Has Megan added coding to her quiver of weapons?
Can Kate actually lie to me without my knowing?
Who is sending the blackmail messages?
How did they find my client list?
And how do they know I never graduated from high school?
And—most persistent of all the questions driving me mad—how would it feel to fuck my wife, shattering every one of my rules, giving up every last ounce of my carefully calculated control?
Starting one hour after sunrise, Barry Lynch delivers another barrage of demands. I purposely delay my responses, training him to be a better client.
Kate spends the better part of the day in her office next to mine. She goes online half a dozen times. She exchanges texts with MaskedMarauder, debating a technical hitch in accessing StarCoin. She visits her grandmother during the afternoon,sweetly asking Nilsson to walk her across the street. Upon her return, she says she’s not feeling well, and she heads up to her room.
At six o’clock, I wait for her in the dining room as Anna’s pork roast with cinnamon apples grows cold. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Half an hour.
Finally, I text.
Cole Wolf
You’re eating, whether you want to or not
She opens my message immediately, but it takes her almost five minutes to reply.
Kate Lynch
I’m sick
I pounce.
Patel can be here in an hour
Don’t bother
Not a bother—that’s his job
His job is why I’m sick
Body getting used to birth control
Just let me sleep, k?
I stare at the screen as that third message comes through, feeling…something. I don’t remember experiencing this emotion before. Not exasperation. Not impatience. Not anger.
It takes me a while, but I finally find the word I’m looking for: Guilt.
Kate’s my wife now. She’s my sub. I’m responsible for her.
And my demands have made her ill.
Anna pokes her head in from the kitchen. “Would you like me to take a plate up to Miss Kate?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, thank you. Why don’t you call it a night?”
She starts to clear the table. When she gets to my own empty plate, she doesn’t say a word, just gives me a pitying look. Smothering my irritation, I let her do her job.
Five minutes later, after Anna and Nilsson have both left for the night, I head into the kitchen. Turning on the electric kettle, I take a mug out of the cupboard. While I wait for the water to boil, I dig in the refrigerator.