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All of them fucked into their mothers' bellies by the Fairfax patriarch and taken from their arms by the mad scientist at birth. Raised by stern-faced nannies more inclined to rule by the rod, without an ounce of affection or love. Trained from the start to follow the paths set out by Dominic and Rita, to be nothing but guinea pigs in the grand scheme of science.
Oh yeah, he could happily set a match to this hell and watch it go up in smoke.
This right here was the reason why he couldn't give Anarchy her happily ever after.
Every day for the past two weeks, he'd sat outside the gates to his childhood prison and lectured himself on finding his spine, driving through those fucking iron barricades, and confronting the demons from his past. It was the only way he was going to get the answers he needed to move forward. It was the only way he was going to get Anarchy.
He'd spent too long thinking about her, about that last night. The noise she'd made when Atticus's cock plundered her tight pussy still haunted him two weeks later, and he could only imagine what depraved acts his best friend had been doing to her in Jasper's absence. Things hehad dreamed of doing to her, of introducing her to.
It made him more than angry knowing he was letting her slip through his fingers every night he didn't return to Avalon to claim her. He knew how much Atticus longed for a permanent submissive in his life, and Anarchy...well, a man would have to be a blind fool to ignore her charms. Atticus was neither blind nor a fool, and it wouldn't come as a surprise to find Anarchy completely under his thrall.
That air of innocence she carried screamed little, and Atticus was a closet Daddy Dom.
Jasper bared his teeth in frustration, his fingers tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. He needed to make a choice and he needed to make it today. Either he kicked himself up the ass and barged his way inside the Fairfax mansion with the intention of tearing his former home apart and killing his father the way Dominic had taught him how to kill a man, or he could drive away, drive two thousand miles home, and finally do something to make himself happy.
Murder charges would notmake him happy.
If he walked back inside that house, it would strip the humanity from him. That was what his body was trained to do in the presence of the Master of the house. Shed his humanity, engage the killing entity within, or suffer at the hands of his father. He couldn't become that again. Not when he had bust his ass since the day he left to put this behind him.
What's more important, Jasper? A shitty past or a radiant future?
He slammed his palm onto the top curve of the wheel. Fuck it all, he wanted what Braun had, and more. He wanted a submissive who knew how to handle his kinks, who was content to be revered in between scenes, and treated like a princess. He had an urge to dote on a woman, just one, and make her the centerof his world.
Fairfax Mansion could crumble to the ground without any help from him, Jasper decided. There were more important things waiting for him at home, including stealing his submissive back from his best friend. And should he pull a stupid stunt like this again, he swore he wouldn't take off and leave Anarchy floundering. He'd rip his pride out by the roots and handcuff himself to a chair in front of Connie instead.
Rain began to splatter on the windshield as he turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine. It was more than twenty-four hours' drive back to Phoenix, and rain would slow him down. He wasn't going to risk having an accident on the way back to his girl and not getting home at all. Which meant he was going to have to find a motel, get his head down for a few hours, and delay his return to Avalon further.
The tires spun on the blacktop as he shoved the truck into gear and pressed hard on the gas. Part of him was desperate to drive straight at those gates and smash through them, but Anarchy proved to be a stronger lure. The road ahead of him was lined with huge red spruce and red-cedar trees, casting shadows in the dying light.
Jasper didn't look back, steadfast in his decision. He kept his foot to the accelerator even as a brand-new black Lincoln Continental—complete with tinted windows, of course—cruised toward him. The same Continental his father had used every day for the last two weeks to ferry his sorry ass around the state of Virginia.
“Burn in hell, you withered old fuck,” he muttered, reaching out to flick the sound system on. Heavy metal music poured out of the speakers, filling the truck with a decadent guitar riff that suited his mood and the goddamn weather as the heavens opened. “Drag your bitch of a wife down with you.”
Weight slipped off his shoulders, falling by the wayside the longer he drove. As the miles passed and his haunted childhood remained lodged where it belonged, Jasper began to laugh. It had been a long time since he felt free enough to simply let everything go, yet by making one tough decision, he’d cast aside a large chunk of debris he’d carried with him for years.
Because once upon a time, not so long ago, he wouldn’t have been able to walk away.
As darkness fell as quickly as the rain from the sky, his headlights cut a swath through the night as he began the long, arduous journey back to Phoenix. A different man in the driving seat, a stronger Dom ready to fight for his submissive.
Game on.
*
Anarchy walked into a set-up with her hand clutched in Atticus's, oblivious to the trap until it closed around her. As the doors to Avalon shut at her back, she hung her head and sighed at her own naivety. He'd warned her—and so had Mistress Connie—that her temporary master had devised a creative punishment for her, and if the apparatuson stage was anything to go by, Atticus's imagination had something devilish in mind for her.
Avalon was empty of clientele, she noted with trepidation, but not of the Masters.
Her steps faltered as she kept her eyes on the stage, and she nearly tripped over her own feet. She saw the faces of her friends in her peripheral vision but couldn't bring herself to look at them directly. Atticus had brought her here for a reason, one she'd agreed to, and she could tell by the looks on their faces that they weren't mad with her, but she’d hurt them.
“Go kneel in the middle of the seating pit, Anarchy.” Atticus released her hand as he murmured the command into her ear. An encouraging little pat on the butt sent her forward as he moved in the opposite direction to deposit her bag behind the bar. His voice rumbled when she hesitated to obey. “Do as you're told; you've already got four strokes of the cane to warm up with. I'm sure you don't want to earn more.”
There was a soft gasp from beside Braun. Archie's eyes locked onto the slim shape of Boadicea kneeling beside her Master, her dark head bowed beneath the weight of his hand. The owner of Avalon ran his fingers through his submissive's hair as he murmured to her, then he looked up and glared at Archie with all the warmth of the iceberg responsible for taking down the Titanic.
Ugh, she hadn't forgotten the cane. She wasn't fearing it, as such. She'd seen it used countless times, most often in Jasper's hand, and while the screams and tears of the subs he used it on were...hard on the eardrums, she didn't have anything to compare the sights and sounds to in terms of feelingthe effect of the cane. There was no way of telling how she was going to react to that first stage of punishment—or warm-up as Atticus liked to call it—but she knew if she couldn't take four strokes from him, she'd be giving Jasper the conviction he needed not to come back for her.
She slunk down the short steps into the middle of the seating area where the Masters generally congregated and sank to her knees on the carpet. The cleaners were methodical about not only vacuuming the floors of Avalon but using steam cleaners to keep the carpets pristine. She sat back on her heels, trying to remember how Master Atticus preferred his subs to sit rather than Master Jasper's directions, and confused herself.
Finally, after a lot of fidgeting belied her nerves, she spread her thighs wide and rested her hands on them, straightening her spine in spite of the weight pushing her down. Her shoulders cracked as she forced them back to open her front, unused to the position after her short break from submission. She let her head roll forward, her chin almost touching her chest, and closed her eyes.
