KING (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (14 page)

“
Fan-fucking-tastic,” I drawl. “I’ll be back to finish this up,” I motion to the stack of paperwork on the desk, and then leave the study.

“You’re being mean,” Ella’s soft voice echoes down the hall. “No fair!”

“You wanted to sit with me,” Cort’s snarky voice flows from kitchen.

“You said we were going to play a game,” Ella complains.

I peek in the doorway and watch them. Cort’s sitting at the kitchen island, little Ezra tucked under one arm while his other hand tucks a sandwich in his mouth. Cortez’s eyes are scanning a ream of freshly printed paper. My daughter is foraging in the refrigerator, bitching the entire time.

“I didn’
t say
when
we were playing the game. The quicker I get this done, the quicker we can play,” Cort grumbles around a bite of sandwich.

“I’ve gathered your laundry, made you a sandwich, and now you want me to proofread your book. That doesn’t sound fun.” Ella plants her fists on her feminine hips and scowls at Cortez.
Ella looks like a pissed off housewife in training.

“Wouldn’t
you like to read it, though?” Cort coaxes her. “It’s an adult book.”

Ella scrutinizes Cort
for a moment, gnawing on her bottom lip. “Adult like Dad’s books?” I don’t like the hopeful lilt in her voice.

“Hell no,” Cort
growls. “I don’t write that.”

“What do you write? Roman’s always reading your horror book. I don’t want to read scary.”

“Do you know what a Bodice Ripper is?”

“NO!” I shout, interrupting their conversation. “Not
cool, douchebag.”

“I knew
you were listening, dumbass.” Cort rolls his eyes at me and grins. “It’s a mystery/suspense novel. She’ll like it.”

“Don’t you have editors for this kind of thing?”
I ask.

“I edit before I send it to them. Don’t want to look like a moron.”

“So you ask a fifteen-year-old to do it for you?” I incredulously say.

“Dude, Ella
’s in the accelerated program. She’s smarter than my editor. Free labor.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I growl, walking over to my girl. “Do what you wish.” I kiss the top of her head. I give Ezra’
s downy-soft hair a thorough mussing. “Don’t let your daddy mess you up too much, buddy.”

“Sammich,” Ezra
slurs, and then clobbers me in the side of the face with it.

“No
thanks, buddy.” I push the sandwich away.

Eat it!
Cort mouths and I shake my head no.
Yes!

“Mmm…” I hum, pretending to take a bite. “Bologna, my favorite,” I lie through my teeth. Just the smell alone makes me what to retch.

Ezra, happy that I took what he offered, double fists his sandwich and chows down.

“Baby Ez
won’t eat until you do. I don’t know why he does this. Ez waits to make sure we don’t keel over dead before he eats. Just started this new phase yesterday,” Cort sounds baffled. “It’s not anything I’ve read in the parenting books.”

“You
r kids are weird,” I taunt.

“It’
s because Ava said Whitney poisons our food,” Ella reveals.

“I’ll leave you with that,” I laugh, heading through the kitchen to the sunroom where our session is taking place.
Happy room, miserable people. 

~Chapter Eleven~

I hadn’t realized how much I ached to see him until he
was standing a few feet from me. Dalton hasn’t noticed me yet, but it’s no surprise. Transcend’s gym isn’t exactly a calm place with its dozens of bodies, sweating and grunting- shouting out game plays. Hard, masculine forms run the length of the basketball court, their striated muscles a thing of beauty. A range of young to old males work out on the strength training equipment. A scattering of girls watch and only a few participate.

All gaze from eyes filled with wounded innocence.

Dalton never struck me as the athletic sort. He sticks out like a sore thumb next to all the athletes: inky black hair in a queue at the nape of his neck, and a long-sleeved thermal the color of his hair covers the scars and tattoos. A gray t-shirt with a smirking skull layers the thermal. The only part of Dalton that fits in is his track pants and sneakers. Dalton’s vivid green eyes track teens around the gym- hunting.

