Savage Tracker by Maggie Cole

2

Selena

It'sincredible how a faucet can bring you so much happiness. Of course, the memory of Obrecht's T-shirt halfway up his ripped torso, lying on the floor with his head inside my cabinet, doesn't hurt. I drink my coffee, staring at the silver metal and thinking about the tattooed stars he had running down his perfectly sculpted V, past the waistband of his pants.

For the last three days, all I can think about is him and the way his dominant eyes trailed over my body. It's not helping the loneliness I feel most of the day or the aching need growing bigger and bigger each passing second.

Jack controlled every part of my life, including my body. I don't want to have these thoughts. I should return to the way things were before him, but I was young and not very experienced. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to return to. In many ways, I feel as if all I've ever known is Jack. The two boyfriends I had before him are faint memories.

Instead of just researching sex clubs, now I imagine Obrecht going to one with me and being my Master. It's driving me insane. I even dreamed about it last night.

I need to get out of my house and find something to keep me busy so I can get my mind out of this rabbit hole I can't seem to escape. Now that my divorce is over, I want to start living again. I'm not sure what it looks like, but my life is a blank slate, ready to have color on it.

It's only been a few weeks since my divorce. The day after, Kora's office informed me she had a family tragedy take place and won't be working for a while. Her assistant informed me they were sending a car and a bodyguard to have me sign more forms. After I hung up with her, Sergey called and told me what happened. Then he repeated what Kora told me a few days ago. He said the driver and bodyguard are his, and he thought it would be best if I continued to use them. He offered to do it for free, but I insisted on paying him, since I now have more money than I'll ever spend.

Jack never shared anything with me regarding our assets. He was so sure I was his property and would never be able to leave him. We didn't even have a prenup. When Kora dug up his assets, I was in shock. I had no idea how wealthy Jack was or what I was entitled to get from our divorce. All I wanted was my freedom and not to be homeless on the streets or deported back to Greece.

And that's another issue. Jack always used my lack of citizenship as a threat. If I go back to Greece, I would have nowhere to go. My family disowned me. I'm not the first family member that's happened to, either, so I'm fully aware once my father cuts you out, that's it. There is no changing my situation. They gave me the ultimatum to leave Jack and come home, or that was it. I was already trapped. Jack knew my every move. I had no money or access to it. He even recorded my phone calls. I was Jack's wife in public and his property at home.

The sun shines through the window, warming my skin. The river has a few kayakers on it, and several pedestrians are walking as runners pass them on the pavement. I shower and get ready for the day. My nail is still not fixed, and I catch it while shampooing my hair and wince.

I need to fix it.

It's still not super safe to go places.

Why did I get them in the first place?

Jack required me to have my nails perfect at all times. During the divorce, they grew out, and I eventually peeled the remainder off. My natural nails never felt as nice as when I had my acrylics. Kora told me what time Jack would be in her office signing the divorce papers, so I went to get them as a mini celebration.

Now, I'm regretting it. I shouldn't have done anything that required maintenance. It means I needed to go out in public, and it's still something I'm a tad anxious about even though I have a bodyguard. Plus, it feels strange having someone follow me.

I finish getting ready, grab the envelope stuffed with statements on accounts and other assets I now own, and my laptop. While I love my condo, the best thing about it is the rooftop. During the day, most residents are working, so it's usually empty. It's beautifully designed and overlooks Lake Michigan and the city. An artificial turf, playground equipment, and a decked-out gathering area fill the space. I avoid my usual spot, which is in the corner with loungers. Instead, I sit at the table in front of the gas fireplace and spread out my papers. I take a handful of glass rocks in the centerpiece and put them on each form so nothing blows away. It's not a breezy day, but I don't want to take any chances.

One of my goals is to understand what is on each of these pages. I don't want to be left in the dark anymore, but after trying to decipher things, I wonder if I'm attempting to do something impossible.

Did Jack only keep our finances away from me because I don't understand a word on these statements?

Is this something I need special skills to understand?

Am I expecting too much from my uneducated self?

"Ugh," I groan in frustration and put my hands over my face.

A deep, Russian accent hits my ears. It's as if life gets injected in me. "What's wrong, Selena?"

