Page 37 of The Toy Collector

Not currently sexually active?

My jaw tightens as I clench the phone harder while swiping to the video file attached. It’s only a snippet, under two minutes. I tap play, and there she is; my toy. Sitting with her legs crossed, eyes forward, looking so fucking composed.

“Are you sexually active right now?” Voss asks.

Piper snorts. “No.” Then she smirks—smirks—and adds, “But it’s not from a lack of trying.”

I pause the video, and for the span of a single breath, I see red.

She just said she’s not sexually active like it’s a fact. Like she didn’t choke on me during her interview, and cream all over my fingers like a good fucking toy.

My jet lifts off, slicing through the Montreal sky, but I don’t look out the window. I don’t need a view—I’ve already got one burned into the back of my eyes. That fucking smirk.

I sit back, phone in hand, the screen still open to Maria’s email. My thumb rests over the line I’ve reread half a dozen times already—not sexually active—and I want to laugh. Or maybe I want to burn something to the fucking ground.

She said it to Dr. Voss with that coy little shrug of hers, like the words meant nothing.No. But it’s not from a lack of trying.Her voice was breezy, flippant, almost amused.

Like swallowing my cum didn’t count. Like letting me slide my fingers inside her perfect cunt until she came all over my hand didn’t register as sex because it didn’t come with a condom and a fucking penetration checklist. The growl building in my throat is as feral as I feel.

Someone kicks my shin under the table, and my gaze snaps up to… Cy. Fuck, I’d forgotten he was here. The second Voss called, everything but my toy ceased mattering.

I tear my earbud from my ear just in time to hear Cy say, “… if you keep making those noises I’ll have someone give you a fucking rabies shot when we land, Cujo.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, not in the mood.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing together. “Did something happen with—”

“This isn’t about work,” I almost snarl. Then I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm the fuck down.

I bring the glass to my mouth, but the whiskey barely touches my tongue before I’m setting it down again. She thinks she’s clever, that she can compartmentalize and… and what? Pretend I didn’t finger her to orgasm?

That’s not how the world fucking works—not the one I’m in charge of, anyway. I will make her fucking admit what happened. I’ll make her own up to every single moan.

“Come on,” Cy sighs. “Tell me what the fuck’s the matter. Is it more shit about the former Senator Jacobs?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not fucking Jacobs. After I had the autopsy report released, everyone believed it was a tragic accident.”

“Okay, so if it’s not about him, is it Remus that has you this worked up?”

I shake my head again. Knowing there’s only one way to shut Cy up, I tell him what Piper said to Voss while answering her questions, even show him the short video clip.

“Fuck me,” Cy laughs. “That’s ballsy. I like her.”

At that, I bare my teeth, another growl slipping free. “Stop talking about her!”

Still laughing, Cy holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Not like that, for fuck’s sake. Seriously, you need to get a hold of yourself. This is not like you at all.”

“It is now.” That’s all I say. The silence isn’t empty—it’s laced with expectation.

The jet ride back is smooth, but I don’t notice. I don’t fucking care. The only thing I care about is what I’m going to do to her. How I’m going to punish her.

Just before we land, I check the cameras in her apartment. She’s not home. I pull out the cloned phone, searching for where she might be. There are no texts or social media check-in’s indicating her whereabouts.

If she’s stupid enough to be out trying to give what’s mine to someone else, I’ll kill whoever touches her.

It’s close to midnight when I finally step out of the jet and onto the tarmac of the private airfield outside D.C. The sky is starless—perfect for a man like me. A muscle in my jaw ticks as I pocket both phones and follow Cy into the waiting SUV.

“Problem?” he asks from beside me, when we’re both seated in the backseat.

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