she goes to the police, there’s no problem at all. If she starts screaming bloody murder in the middle of a fundraising event with hundreds of people with cell phones, not to mention the gathered press, though…

But she’s a drug addict. Her arms still have track marks on them. And I’m a doctor—I could easily discredit her.

“You obey me while we’re there,” I say, realizing that I’ve already made up my mind. “You do not speak to anyone without asking me first.”

Stef swallows hard. “What if… What if they ask me a question?”

I frown at her. “You answer it as simply as you can. Beyond that, you remain at my side. You will not drink alcoholic beverages. You will not say anything that could embarrass me in a personal or professional capacity. Understood?”

Stef looks a little pale. “I… Maybe it’s not such a good idea. I don’t want to f—” She catches herself. “I don’t want to mess up,” she amends.

It’s a test, now. I’ll dress her up and make her look respectable. It’ll be proof of how good my training is, and I’ll enjoy seeing her straining for my approval.

I check my schedule on my phone and note with satisfaction that I only have one appointment I can’t reschedule. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” I say. “And go to a salon, to get you cleaned up. Maybe a professional make-up artist too. My mother would notice a half-assed job.”

I can tell she’s already regretting speaking up, but she nods anyway. “Yes, Master,” she says softly. “What do you want me to call you when we’re there?”

Master, I want to say, but that definitely wouldn’t fly. “You may call me ‘Hunter’ if we’re in the presence of others. ‘Sir’ if we’re alone.”

“Yes, Master,” she says. She buries her face against my thigh.

I find the website for my regular salon and skip the scheduler to email my usual stylist. She’ll get me in for tomorrow regardless of whether there are current openings or not. I ask her for recommendations for a make-up artist as well, and then check which clothing stores are in the vicinity. Normally I would order online, but there isn’t time for that.

Stef is tense against me, and I notice her staring at the television. She doesn’t start her game again, though, instead waiting for me.

I gently stroke her head again, then stand. I hit the remote for the TV to turn it off.

“Heel,” I tell her, heading toward my bedroom.

She follows just behind me, crawling on the carpet, hesitating a few steps behind me. “Where would you like me to go?” she asks demurely, eyeing the foot of the bed but not moving toward it yet.

Much better than she’d been a few days ago. “Over the ottoman, ass as high as you can go,” I tell her, and move for my drawer of toys.

I’m in the mood to stuff her entirely full tonight, I think.

Toying with her drives the less pleasant thoughts from my mind for the night.

* * *

Stef clings to my arm as we walk down the streets of New Bristol. She’s wearing a simple pair of jeans and a sweater, neither of which is particularly flattering on her, but I haven’t bought a new wardrobe for her yet. The sweater is big on her, too, since she hasn’t put on enough weight yet.

We have about an hour and a half before the salon appointment, which should be enough time to pick out several dresses for her.

She’s a little wide eyed as she looks around, and I doubt she’s seen this sort of display of wealth before. I nudge her slightly. She can’t gape at all the other guests at the fundraiser, after all.

She startles but looks up at me and bites her lip. “Sorry, Master,” she murmurs softly. “It’s just that I’ve never been near so much fancy stuff in my life. I bet even the underwear costs more than I earned in a month at Ntimacy.”

“That’s very likely,” I answer. I don’t know how the finances at Ntimacy work, but I can’t imagine those girls were paid well—especially not one like Stef.

I bring us to a luxury fashion store that my sister frequents and step inside. Unlike outside, the store itself is quiet, with only faint background music. There are very few other shoppers—just two women whispering to each other by the handbags.

I place a hand on the small of Stef’s back just as one of the store clerks approaches us.

“Hello, sir, ma’am,” the woman says politely, eyeing Stef askance. “Can I help you find anything today?”

“Yes,” I say briskly. “I need cocktail dresses for my companion.”

The woman’s expression lights up, and I’m sure she’s thinking of the commission she’ll be earning. “Of course. Right this way.”

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