“What is it, Jack?” I mutter curtly, the clearing of his throat having pulled me from my memory. My hands steeple on my desk, waiting for the man to continue. He better hurry up, because I have a headache beginning to form and after the unwanted memory recall, I’m about two reasons away from giving someone a dirt nap.
“We uh, we found her, Sir. Addison. However, she’s now going by the name Mikayla Arnet. She’s finally stopped moving and seems to have settled in Miami, Sir.”
My eyes pop open and my head snaps his way. Headache now completely forgotten. I hold my hand out for the tablet, waiting while Jack pulls up the necessary files before placing the electronic device in my open palm. The screen flashes, a security feed from a local boutique showing a young woman in a sundress walking past the window. Stopping to look inside the display, before continuing on.
“Gotcha,” I whisper under my breath. A grin forming at the edges of my lips.
Addison Grant. My prized pupil. The only one to ever survive more than a couple of years. And theonlyperson to ever escape me. She knows entirely too much, has seen more than I care to show, and I’ve been hunting her for the past year. She killed my men, broke out of my compound, and disappeared like a scent upon a breeze. I can not have that.
“Have her followed. Send our best men,” I order and with a single nod, Jack turns to leave the room. “And Jack?” He stops, hand on the door handle andcrooks his head to look over his shoulder at me. “Make sure they remainunseenthis time.” Another nod and the room plunges again into silence.
My attention turns back to the grainy image on the screen. It’s blurry, and the sun glares at an awful angle, but it’s unmistakably her. Those green eyes that hold an entire lifetime of darkness which I only just began to unleash. She was meant to be my greatest achievement, my hidden weapon, and I thought I had broken her enough to be molded to my needs. But on top of all the rest of her skill, that little viper of a woman is also a grand actress.
“I will bring you back, my little temptress. And this time, you’ll never leave me,” I boast to myself, a dark grin upon my lips and ring in my pocket.
She will be mine again, and if not mine, then no one’s. This time, there will be no mistakes or feigned loyalty, she will be by my side, legally and otherwise. I will have her complete submission, or I will burn everything she’s ever touched, and leave her six-feet under.
Standing up and rounding my desk, I head out of my office in search of a distraction. This whole mess with that little bitch has had my blood pressure rising steadily for months, and what feels like a near constant headache beating against my skull. The last time I had gotten this worked up, was nearly three decades ago, and anyone who was around at the time could tell you, it didn’t end well.
“Babe. I couldn’t even imagine doing this with anyone else, but are you sure we can really trust her?” I ask for what feels like the hundredth time.
“We’ve checked her background, looked into everyone she has ever spoken to, and kept her here—isolated from everything—for the last six months. What’s left to be unsure about Colt? Are you having second thoughts? Do you want to back out?”
I’ve been going around and around with those same questions multiple times over the last year or so. Ever since we decided to start a family, my gut has been twisting and turning at the thought. Dad says it’s just cold feet, that it will go away once I’m able to hold our son or daughter, but I’m not so sure.
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” I confess. “There's just something about this, about her, that has me feeling on edge.”
“We talked about this though, Love, remember? It’s just your nerves. You’re the one who didn’t want to foster or adopt. This is the only other way,” he says while wrapping me into his arms.
There’s love swimming in his eyes, his heart beating with a steady rhythm. No doubt, no fear, just a strong determination to see this through. He’s also right, I’m the one that refused adoption and fostering, wanting—no, needing—my future heir to be at least part of one of us. It was my idea to start a family, my idea to have a baby.
“Okay, let’s do this then.”
If I only knew that I would come to regret those five little words. One sentence that unknowingly lit the ignition on my life.
When I started noticing his absence more and more at the beginning, I tried to convince him of any other ulterior options. We could pay off a doctor to keep his trap shut and fertilize the bitch that way, so he wouldn’t have to keep touching her repeatedly. He never went for it. Kept on saying we didn’t need to waste manpower on having someone constantly tail a single doctor around.
I proposed we gave said doctor a permanent nap after he was done. But he again fought me, claiming that our chosen incubator would inevitably need check-ups and blah…blah…blah.
I saw the logic behind his statements, and even agreed with a couple, but at the time I never saw what was happening right in front of my eyes.
Sure, maybe it was my love that blinded me, but when he offered to do all of the work and I could just reap the rewards, I never batted an eye.
See, through my teenage years I’d played for both teams.
It never was a secret that I’ve reveled in my fair share of pussy. As the son of the most feared man in Buffalo, guys and girls would throw themselves at me. A constant flood of groupies that followed me everywhere, begging to be in my good graces. Some hook-ups were worth multiple nights, others should’ve stayed in low lighting, but at the end of the day a hole is a hole. Doesn’t really matter who it’s attached to.
It wasn’t until junior year that I’d been swept off my feet and taken off the market. Him and I vowing our unconditional love, and coming out to my father,that night six months in. Our decision to have a real family came less than two years later.
Originally we were both going to fuck her, since we didn’t care which one of us the child originated from. Our love was all that mattered, that, and producing an heir. My trepidation of the situation is what made him take the reins, making it seem like he would bite the bullet for us and do all the work.
It took four months of constant fucking to get the slut we had chosen pregnant. Four months where I satisfied myself, masturbating into my hand like a puberty-ridden teenager, or to just go without.
“I’m sorry, Love. I just don’t have anymore in me tonight.”
“Colt, maybe tomorrow, okay?”
“Sorry, Babe. I’m exhausted. I promise I'll make some time for just us.”
