Page 55 of Cruel Master
Part of me glories in the rush of power when she drops to her knees without any prompting. Part of me loves the way “Master” spills from her lips so easily now, as though she doesn’t give it a second’s thought.
But Christ, part of me hates it, too. I hadn’t planned to give her the paper and pencils, but I couldn’t stand how lifeless shewas becoming. I need her to be obedient, but I don’t want a brainless shell.
I want my Juliet, the one I’m still in love with.
“Hadrian?”
Kendrick’s sharp voice drags me out of my own head. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, struggling to focus on what is right in front of me. I take a sip of the nasty drink to refocus. “Very good. I should have her out of her cell soon.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. The current arrangement is a little…”
He doesn’t finish, but his disapproval screams itself out into the void. A little weird. A little bit fucking insane. I’m sure people are saying all that and more. I don’t give a shit, though. It’s achieved what it needed to.
Kendrick sets his glass down. “What I mean to say is, it will be good to have her by your side. She seems like an intelligent woman, from what I’ve learned. She should find a place here in the Compound once she settles.”
Once she gets used to the idea of being a captive and a slave. Kendrick’s attitude to the Wards is so matter of fact it sometimes makes my head spin. It’s like he forgets that everyone, Wards included, had lives before they arrived in the Compound. That’s a philosophical discussion that can wait for another day, though. Or never.
“I hope she’ll be very happy here.”
Kendrick nods in approval. “Let's meet again in two weeks. Same time. I want to hear about your progress.”
And he wants to keep an eye on me, no doubt. I finish the last of my drink—it feels rude to leave it—and get to my feet. We shake hands, as stiff and formal as if we’d just met, and I escape his office.
The idea of calling Jacob to discuss everything crosses my mind, but I dismiss it as soon as it occurs. Quinn is still devastated about Candice, and things are tense between them. I don’t want to make anything worse.
Instead, I check on Juliet. Still scribbling away. She can lose herself in a project, just as I can. Often, we’d find ourselves working on our solitary projects, separate but together, in companionable silence. When the spell finally broke, we’d realize we were starving and order pizza, comparing notes on our progress.
I’m not due to visit her for another few hours, and I need to keep myself occupied until then. I’ll drive myself truly crazy if I spend too long imagining all the scenarios of how my big reveal will play out. Will she scream and attack me? Will she laugh? Will she scoff and say, “I knew it was you all along, you asshole.”
Anything is possible.
I hit the gym. It always clears my head. As I go through the simple physical movements, I let my mind relax. For better or worse, the hardest part is about to be over. Juliet will see me as I really am.
I head to the locker room, feeling a little more optimistic, and pull open my locker to change. I freeze.
My bag is missing.
I blink at the empty space, which stares back at me, making no more sense as the seconds tick on. I hadn’t bothered to lock the locker. There’s nothing valuable in my bag. I don’t go for fancy watches or jewelry, and there’s no need for money in the Compound. Why would one of the staff risk incurring Brotherhood-level justice to steal a pair of jeans and an old Deadpool T-shirt?
They wouldn’t. And yet, the bag is gone.
My skin prickles as I pull open all the empty lockers. I reach the bottom right-hand corner and draw in a breath as the blackcorner of my bag juts out at me. I pull it out and check whether anything is missing. Nope. It’s all there.
But I’m sure I didn’t choose that locker.
I step back, staring at the doors. I always choose fifteen if it’s available because it’s my birthday. I play back the moment I chose the locker, perfect memory rendering the scene clearly. Fifteen. Definitely not the awkward, floor-level spot it’s sitting in now.
What the hell?
Before I can think any further, the door bangs open, admitting Jacob. Not unusual—he works out daily, and his lifts put mine to shame—but I jump guiltily as he enters, clutching the bag.
Jacob pauses, and there’s an awkward silence before he clears his throat. “Mate. How’s it going? Sorry I haven’t been over to check in for a while. I’m still copping it every day at home. Quinn’s not doing great. I have to focus on her. You know?”
I nod. I can still hear Quinn’s anguished voice in my head, and it has to be a hundred times worse for Jacob. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “Nothing to be sorry about, pal. Not your fault. How’s everything else?”
The bag is heavy in my hand. It’s an oddity. I should report what happened, just in case it’s a sign of something sinister. I should, and I almost do, but something stops me.
