“Where, exactly, in your flat is the key?” He details the hidden storage alcove behind a strip of baseboard in the hallway. “You realize you can’t return to your flat, right? Ever?”
He nods. “I had the key with my things.”
“I have your keys. Is there anything you want from your flat of sentimental value? I can get away with showing up there. If anyone asks, I’ll say the obvious, that I’m checking for loose ends.”
He thinks about it. “There’s a lock box in my bedroom closet, up on the shelf. It has all my paperwork, and some pictures, and a photo album.” His expression turns sad. “They’re the only pictures I have of my mom and family. I’d like that, please.”
Leaning in, I kiss him. “Absolutely. I’ll arrange to have the flat cleaned out and whatever you want from there moved to Paris. We’ll merge it with my things, which I’ll ship to the States. Anything else?”
He shrugs. “My books. The art on the walls.” He smiles. “My Deadpool coffee mug from the kitchen.” His smile fades. “My clothes, if you want to move them. If not, there’s nothing I’m sentimental about.”
In my mind my plan’s already shifting again. “I’ll take care of all of that.” I let my thoughts spin for a moment as it prioritizes tasks so I can visualize my next steps. Once I do that, I address my next question. “Why did you lock yourself up again?”
He looks confused. “I thought you wanted me to stay locked up?”
“I know. But answer the question, please. Honestly.Whydid you lock yourself up when I left you unlocked?”
It’s obvious he needs a moment. When he finally answers, his soft tone nearly shreds my heart. “Because I like being locked up for you, Master. It makes me feel loved and wanted.”
I sigh. “My poor, sweet pet.” I kiss him again. “I’m going to have to leave you here alone for a few days. While I’m gone, you are free to roam inside the house but not set foot outside it, unless there’s an emergency, like a fire, or you have to escape for some reason. I’ll leave you a burner phone and a number to another burner I’ll have with me. Only contact me for an emergency. If you choose to lock yourself up, you may. But I also want you to do things like go downstairs and cook for yourself. I am trusting you not to leave the house. At night to sleep, you may lock yourself up. Is that fair?”
He nods, uncertain, because I can see it in his face. “Yes, Master.”
“When I return, you’ll be able to leave with me, and we’ll go to Paris.”
He wistfully smiles. “I haven’t been there in years.”
“Then you’ll love spending Christmas in the City of Lights, baby. Because we’ll need some time to plan the next step, and do research, and I don’t want to move you again unless it’s putting us on a plane to the States.”
“And then what?”
I cup his face in my hands. “We’re going to kill that fucking Cunningham and piss on his warm body before we consign him to oblivion.”
He sucks in a breath. “Really?”
I grin. “Really baby. Merry Christmas. Might be a little late opening the present, but a late present’s better than none at all.”
He actually laughs, and I think it’s the first genuine laugh I’ve ever heard from him. “I love you, Master.”
Another kiss, because I love kissing him. “I love you, too, baby.”
You know what?
I’m pretty sure that’s not a lie, either.
Part III:
War
“Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge.”
— Paul Gauguin
“To take revenge halfheartedly is to court disaster; either condemn or crown your hatred.”
— Pierre Corneille
Chapter Sixteen