I put my hand over my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun and look up. Pure male sweat glistens all over Obrecht's rock-hard upper body. I gape at him, counting not six but eight muscles on his abdomen. My eyes drift to the bulge growing in his pants, and I glance at his feet.

Please tell me to kneel.

Snap out of it!

I quickly glance at his cocky smirk.

Oh jeez!

"Something wrong?" he repeats.

"I..." I clear my throat then motion to the papers. Heat rises in my cheeks. "I've lost my eggs and baskets! Do you need a degree to read these things? Maybe I'm not smart enough to understand what's on them?"

Amusement crosses his expression. "You've lost your eggs and baskets?"

"Oh, sorry! It's Greek. It means I'm completely lost and confused."

He sits next to me, and when the scent of his sweat flares in my nostrils, I lean closer and inhale it deeper. My lower body pulses so fast and hard, I squirm in my seat. He points to a statement. "May I?"

Should I let him see what I have?

He owns the penthouse. He's got money, so what do I need to worry about?

"Help yourself. I was about to throw it in the firepit."

He chuckles and picks up the form. After a few minutes, he scooches closer and puts the paper in front of me. He turns his head so it's right next to mine, stares at my eyes, then mouth, then back to my eyes.

How are his eyes so blue? Are they even blue? It's like looking through glass with only a hint of a blue tint.

"There are some things on here you should sell."

"Sell?" I reply, feeling panic creep in my chest.

He nods. "Yes." He points to several symbols that mean nothing to me. "This, this, and this."

"I don't know what those letters are," I admit.

"Do you want me to explain it to you?"

I glance around the roof. No one is up here. "Do you have time?"

"Sure. Once you get it down, it'll be easy."

"Okay. Thank you. I…um..." I gaze at the sparkling water on Lake Michigan. I don't know what is too much information to spill about my life and what isn't. The guy already changed my faucet, and now I'm having him teach me how to read financial statements. He's going to think I'm utterly incapable of doing anything.

"Haven't ever seen these before?"

Shame, fear, and anxiety fill my chest. I turn and blurt out, "My ex-husband didn't show me any of this. Maybe it's because it's too complicated? I should probably pay someone to just take care of this for me." I start to stack the papers.

"Stop," he commands.

It's deep and dominant, and my core stirs. Flutters take off so fast, I get dizzy. I immediately stop and bow my head, waiting for further instructions.

Tell me to kneel. Oh God, please tell me to kneel.

My lips begin trembling. The spot between my thighs gets damp.

Neither of us moves. It feels like forever as I sit there, papers midair, head lowered, body quivering for him to give me another command.

He finally puts his hand over mine, and a soft whimper escapes me. More heat rises to my cheeks, and I continue focusing on the table.

"Look at me, Selena."

I obey, and my heart pounds harder. His eyes swirl with power, control, and danger. Jack had all those things, but Obrecht has something else, and it confuses me.

Kindness fills them. It chokes me up.

"Breathe," he commands, and I immediately take a few deep ones. In a calm, soothing voice, he continues, "Good. Now, why don't you let me organize this for you and then we can go through them. You don't have to manage any of this if you don't want to, but you do need to know how to read them. If you don't, you won't know whether to fire or keep a manager—if you go that route," he says.

"O-okay."

He points to the papers in the far corner. "Hand me those."

I do as he asks.

He smiles. In a teasing tone, he says, "Glad you know how to follow orders, dorogaya."

“Dorogaya?” I ask.

"Dear. Darling. It also can mean expensive."

My insides spin, doing the happy dance. "Well, I'd rather be expensive than cheap, right?" I flirt and bat my eyes.

What am I doing?

His lips twitch. "I wouldn't put you and cheap in the same sentence." He studies me another moment then redirects my gaze to a stack of papers. He points to each one. "Each of these piles represents a different asset. Retirement accounts, non-retirement accounts with investments, liquid bank account reserves, real estate, and privately held businesses."

My anxiety grows. "Am I supposed to already be overwhelmed?"

"Yep." He chuckles then leans into me and lowers his voice. "Since you're smart, don't get used to it. You'll be reading these like a pro soon."

