Trained by Sansa Rayne
Chapter 11
“I’ve waited for this for so long,” Ingram says as he takes off his shirt, revealing his rock-hard chest. It’s a sight I’ve longed to see again.
“Me too,” I reply, biting my lip. I never even so much as thought of another man.
He climbs into bed with me and grabs my top in his big, powerful hands. With one pull he tears the fabric apart, exposing my breasts. My nipples stiffen, aching for his mouth to take them. I want him to take all of me. I’ve craved him every moment we’ve been apart. He’s my real tormentor, as missing him has been more painful than anything Anton could do to me.
“You don’t have to think about him anymore,” Ingram whispers in my ear. He’s on top of me now, his arms pinning mine to the bed. Dominated by his strength, my body quivers.
“I’m ready,” I say.
He kisses me, tasting of blood and smoke. It’s wrong, but I can’t get enough of it. I breathe it in, filling my lungs. Maybe I’m losing my mind, but I don’t care.
When he thrusts his cock into my eager pussy, I groan in relief. His cock’s as hard and as big as I remember. I’ve thought of it so many times, desperate to feel it within me again. Now it fills me, eliciting sweet bliss. Ingram sucks my nipple between his lips as he drives his rod in and out.
Toes curling, eyes rolling up in my head, I spread my legs as wide as I can, encouraging him to pound me fast and deep. He huffs like a bull, teeth bared. I can hear his heart thumping. He wants more as much as I do.
“Soon we’ll be together forever,” he says.
“Yes… please.”
That’s all I want. No Masters, no Anton, no LPN, no death or carnage or chaos — just Ingram and I, somewhere far away.
His fingers stroke my clit, unleashing my ecstasy. I tremble in his grasp, letting the waves of pleasure lift me closer to my long-awaited climax.
“Just a little longer,” I moan. “I’m… almost…”
“Soon.”
—
My eyes snap open. I’m in a cage in the harem, fingers between my thighs.
Fuck.
I pull my hand back slowly. If the guards have been watching, I’d rather not give them a laugh at my expense. Shutting my eyes once more, I turn over and hide my face from the cameras.
Though it was a pleasant dream, I didn’t want to do this while under Anton’s imprisonment. I didn’t want to give in to my need, even subconsciously. I suppose it couldn’t be helped. Now that I know Ingram is alive and will rescue me soon, my body recognizes that relief is coming… both mental and physical.
Did Anton think that someday I would turn to him for pleasure? Did he see me as so weak that I’d cave to my body’s carnal hunger and beg him to satisfy me? It wouldn’t come as a surprise. If Anton could claim Ingram’s woman as his own — of her own free will — that would have been a true victory for him.
I am positive it’s what he wanted — my submission. If he wished, he could have forced himself on me at any time. What could I have done to fight back? But he didn’t want to take what could be easily taken — he aimed to win one final victory over Ingram. My triumph was in ensuring it didn’t happen — I would rather never feel that sweet euphoria ever again than have Anton be a part of it. Now I don’t have to worry — I’ll be Ingram’s again soon.
—
To my relief, Anton has me brought back to Manhattan early in the day. If they want me to reach out to Anarchy, Inc., I can’t do it from the Enclave; I’ll need to be on the air with LPN. While I could theoretically broadcast remotely, Anton decides — and I agree — I need to show strength and fearlessness by returning to the city.
We land at a private airstrip; Anton has guards work as photographers, filming and shooting my return to New York so it can be posted all over the Internet.
Kate Atwood isn’t afraid of Anarchy, reads one headline.
Atwood returns but declines press requests, reads another.
For once, I get to see them for myself. Nick brings newspaper clippings and website printouts to my prison cell, and pumps key videos through the television on the ceiling. This isn’t like any of my usual broadcasts, where I can say just about whatever Anton decides. For my return, and to draw out Death, the message has to be delivered just right. We take a few days to weigh our strategy. Under the circumstances, it makes sense for me to take some time off anyway.
The first time I return to LPN I put on a bullet-proof jacket before we get out of the limo, though it’s more for the inevitable photo op than my protection. My producer, Stephanie, is waiting with my new guard detail, a full squadron that marches in rhythm like a platoon. Together, they see me to the recording studio.
