Chapter 2
The hallway felt narrower on the walk back. The guard’s hand on my arm tightened like I’d grown more dangerous in the last five minutes.
I didn’t fight him. Didn’t speak. Didn’t trust my voice not to betray the tremor building beneath my ribs.
Five to seven. Or him. The numbers replayed, but it wasn’t prison that had my pulse misfiring. It was the way he’d looked at me. Strategic, measured…interested.
The cuffs bit when the guard jerked me around the corner. “Watch it,” he muttered, yanking my arm.
“I’m walking,” I returned evenly, lifting my chin and pulling just enough to remind him I still had a spine.
By the time the cell door clanged shut behind me again, the envelope still pressed between my fingers, the fluorescent hum barely registered. All I could see were periwinkle-blue eyes and the sound of his voice as he’d uttered the words, Ma Belle. Chère. Bébé, like silk over bare skin.
Dropping onto the thin mattress, I stared at the ceiling.
What did you just do?
The envelope crinkled in my grip. This wasn’t a favor. It wasn’t charity. It was leverage wrapped in control. And something inside me, something inside me leaned toward him instead of away. That unsettled me more than prison ever could.
Exhaling slowly, I shut my eyes. Tomorrow at eight. Instead of fear crawling up my throat…I felt curiosity unfurl low in my belly.
~~
Time stretched. Minutes bleeding into hours while I lay there replaying every word, every pause, every slow sweep of his gaze.
I might be a thief, but I was a woman of my word. If I’d shaken on it, I would follow through. Even if I had no idea what I’d just stepped into.
The metallic scrape of the door jolted me upright, and he guard stepped inside again, keys jangling against his hip.
“You’re free to go,” he muttered, glancing around the cell before settling his gaze on me.
Pushing up onto my elbows, I blinked. “I am?”
He rolled his eyes, shifting his weight. “Charges’ve been dropped.”
Adrenaline hit hard and fast.
Standing, my legs wobbled slightly. “This isn’t a joke, right?” I pressed, swallowing.
“You think I got nothin’ better to do?” he snapped, unlocking the cuffs and dropping my belongings into my hands.
Freedom. It didn’t feel real.
Stepping through the doorway cautiously, I half expected someone to shout it had been a mistake. No one did.
As I moved through it, the corridor felt different this time. Lighter. Or maybe that was just me.
When we reached the smaller office door again, my steps slowed. He was there, leaning against the frame like he owned the building. Arms crossed, shirt sleeves rolled just enough to expose strong forearms dusted in dark hair. Periwinkle gaze lifting as I approached, tracking me slowly.
“You made the right choice, you know?” he drawled, pushing off the frame and uncrossing his arms.
Clutching the envelope tighter, I lifted my eyes to his. “Do I?”
The corner of his mouth curved and he stepped closer. Not touching, but close enough.
“You’ll see, chère,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, Cajun threading through the syllables like a promise.
Wolf in sheep’s clothing. The phrase slid through my thoughts.
Minutes later, when the heavy prison doors opened and sunlight poured over my face, I paused.
Warmth hit my skin, air filled my lungs, and I tilted my face toward the sky.
I gave a half laugh of disbelief. I was free.
~~
Half an hour later, I sat on the worn couch at Papa’s house. The springs creaked beneath me, and Mac squeaked happily in his cage beside me, blissfully unaware that my life had just tilted sideways.
Opening the envelope with fingers that still trembled faintly, I let the contents slide into my palm.
A black business card with then name Alex Landry and an address beneath it.
That was it. No explanation. No fine print. Just a name that now held my future.
Setting the card on the table, I wandered into the kitchen and pulled sandwich ingredients from the refrigerator. Bread. Meat. Cheese.
Staring down at them, my appetite vanished. Slowly I returned everything to its place, and leaned my palms against the counter. Silence pressed closer than the jail cell had.
Retreating to my bedroom, I crawled beneath the covers and pulled them over my head. Shutting out the light. Shutting out the future.
~~
The next morning came too fast. I showered, then standing in front of the mirror longer than necessary, I debated between jeans and a skirt. Finally choosing the jeans.
Half an hour later, I stood in front of the address printed on the card.
Glass. Steel. Clean lines. Money.
Drawing in a breath, I stepped inside. The lobby gleamed. The elevator ride to the top floor felt endless, and when the doors slid open, the receptionist looked up immediately.
“Mr. Landry is expecting you,” she informed me smoothly, stepping out from behind her desk.
The office she led me into was expansive. Windows lining one wall. City laid out like something conquered through them.
He stood when I entered. Slowly. Deliberately.
Extending his hand, I hesitated only a second before placing mine in his.
His thumb brushed lightly over my knuckles before releasing.
“What exactly does this job entail?” I asked, pulling my hand back and moving to stand before his desk.
Resuming his seat with unhurried grace, he leaned back, watching me.
“You’re goin’ to be caterin’ to the elite at a private club,” he replied evenly.
My brows drew together. “Catering how?”
A faint smirk touched his lips. “It’s a BDSM establishment,” he clarified, resting his forearms on the desk.
I blinked. “You’re serious.”
His gaze sharpened slightly. “Very.”
Heat crept up my neck. “And what exactly would I be doing there?” I pressed, folding my arms loosely.
Leaning forward, elbows resting on polished wood, he lowered his voice just enough to make me lean in without meaning to.
“You’ll be trained,” he explained. “How to read desire. How to anticipate need. How to hold space without losin’ control of it.”
His eyes held mine. “You will not be touched without consent. You will not be claimed. You will not be forced.”
The words weren’t rushed. They were placed carefully.
“And I suppose this club isn’t in Chicago,” I muttered.
A slow smile curved his mouth. “New Orleans.”
My stomach tightened. “You want me to move.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“When?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Tonight. There’ll be a car outside your house at seven sharp,” he continued, gaze never leaving mine. “Be ready.”
Seven. No space to reconsider.
Studying him, I tilted my head slightly. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
He leaned back slowly, one ankle crossing over his knee. “Not when I see somethin’ worth investin’ in,” he murmured.
Something in the way he said it told me he wasn’t talking about the club, or the job, and for the first time since leaving that jail cell, fear flickered low in my gut, because I still didn’t know whether I’d accepted employment, or entered a game I didn’t understand.