"Really?"

"Without a doubt." He spends two hours explaining how to read the statements and giving me his advice on what he would do if it were his money.

"Is this what you do for a living?" I ask.

"No." He puts all my statements back into the envelope.

"Well, I don't discriminate. Can I hire you?" I tease but am also serious.

His smile is so Mr. Nice Guy, I'm confused again by how he can be when he has so many qualities I fell for in Jack. "I'm here to help if you need it, Selena."

"How do you know all this if it isn't your work?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I guess you could say it's a hobby. I keep up on it. It's always kind of interested me."

"Wow. Well, it's impressive." I reach up to his neck and trace over one of his tattoos. Jack didn't have any tattoos, neither did any of the boys I dated before him. Obrecht is covered in them. "Is this a snake?"

"Yeah."

I lean behind him and at the face of the snake. It's fiercely opening its mouth and sticking out its tongue. It makes it feel like it's ready to bite you. "Why is the face on your back?"

"Snakes are everywhere. It's a reminder for me to never turn my back."

A chill goes down my spine. It's how I feel about Jack.

He picks up my hand. "How's your nail doing?"

Heat courses my face. "Still broken." I feel embarrassed I haven't fixed it. If I had let this go this long with Jack, I would have been severely punished.

He tilts his head and runs his finger over the jagged edge. "Looks dangerous."

"I'm going today to fix it," I blurt out.

His phone buzzes, and he releases my hand. He glances at it then back at me. "I need to shower and get ready for work."

I rise. "Me, too. Thank you again."

"Not a problem."

He puts his hand on my back and guides me to the elevator. I almost sink against him but refrain. There is an elevator for the penthouse and one for the rest of the building. He makes sure I'm in mine before getting on his. When the door shuts, I exhale and stare at my nail. I decide I need to stop being a scaredy-cat and get it fixed. When I call to schedule the appointment, the lady asks, "Is there any other service you would like today?"

I glance at the website where I got the phone number off of and reply, "Yes. Can I get a massage, pedicure, facial, and wax?"

"Mmm..." The line goes silent for a moment. "Does it matter the order?"

"Nope. I've never spent the day at a spa before, so I don't know the difference," I admit.

"Aww. You're going to love it!"

"I'm sure I will."

"Great. You're all set. Please arrive at least fifteen minutes early to fill out paperwork." She goes through the other amenities then I hang up and leave.

Over the next few days, I decide it's time to start painting my canvas. I go on a shopping spree, picking out all the clothes I used to want to wear but was never allowed. I book a hair and makeup appointment and get a cut. I have the stylist turn my black hair a blondish-brown. I buy all new makeup to go with my new look and have the girl show me how to apply it.

Every night, the ache in my loins grows bigger. I study one of the clubs I never went to with Jack and decide to be a big girl and take the plunge. I apply for a membership. It's not hard. All I have to do is fill out the form and pay the fee.

I add condoms to my next grocery order. Jack made me get the shot. He didn't want kids. It wasn't something we discussed before we got married, but I'm fortunate he didn't want them. Our house wasn't somewhere I would have felt safe with my children, and I'm glad I don't have to still deal with Jack. I continued getting the shot. Maybe some part of me knew I would eventually need the protection.

I don't want to think about what could happen to me, but this urge I have to be touched is spiraling out of control.

I'll just be a responsible person, and everything will be fine. Only one time and then I can get rid of this itch.

Pending flashes across the screen, along with a smaller print that reads, "We will email your membership within 24-72 hours of approving your application."

When my head hits the pillow, nervous anticipation fills me. I go back and forth in my head, wondering if I dare to go. I finally fall asleep, wondering about Obrecht. There's so much that's confusing me. The more I try to figure it out, the worse my obsession gets.

I thought he might be a Dominant, but he could never be my Master. They aren't nice. They don't do selfless acts for their slaves. The kindness residing in his eyes doesn't exist in any Dominant I've ever met.

How can I crave him when I'm so desperate to submit?

It doesn't make any sense. All I know is I can't stop thinking about submitting. Even though he can't give me what I need, my obsession with him won't go away.