“You’re all people are talking about,” Stephanie says.
I feel bad for her; I really do. The one time I’ve actually been at liberty to watch the news and see what people are saying on social media, and she’s here filling me in like always. If I was a normal person, she wouldn’t have to. I must seem to them like some kind of Howard Hughes type of freak, either that or they all think I spend my off hours completely drunk or blitzed. What other reason would there be for me not to know anything about what’s happening literally after getting abducted in broad daylight?
When all this is over, I’ll sit down with them and explain everything.
“About half of Twitter is convinced you staged the kidnapping for ratings,” Stephanie continues. “Some have joked that they wish Anarchy shot you and let Hamza Bin Khaled go.”
Okay, that’s funny. I can’t say I blame them.
“What’s the bad news?” I ask her, taking off the armor jacket.
She scoffs.
“The bad news is the FBI has been crawling all over us and they might arrest you if you’re not careful.”
“Okay,” I reply, though there’s no way that’s going to happen. Anton will see to it.
For a special broadcast, some TV hosts would do something different: address the audience from a close-up or a different camera angle, something to let them know this isn’t a typical show. However, I stand at my cocobolo desk like normal. They need to see that I’m the same Kate Atwood who was on last week, even though I’m definitely not.
Now I have a new secret — a wonderful secret.
“Hello,” I begin. “A lot has been said in the past week about my abduction. People have expressed their sympathy for those who passed and they’ve shared their relief that I’m okay. I thank everyone who has been supportive — it’s meant so much. To those who have been dismissive or doubtful of what happened, your skepticism has ranged from reasonable and respectful to ridiculous and downright insulting. Still, I owe the city of New York and the world as a whole an explanation.”
I don’t think that I’ve backtracked or clarified a single thing I’ve said since the start of Kate Atwood Live. Contradicted myself? Sure, a hundred times. But I’ve never issued a retraction or acknowledged an inconsistency. Then again, that was before three of Anton’s goons were shot dead on a busy city street.
“When I addressed the nation last week, I had been confused about the sequence of events and was unaware of the broader picture. I had not been informed at the time of the shooting in Brooklyn, which the authorities believe was related to my abduction. I assumed this had been a targeted attack on my life, when in reality it was merely a distraction so that Anarchy, Inc. could carry out another attack.”
Agent Cole at the FBI isn’t going to like that. Stephanie’s probably popping another antacid.
“When I learned about the violence in Vinegar Hill, of course my heart went out to the families of everyone who had been killed.”
Did those mercenaries even have families? Have the families even been notified? I have no fucking clue, and frankly I don’t care. They were working for Anton. Who knows what they would have done to me if Anton had allowed it?
“I know I should be relieved that I was not Anarchy, Inc.’s primary target, and I am, but I have a bone to pick with them, so I address the following to their leader: let’s meet, and let’s talk. For real. If you have a message you want the world to hear, no one will give you a bigger microphone than me. The world wants to know why it is you’re terrorizing us. We want to know your goals. Tell us what you’re after, and why you shouldn’t be hunted down and killed like any other terrorist. If you have the courage to support your convictions, sit with me and explain yourself. The world will not be intimidated by chaos and destruction. And if that’s your goal, this so-called anarchy, we deserve to know why you’re so bent on doing it.”
I hope somewhere Ingram is watching and enjoying this performance.
“I wasn’t afraid of Victor Sovereign and I’m not afraid of you. I’ll meet you anywhere, under whatever circumstances you deem necessary to ensure your anonymity. Get in touch with the show and tell the world what you want — if you dare.”
The in-studio audience cheers, and I can’t help smiling. Would they still be applauding if they knew I wasn’t talking to some shadowy, malevolent criminal mastermind, but the love of my life?
Once they settle down, Stephanie sends in Matthew Ryan, Ann Parada and Michelle Cross-Yarrow, who had been hosting the program in my absence. They ask me about how I’ve been and what I’ve been doing since my ordeal. I give them the canned answers Anton fed me, trying not to feel too mortified that the show has become about me. No true journalist ever wants that. In this case, though, it’s unavoidable.