Hmmm… maybe that’s why he likes wo
rking in this part of Transcend. The view is spectacular. All that sweaty male hotness is displayed in every race, age, and build. It doesn’t turn me on, though. I have an insane need to jog back to the Brownstone and grab my sketchbook from my car. I could sit in here for days, and the artistic craving to capture this scene wouldn’t abate, nor would the feeling of hope that flavors the air.

Our Queen did well, funding this program. In a way, these people are hers too. This is where she came from, where Roman came from.
And Dalton grew up in a place far worse than this. I understand why Regina funds it, Jamie runs it, Roman counsels, and Dalton mentors. No matter how hard you run from the past, you can never escape it. It’s why they try to change the future for all who walk through these doors. And the only reason they do, is because they can.

Dalton, with
his sweet angst, isn’t here as a predator. He’s culling the weak for a different purpose. He watches and approaches all who don’t participate. Those who hide out on the fringes get encouragement and a gentle prodding towards an activity that would best suit them. He’s perfect for the job. Dalton’s unassuming demeanor combined with his dominant nature makes you want to do whatever he asks.

Our magnetic c
onnection pulls me forward. I can’t be in the same building with him and not draw near. This was a challenge when he was behaving as Dalton Thompson, Restraint’s resident asshole. Even disguised in brown and drab, I wanted him. It defied logic, and that’s how I knew there was more to Dalton than meets the eye. I’d make up reasons to work with him. I’d try to coax him into play. Regina, Roman, Kristal, and I targeted him for my pleasure. I don’t feel one ounce of guilt over driving him into my arms. That was how I was raised, it’s in my blood- we take what we want, damn the consequences that someone else always pays.

“I don’t want to go back to school next month,” a frantic teenage boy says to Dalton. “They’ll start in again. I wish… sometimes I wish I could be someone else.”

“Torian, you applied for the scholarship to Hillbrook. You’re a brilliant kid, I’m sure you’ll get in,” Dalton gently encourages. He settles a hand on the boy’s hunched over back, trying to comfort him.

The teen is spooked. It’s obvious, even to me, as I walk towards them. He’s not much larger than Dalton, maybe five-ten. Torian has soft brown curls
, and glasses cover his doe eyes. Intelligence leaks off of him in waves. This neighborhood is a dangerous place for a small geeky kid that lacks street cred. His mixed race means he can’t even lean on his people. As racist as it may sound, when alone, you flock to those most like you. Torian is
apart
as much as he is a part of those groups. He is the perfect example of why Transcend exists. 

“But… if I don’t get in… they’ll kill me this time. Home isn’t safe anymore either.” Torian’s voice warbles.

Dalton’s stare pins me and all the air in my lungs sucks out in a gust. 

I can’t lose him!

“H-hey,” I stammer, tongue getting tied in my own dang mouth.

Torian’s back tenses in fear
when he hears my voice and Dalton’s dominant eyes catch it instantly. “It’s alright, Tori. This is Whitt,” Dalton politely introduces me in a gentle voice.

“Nice to meet you, Torian,” I cordially greet him a
nd offer my hand for a shake. Torian stares at my outstretched hand in confusion for second before he shakes it.

“Hey,” Torian
nervously says. “Um… I better go.” He has that spooked horse look again. Tori’s feet move in place, like his brain is preparing his legs for a swift bolt.

“Whitt’s my boyfriend,” Dalton says in amusement and the kid’s eyes go wide. “He also happens to be a Hillbrook Alumni.”

“Trickster,” I tease him. “You knew I was coming, didn’t you? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Dalton
shrugs his shoulders, giving me a rare smile. I’m struck stupid by that smile. Natural lips, the shade of freshly painted crimson lipstick, part on a devastating grin. My heart flutters in my chest and stops dead the second he speaks.

“Alex c
alled me after your session,” Dalton speaks in English, but I barely understand him because of the heavy accent and I’d stopped listening the moment
his
name was spoken. Alex, Roman’s nickname at Transcend, is spoken in an alluring French accent. I picture it said from a pair of lust-filled, ruby-kissed lips and I want to punch something, preferable myself- in the dick- for being an idiot.

