Page 5 of Brutal Savior

Chapter Two

Jacob

I can't concentrate onanything. The harder I try to sit and work, the less progress I make, so I give up and pace around my flat.

I haven’t bothered to decorate it much, partly because I’ll be moving out of the initiates’ quarters once the Ceremony is over and partly because I don’t really give a fuck. I made sure it had a comfy couch and a sensible desk. Good enough for me. Suzy can do what she likes with the place once she’s settled in.

I have a couple of framed John Wayne movie posters. Grandad and I used to watch the old Westerns together when I was a kid, and I never stopped liking them. When we moved across the pond, one of the first trips I took Grandad on was to Monument Valley, where they filmedThe Searchersand a bunch of other John Wayne flicks.

The only other personal touch is a glass cabinet filled with my treasured footie memorabilia. The signed balls and old bootslook a bit out of place, but they’re one of the few things I actually care about.

Thinking of Grandad has me pulling out my phone. Once Suzy gets here, I'll be distracted. I've told him I'll be working on a big project and won't be able to visit for a couple of weeks, but the urge to check in on him is strong.

Aside from my sister back in London, Grandad's the only family I have. He raised me from four, when social services removed Ruth and me from our mum’s care, and he retired from the oil rigs on the spot to take care of us.

The phone rings for ages, but I don't hang up. I imagine him hunting for his glasses and pottering around his house. When he finally answers, he sounds as pissed off as I was expecting.

“Hello?”

“Hiya.”

“Jacob! I was looking for that stupid bloody cordless phone you got me. Can never find the fucking thing.”

“Sorry. I'll get you one that goes into the wall next time I'm over.”

If they still make them. I might have to get one from an antiques shop. Grandad refuses to get a mobile on the grounds that they cause cancer. Pretty rich from a lifelong smoker. I only managed to get him off the ciggies three years ago.

“I can't talk long. Mrs. Belkins next door wants me to help her in the garden. I could get my leg over yet, my boy. Never too old.”

I burst out laughing. Grandad has to be the only eighty-five-year-old on the planet still chasing skirt.

“You think that's funny? You're a fine one to talk. Might as well be a fucking monk lately, all the time you spend at work.”

An old argument, and one I don't feel like having again right now. “I was just checking in. Don't keep Mrs. Belkins waiting.”

“Too right, my boy. Catch ya soon.”

He hangs up, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I put the kettle on for a cup of tea but flick it off again. I can’t handle the silence any longer, and the TV will just piss me off. I need to get out of here for a bit. The worst thing about the Compound is how much of a hassle it is to go anywhere. It's not like I can just nip down to the local for a pint.

Everything is ready.

All the same, I check my preparations again. Suzy is a pure submissive who longs for a Master and enjoys all the rituals of high-protocol service. Rules, rewards, and punishments. Routines will keep her calm, just as they do me.

I read through my training plan for the fifteenth time, then slap it down on my desk and leave my flat. I need a distraction whilst I wait for news.

I head toward Seb’s rooms. No use trying Gabriel—weekends belong to Eve. He'll be banging her six ways to bloody Sunday, and nothing short of a terrorist attack will make him answer his door. I’m lucky Seb is still a lonely single bastard like me.

Like me for the next few hours, anyway. As long as the Gilda don't fuck it up.

Seb answers almost as soon as I buzz, a smug look on his face. He gives me a once-over with an eyebrow raised. “Nervous? I never thought I’d see the great Jacob West all jittery at the prospect of a girl.”

“Shut the fuck up and let’s have a beer. None of that pissy American crap, either. A proper beer.”

I hold up four bottles of Newcastle Brown. Seb pulls a face but waves me inside anyway. His place is the opposite of mine, decorated in that minimalist but posh-looking way. White seats that aren't even comfy to sit on but probably cost more than a car, arranged around a weirdly shaped glass coffee table.

Seb fits in at the Compound better than I do. After a while of having money, most Brothers develop expensive tastes. I once had to listen to Seb and Kendrick discuss different brands of athing that keeps wine at the right temperature for almost half an hour at a dinner before I could make my escape.

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