Page 41 of Deadly Rival

She takes a step back and glares at me, arms crossed in a way that pushes her tits up delightfully. It took no time at all for her to get used to being naked. I don’t think she’s naturally shy, just buttoned up and used to acting prim and proper. Is there time for one more round before bed?

“I’m not sleeping on that.” Bold words, but her voice has lost its stern Calder snap. There’s a quaver to it, and even her brave posture doesn’t last. Her shoulder slump, and her gaze slips from mine to the floor.

Dark circles ring her eyes, and she looks close to collapse. I don’t blame her. Today has been rough. I’ll save the next round for tomorrow.

“It’s nice you’re so desperate to sleep next to me, but I’m afraid you’ll have to earn that privilege.”

She scoffs. “I’d rather sleep on the floor.”

“I can’t stop you from doing that. It’ll be cold and miserable, but that’s your problem.”

I leave her to debate her options and head to the bathroom to set up the final surprise of the evening. As I expected, she follows when she hears the clink of metal on metal, peering through the door. “What the—”

“Just an extra safety measure to make sure you don’t try to smother me in my sleep. It’ll let you reach your lovely bed and the toilet, but you won’t be able to reach me.”

Getting the special leg shackle and chain the right length took a fair bit of wrangling and moving of furniture, but now it’s perfect. It’s designed to look medieval—a chunky metal cuff attached to a length of clanky chain—but I had the inside lined with soft fur so it won’t damage her skin.

I’m too generous with her, really.

Her mouth works as she watches me lock the chain to the hidden anchor point behind the toilet. She stares from the cuff in my hand to the bedroom door, which we’ve already established she can’t open.

“Why?” she asks softly. “Why do you need all this? You could just lock me in a room, away from you.”

I could—I probably should—but I really, really don’t want to. There’s something enticing in the thought of having her right here, at my fingertips. Sleeping. Vulnerable. It’s sick, and I’m really starting to worry about my mental health, but whatever. I want her on the damn pet bed.

“That wouldn’t be any fun, would it? Now, the shackle is going on one way or another. Where you sleep is up to you.”

She clenches her hands into fists and closes her eyes. I can almost hear her counting to ten, then she sticks out her foot. “Fine. I’ll be out of here tomorrow anyway.”

I clip the shackle on tight and wait until it’s safely locked in place before I answer. “Is that really what you think?”

She bends to examine the cuff, running a finger around the edge. “Nobody wants to get on my dad’s bad side. I’m sure your superiors understand that. They’ll probably hand him your balls on a silver platter too, for good measure.”

Tough words from a chained, naked woman. A little flicker of something almost like pride flares for an instant before I snuff it out. I open the closet and pull out her blanket—striped to match the bed and embroidered with her name, naturally—and hand it to her. She stares down at it as I sit on the bed and unbutton my shirt. “Let me tell you a story.”

She watches as I undo the first three buttons, then looks away. Not shy but wary of seeming interested in me, I think. She tests the length of the chain, then wraps herself in the blanket and sits on the floor. It’s polished wood and can’t be comfortable, but she crosses her legs and looks at me defiantly.

I shrug. “The Brotherhood formed over five hundred years ago. Since then, we’ve had thousands of Wards. Do you want to know how many escaped?”

She doesn’t answer, but I carry on anyway. “Twelve. And every single one was more than a century ago. In the last hundred years, every woman that entered the Compound has never left.”

It hits her hard, but only little signs give it away. White knuckles as she clutches the blanket. Tightness around her jaw. “I’m sure most of you freaks do as you’re told and choose sensible targets.”

“Not at all. Back in the eighteen hundreds, one Brother took a liking for the president’s niece. Can you imagine? He took her, and even though records show the Brotherhood was pissed about it, they never released her. Choosing a Ward is a sacred duty, and interfering with it goes against everything we stand for. Some cowards might complain, but they’ll lose the debate. I’m keeping you.”

I strip my shirt off and throw it into the hamper. The silence stretches as I do the same with my trousers. As an afterthought, I toss a pillow onto Ophelia’s bed. Her gaze is locked on the floor, but I don’t think it’s anything to do with me. She bites her lip, then winces when she hits the sore skin. Her eyes shine. She’s fighting tears. My heart gives a dangerous lurch.

“Please don’t do this.” All the bravado is gone from her words, and I pause before turning off the light. “I’m sorry about Maggie. I’m so, so sorry. I was a stupid teenager. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Any shred of pity I’d been feeling evaporates. Crocodile tears and fake fucking words. I hardly recognize the cold hiss that comes out of my mouth.

“You know when that might have meant something? Right after she died. Or any fucking point between then and now. Funny how you’reso, so sorrynow that I own you. Didn’t give a shit before, though, did you?”

“I did! But I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. I wrote you a letter but never sent it. I didn’t want to cause your family any more pain.”

There's sorrow in her words, and a small, pathetic part of me almost believes her. I crush it.

“Convenient. You know, if you’d actually reached out to me, you might not be here now. Maybe you’d still be out there, living your life, and I’d have some other poor girl shackled to my fucking toilet.”

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