Dalton gives me that amused look aga
in, green eyes glittering like Fire Emeralds. Leave it to me to make a
Star Wars
reference while describing my boyfriend. Jesus, I’m losing my mind here…

“I’m sure he
did,” doesn’t flow too kindly from my tongue. I regret it immediately. If Torian was spooked before, he’s dick-shriveling terrified now. Alex is a god around here. I’m sure Torian hero-worships him. Or it could be the murderous rage emanating from me… yeah, that’s probably it.

“What’s your last name, Torian? I have an i
n at Hillbrook.” I smirk when Tori regards me in awe. “Better yet, I have heavy influence with the lady who gives away those scholarships.” Now Dalton looks at me in awe. It makes me feel like the man… idiot… again.

“You could have just asked me,”
I chastise Dalton, but my heart isn’t in it.

“I wanted you to meet Torian
in person. We don’t all look good on paper. Somethings can’t be answered in the cells on a form.”

Torian looks between us in confusion. “I’m Torian Spencer, sir.”

“Well, Torian Spencer, welcome to Hillbrook. May its halls be as kind to you as they were to me.”

“You’re not being sarcastic, right?” the kids sounds even more spooked.

“Daniel Whittenhower the second was a legacy, Torian. I’m sure he was a pampered prince,” Dalton teases without a lick of condemnation.

“I’ll admit, I had an easy school career,” I laugh. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen, sir,” his voice loses its warble the more we talk. Brave kid. “My junior year starts next month.”

“Three of mine are seniors and one is a sophomore. My Ella is accelerated- she’s only fifteen. Another girl is going to be a junior
,” I say of Ava, also a year ahead of her age group. Priss is the only one classed with her peers. “Hey, Dalton, is Marcus placing Spyder or did she graduate in Vegas?”

Dalton’s
brows scrunch together in contemplation. “I’ll find out. We were tutored. I’ve never stepped foot into a school, so I have no advice on this subject. I don’t even have a diploma.”

I hate it w
hen Dalton’s eyes cloud over with negative internal thoughts. I can practically hear the word
worthless
flow in the air. Dalton’s Emo-ness isn’t a style choice. He has some deep-seated issues that he deals with on a daily basis. The worst is when he begs one of our sadists to help him work through the pain. Dalton’s self-proclaimed dad, Devlin, refuses to touch Dalton in that way anymore. Ezra wasn’t joking about Katya wanting to get her hands on my boyfriend. Dexter has Tobias, and he isn’t big on sharing. Katya’s been sniffing around Dalton, but he found his way to Syn. Their broodiness and love of tattoos and the color black drew the pair together. It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Neither wants sexual connotations to invade their relationship. Syn has a need to cause pain and Dalton needs it. It isn’t sexual, it’s brutal therapy. The lack of attraction is paramount. Dalton doesn’t like girls and Syn doesn’t like sex.

I w
ant to reach out and comfort Dalton, but I’m not sure if he’s ready to be out of the closet at work. There is a wide variety of people at Transcend, but ignorance, close-minded mentalities, and bigotry aren’t absent. This is true everywhere you go. In my social circles it isn’t frowned upon, just done behind closed doors while you show the world your wife and children. Being gay puts a target on your back everywhere you go. I’m not hiding anymore, but I won’t take Dalton’s choice away.

“May I send him to Regina?” Dalton asks, sheepishly. After yesterday afternoon, Regina is a point of contention between us.

“Let me make a few phone calls. Regina and her ladies are setting up their permanent offices at the estate. They’ve always worked at home to be close to Ella. I’ll have Albert drive Torian in an hour or so. Either Jamie, Regina, or Roman will contact the dean. You said something about housing?”

“Umm…” Torian mumbles in shame
.

“I’ll take that as a yes. The dorms are for out of state students, but I’ll pull some strings. No promises, though. The rooms may be filled
already. I’m sorry to admit this, but we’ve never had a scholarship kid reside on campus. My pompous brethren may be cordial at school, but they’ll throw a fit if they have to room with an outsider. I’ll do this part myself to make sure it’s a good fit.”