Page 16 of Unorthodox
I’m glad Addison already seems to have figured that out. After the second day, when she foolishly tried to escape, I think she learned all of her lessons rather quickly.
I stay hidden in the shadows of the basement, against the wall as I watch Ben work with her. The room is empty, save for a wooden table opposite me, with one leather chair in which Ben now sits. The gleaming hardwood floors are polished to shine even in the dim light over the table, the only light in the room.
Neither Ben nor Addison know I’m in here.
I’ve always been taller than most people I know, but I learned to walk on silent steps at a young age. I had to, for Oliver. Our silence saved us many, many times. And sometimes hiding in the shadows is the best course of action in general. Not announcing your presence allows you to see things you wouldn’t otherwise, because when people know they’re being watched, they wear a mask.
Right now, the masks are off.
Save for Addison’s, of course. She’s playing a role to survive. But eventually she’ll drop the mask too, because the mask will morph into her face. A submissive playacting and a slave broken don’t take long to become the same thing.
I force myself not to think of Oliver right now. Of where he’s been the past eighteen years. It doesn’t matter. It’ll be over soon.
Addison is kneeling at Ben’s feet, hands on her thighs. She’s in the same white tank and white shorts she was wearing last night when I came to visit her.
The leather whip is on the table, curled up tight, which means Ben hasn’t used it yet. What a good girl she must be.
He’s got something between his fingers from the plate in front of him. Bacon, it looks like. He’s holding it up like a treat for Addison, and her curtain of golden-blonde hair is blocking my view of her face, because she’s looking at the floor.
Like she should be.
In the dim light, from this distance, I don’t see any marks on her body, the bruises nearly healed from her fall down the stairs. Although I do know she has some wounds on her back from the whip. I’ve felt the raised flesh beneath my fingertips in the night.
“Look at me.” Ben doesn’t call her any name, which is par for the course. Sometimes men give their pets degrading names, sometimes affectionate ones. I wanted her to be nameless when Ben trained her, so her new owner can decide what he’d like to call her.
I have to bite down on my cheek to stop from thinking what Oliver’s been called.Doesn’t matter. It’s almost over.
Addison ensures it.
She doesn’t look up at Ben’s prompting.
Smart girl.
Ben sighs, like he’s pissed, and I think he might actually be. She’s doing exactly as she should—no eye contact—but I know Ben. He thrives on punishment. Corrective behavior. He won’t be satisfied unless she slips up at least once.
Seems like a headache to me, always looking for an error where there isn’t one, but some men thrive on that. My father certainly did.
I slide my hands into my pockets, smooth my thumb over the king of hearts.
“Look at me.”Ben’s voice grows angrier, and part of it is for training purposes, but there’s that itchy whip finger he has.
Addison doesn’t move.
I’m not even sure if she’s breathing.
Sometimes she holds her breath in the night when I come to console her. Sometimes she arches into my touch like she wants nothing more than for me to fuck her.
The doctor who looked over her couldn’t tell me if she’s a virgin or not. I haven’t yet asked the question, because of all the ways it’ll terrify her. Either way, I have no interest in fucking her. She’s product, not pussy.
Her buyer likely won’t care if she’s pure, but he wouldn’t want me banging her. As lenient as he’s been in his demands of her, I understand his interest must be personal—perhaps he hates Christopher London. Maybe he just has a thing for blondes with green eyes. I don’t care what his interest is, as long as I get what he’s promised.
I sent her photos around as soon as Christopher fucked up my coke deal down in Miami.
There’s a lot of money in coke.
A lot of people get pissed when it doesn’t go where it’s supposed to. They get pissed enough to kill, and some of my people were murdered for Christopher’s fuck up. It’ll cost a lot to replace their skills and expertise.
His daughter is the least of what he can pay me with.
