Page 17 of Married to My Master

Office supplies and stationary were in the top drawer. Nothing interesting there. The bottom left drawers only contained work documents that had been filed away. The one above that had a stack of old pictures stuffed into it—family stuff from the looks of it. He pulled out one and looked at the sad blonde girl, maybe eight or nine, center-stage. She must have been a young Emily. He kept going, hoping to catch a glimpse of her family—of her mother, maybe. But there were no pictures like that. There were only pictures of her with other adults who looked like nannies and tutors—all hired help.

He frowned a little, feeling somehow dirtier for going through her personal belongings like this than he had about what he'd been doing over the last twenty-four hours. Feeling a little sorry for Emily, her upbringing, and the neglect she must have felt, he put the pictures back in the drawer and shut it. He took another drink, the liquid fire filling his belly and burning his throat.

He switched to the other side of the desk and opened up the bottom drawer. More file folders hung neatly in place, labeled by year. He pulled out the current year's folder and opened it up. Bank statements were hole punched and attached by brads. He scanned through the documents like some sort of fiscal voyeur, taking it all in.

He looked at the balance for the current month, and his eyes widened. “Wow,” he said aloud to the room. “Thirty million fucking dollars?” He closed the folder and slapped it down on the desk. “Holy shit,” he said, barely believing the number.

He closed his eyes and tried to think about what that would look like in cold, hard cash. He realized he couldn't picture something accurate and just shook his head. Maybe he hadn't read it right, he considered. Dane picked up the folder and looked the number over again, staring at it as he counted the digits. “Yep,” he said. “Thirty mill.”

What he could do with that much money. Hell, he could hire the best legal defense possible for his brother. The real question was whether there was anything he couldn’t do, with that much money.

All he had to do was get the money.

He scratched his bristly chin and considered his options. He could hold her for ransom. The difficult part—kidnapping her—was already done. All he had to do was put out a demand, maybe to Edward, the guy she'd already communicated with. Dane grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took another drink as options ran through his mind.

That's a bad idea, Dane, and you know it, the voice of his brother Benton seemed to whisper to him in the emptiness of the silent room.You can't pay for my law counsel with illegal money. You know that.

Dane ignored the thoughts, though, and took another drink.

You've already taken things too far, as it is, little bro. Benton was only a minute older than Dane, but he took that role as big brother seriously.It takes a broken person to break a person, and you're still not there, despite everything you've done. You still know right from wrong, which is why you couldn't even look through the pictures in that drawer.

He knew Benton was right. Or, the memory of Benton was, at least. Dane pictured him continuing,If you want to get what you need, she has to get what she needs. You see all the signs. You need to give her what she needs, not what she wants.

Dane took another drink of whiskey and nodded as he followed the memory of his brother's train of thought.

She needed to be put in her place.

Chapter Seven

Dane

Emily didn't wake till mid-afternoon. Dane had spent the time since his epiphany in her office deliberating about what needed to be done to give her what she needed.

“Still here?” she said, her voice thick and sluggish with the effect of the drugs. Her fear wasn't as prevalent as earlier, but he figured the lingering after-effects of the drugs had something to do with that.

“Of course,” Dane replied gruffly. “Think I was just going to leave? I figured you'd have begun to realize what kind of man I am, by now.”

She eyed him up and down, still putting on as defiant a face as she could muster while naked and tied to her own bed. “No,” she said, after a while, “I guess you're right.”

“I'm going to untie you now,” he said. “And, when I'm finished, I'm going to lay out the rules. All right?”

She gave a little shrug of her shoulders and even nodded a little.

He bent down and went to untying her bonds. They were simple knots by any standards, but difficult for someone in her position to untie on her own.

Soon, she was sitting upright in bed, idly rubbing her reddened and puffy wrists and ankles. She sat there, still somehow daring to defy him. “So, what kind of . . . what kind of rules do you have, now?”

He looked at her levelly, then began to pace as he listed them off. “First,” he began, “you will address me as 'sir.' Do you understand?”

She nodded, but didn't say anything.

Defiance, already? This wouldn't stand. Far from it. He needed to assert his authority as early as possible. It was what she needed, after all. Dane stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “I asked if you understood,” he said, in a cold voice.

“Yes, sir?”

Close enough. It was a start. He went back to pacing. “Second, you will not speak unless spoken to and only when you are given permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she said again, her eyes and the turned-up corner of her mouth saying exactly the opposite.

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