Page 3 of Wanted
Her breath hitched, catching in her throat as she fought not to cry. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know more than you think,” he corrected. “What I don’t, you’ll have plenty of time to tell me on your own. I’ve already talked to the nurses. They’re bringing your clothes and discharge papers. As soon as you’re dressed, we’ll leave here together.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she rasped, the sting of tears growing stronger.
He held up the packet of papers for her to see the court seal on the front. “Yes, Anna, you are. For the next thirty days, I am your legal guardian and don’t for a second think this is my first rodeo.”
Her gaze dropped to his belt buckle before she could stop herself.
“Not that kind of rodeo.” A corner of his mouth curled. “I’m retired now. Before that, I spent eighteen years as a bounty hunter. The last thirteen of those, I spent as a bounty hunter who specialized in deprograming what some people would call mind control—cult members, victims of long-term abuse and/or violent hostage or kidnapping situations. Stockholm Syndrome. That sort of thing.”
“I am not a victim,” she spat. “I don’t have Stockholm’s!”
He studied her, but didn’t argue. “What makes me uniquely qualified for your case, and the reason Spencer called me is because I have twenty-two years’ experience as a Dom. My taste runs toward extreme service submissives, what some would call slaves. I have trained—or programmed—every submissive I’ve taken. I also have some experience in de-programming submissives who have come from, let’s say, the care of inexperienced or abusive so-called masters.”
Her anger flared even hotter. Her voice shook now every bit as much as the rest of her. “Master was not so-called. You didn’t know him! You have no right to talk about him like that! You have no right to talk about him at all! If you think for one second I’m going anywhere with you…”
“Over the course of the next thirty days, we are going to talk about a lot of things that are going to make you very uncomfortable.” He waved the packet of papers. “And yes, you are coming with me—”
“Never!”
“—if I have to carry you out of here over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” he concluded. “This is happening, whether you want it to or not. The only thing you have a choice in is whether you want to cooperate and help me get you the best possible outcome at your competency hearing thirty days from now, or if you want to be difficult, in which case, you are going to find your ability to make your own decisions hampered for quite a long time.”
Her jaw dropped. “You can’t.”
“Read it.” He handed her the packet of court documents.
Snatching them from his hand, she promptly ripped them into pieces and threw them back in his face.
“That was a copy,” he said mildly. “I’ve already had it filed with the hospital and my local police department, just in case you decide you want to go that route.”
“Get out,” she hissed. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Puppy!” she bellowed toward the door.
“Cynthia has her own healing to do. Her Dom took her home, pretty much like I’m about to do with you.”
Heart beating hard behind her ribs, she shook her head. “You’re not my Dom.”
Something she couldn’t quite read flittered through his dark eyes, there and gone before she could figure it out. “No, I’m not. I’m nothing like he was, something you should be very grateful for. I’m actually going to treat you with respect. Or at least, I’m going to try to for as long as your behavior allows it.”
“And if it doesn’t?” she returned. “What are you going to do then, shoot me in the head?”
Been there. Done that. She had the staples in her head to prove it.
His eyes narrowed slightly, considering his next move. She didn’t give him the chance.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, rolling over and putting her back to him. “Go away. My head hurts.”
She lay down on her right side now, arms tightly folded across her stomach and her legs drawn up. She closed her eyes against the pinch of pain that accompanied her soft contact with the pillow. The staples beneath the gauzy bandage that covered her wound pulled, bringing on another wave of stinging tears that she was determined not to cry.
Because she was Pony—tall, regal, beautiful and aloof.
The first in Master’s Menagerie. Foremost in his heart and his home. The one he’d said he would love forever and yet in reality the one he’d preferred the least.
The one he didn’t care that he still had if he couldn’t also have the others.
The useless one. The worthless one.
The one he’d tried to kill.