Eventually we move on to discussing other matters and I stay on the sidelines while the panel speaks.
We’ve nearly reached the end of the broadcast when Stephanie chirps in my ear, “We just got a call — they want to talk!”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I say, cutting off Matthew. “I’m being told that Anarchy, Inc. has made contact. Are you sure it’s them and not a prank caller?”
“We’re pretty sure.”
“Okay then, put them through.”
Anton prepped me on what to do in this scenario, but my stomach lurches in my chest. Did Ingram think this would happen? Has Anton fallen into another trap laid out for him, or is Ingram now responding to a changing situation? Is there a chance Jamison Hardt somehow got word to Ingram so he would know this is coming? I guess if Ingram wasn’t ready for this, he didn’t have to call in right away. That gives me some confidence.
“The line is active,” Stephanie says.
“Hello, you’re on with Kate Atwood. Who is this?”
“Death,” he replies, his voice scrambled just like it was in their van. The electronic rasp claws at my gut, causing an involuntary shiver.
“Are you the leader of Anarchy, Inc.?”
“We have no leaders. Think of me as our spokesman. Don’t waste your time on pointless questions, Ms. Atwood. The FBI is tracking this call as we speak, so I can’t stay for very long.”
“In that case, you’ve heard my questions,” I say. “Go ahead and answer them.”
He chuckles.
“You ask the wrong questions. You’re preoccupied with why we have done what we’ve done when what really matters is the next name on our list. The attacks we’ve made are just the beginning. Right now our enemies scramble to protect themselves, predictably. We know how they think. They want to hide, but they can’t — not forever.”
Interesting.
“And who are these enemies?” I ask. “What have they done to you?”
“It’s not what they’ve done to me,” he says. “It’s what they’ve done to the world — the order they’ve imposed on it, twisting it into something they can control and exploit. Their crimes have affected everybody — even you, Kate.”
Yeah, no fucking shit. Ingram’s lucky I’m forcing a professionally neutral expression.
“No matter what they’ve done, it doesn’t justify a campaign of violence,” I argue. “We have laws and courts for a reason.”
“No court in the world would convict these people. They’re too powerful.”
“So you’re vigilantes,” I say. “Is that it?”
He laughs.
“Some may see us that way. I promise you, we do not care about justice or standing up for the truth. We just want to see the powerful experience powerlessness. We want them to feel what they have caused everyone else to feel.”
I almost wonder if he means it. He sounds convincing to me. How much could he have changed since we’ve been together? Has it altered how he views the Masters, or is this all theater for the public to consume? If we destroyed the Masters today, what would he do? Would he resume the life he used to live, or something else?
I know what I’d want him to do. But, would he?
“Couldn’t you do that without resorting to violence?” I ask. “Reveal to the world what you know about your enemies and let everyone decide?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He may have had to disconnect.
“Is he still there?” I ask Stephanie.
“I’m here,” he replies. “I accept your proposal. Maybe it would create a bit of anarchy to spill a few choice secrets. Let’s start with security expert Karthik Pai.”
I focus on keeping a grin off my face. Here we go.
“You all know him for his domination of the cyber-security market. His encryption has been nearly unhackable — one of the most secure protocols in tech. What you’ve never been told is that his firm, KPP, built back-doors into key systems, leaving millions of accounts vulnerable to exploitation. Their clients have been breached without ever knowing it, falling victim to ransomware and identity thefts. As we speak, I’m forwarding evidence of their malfeasance to media agencies around the world, as well as to the FBI, CIA and NSA. They can verify that it’s all true.”
When I first arrived at the Enclave and learned about the Masters, I knew that exposing even one of them would have been the story of my career. This is exactly what I would have wanted to do. When I wrote my insurance policy in the hopes the world would see it if I died, this is one of the many crimes I listed.
I have to wonder if Anton expected this to happen.
“If Karthik Pai confesses and turns himself in to the authorities within the next twenty-four hours, maybe we won’t hunt him down. If he refuses, there’s nowhere in the world he can hide. Thank you for this opportunity, Ms. Atwood. Let’s talk again soon.”