His Brutal Game by Audrey Rush

CHAPTER 6

Maisie

I fell asleep bound to the bed like that, the vibrator still humming, annoying the hell out of me. When I woke up, the restraints were gone, and I was twisted inside of the fur blankets, like usual. I hadn’t heard him return to remove everything. It was like he had never been there.

And for a while, that was the most I got out of him.

Then one day, out of the blue, when Wilder was at work and I was alone in the house, someone knocked on the front door. I checked the peephole: Forrest, my father-in-law, shoved his hands in his pockets. Like he was innocent enough.

If Wilder and I had met under different circumstances, I might have considered pretending to be asleep. I had seen how my mother dealt with my father’s parents. But when it came to Forrest, he wasn’t only my in-law; we had business to deal with.

I opened the door. “Hey—”

“Is he here?” Forrest asked. He peered around me, searching for his son. I stepped to the side. He wiped his feet on the mat.

“He’s working,” I said.

“Good.” He finally acknowledged me. “I see you haven’t done much with the place. Wandering around too much.”

Sometimes, I took walks through the property, telling everyone that I was getting exercise, when I was secretly searching for cash. The farm had so much cash hidden in plain sight, like they didn’t care what happened to it. A few hundred here or there. Tucked into envelopes. Shoved into cracks in the cement. Underneath rocks. Inside of a tree hollow. Everyone pretended not to see that it was just lying there. I often found myself wondering why they had that many people working for them, when some of them seemed to have nothing to do. It was almost like the Feldmans were testing them, to see if anyone would slip. Why were they all so loyal? The Feldmans couldn’t have been that deserving.

I left the money in a fast-food bag at a drop-off point where Crown Creek met the highway toward Pierce, always with some fries and a burger, in case Green was trying to get Bambi to diet again. I doubted they would catch it, and if they did, the Feldmans would investigate their employees first.

I put a hand on my hip, unconcerned that Forrest had noticed I had been exploring the property. “Was I supposed to?” I asked.

“You’re living here in my son’s house,” he said in a low voice. “I’d think you put yourself to use.” I rolled my eyes, opening my mouth to retort, but Forrest laughed. “A joke. I’m kidding. Come on, daughter.” He slapped my back and I crossed my arms. “Seriously, have you fucked him yet?”

Heat swelled in my cheeks. It must have seemed like I wasn’t trying.

“In your line of work, I expected you to be done by now.”

I wanted to punch him in the balls. There was a difference between someone who sought my services and paid for them, and a man who had agreed to an arranged marriage because his father wanted him to. It’s not like Wilder was my customer; if anything, Forrest was.

“What happened to keeping tabs on us?” I pressed my lips together in a flat line. “I thought you knew everything.”

He squared up to me, his chin lowered. “Have you fucked my son?”

I stared into his blue-gray eyes, a feature he had given to Wilder. But there was a world of difference between the two men. Both were obsessed with control, but in different ways. Forrest forced himself into a situation. Wilder held it bound, waiting for the right time.

“Of course,” I lied. “Every night.”

He smacked my back again. “Good girl,” he said. I cringed. It was so demeaning, coming from him. “If anyone can conquer him, someone like you can.”

I snorted. He acted like he knew me. “Where’s my money?” I asked.

“I told you,” he turned toward the door, readying himself to leave, “Once it’s obvious that my son can’t live without your cunt, I’ll give you your money.”

He wanted me to get Wilder pussy-addicted? That wasn’t our agreement. “I can’t control the—”

Forrest put a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, daughter. Those are the stipulations. If you want the money, you’ll make it happen.”

“Listen, father,” I snapped, “You owe me nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine—”

“It’s less than that by now,” he said.

My chest tightened. Had he caught me stealing after all?

Forrest slammed the door behind him and I groaned, hitting my palms into my sides. For a moment, I thought about running away. I didn’t have to put up with this. I shouldn’t have had to deal with someone who believed they could buy anything, including a fuck toy for their son. I could burn the bridge. Never look back.

But if I left, Green would find me, and there would be hell to pay since he likely thought I owed him every cent I had made here. And crawling back to my parents wasn’t an option. I couldn’t admit defeat. I had made the choice to leave; I was going to stick to it.

Instead, I had to figure something else out. I had to find out more about the Feldmans. It was the only way to get ahead. Each of them carried around secrets like a second skin. Even living on the property, I couldn’t find any answers, only more questions. Whenever I went past the second pasture, Sawyer, Forrest, or another rancher stopped me. Once, even Wilder did, telling me I wasn’t welcome beyond that second gate.

Wilder had warned me with those words: If you obey anything I say, don’t follow me. Maybe he didn’t think I would like what I saw. But inside, I knew I had to do something. And if following my husband down a dark, dangerous road was the only way I could get ahead, then I was going to grab my gym shoes.

I started keeping track of Wilder. He came home to eat dinner and left an hour or two later. If he ate without showering, he stayed on the farm. But if he showered, then ate dinner, that meant he was leaving, going on an ‘errand’ off of the farm.

After dinner, I took my SUV—one of the many wedding presents from my husband—making up a lie about needing something from the store. I parked in an empty field off of the Feldman Farm property, in some vacant lot with a For Sale! sign, hoping that the tall grass and the darkness hid my car.

His SUV pulled onto the road, then passed me. I started the engine.

A flash of jealousy coursed through me. I knew what this was. The way he acted—refusing to touch me, knowing that he wanted me, and never doing anything about it—made me think he was cheating. That I was somehow not good enough, and that always pissed me off. I had gotten enough crap like that from everyone else; how could he be like that too?

He parked outside of a hardware store. I pulled into a gas station parking lot, waiting for him to emerge. Once we started driving again, my heart thudded in my chest, though I didn’t know why at first. The white trunks of birch trees, the short, brick houses. A ringing coursed through my head, increasing in volume as I figured out where we were. He was driving to my parents’ house. It had been over five years since I had driven down the street.

He slowed as he passed, then parked near the playground. I circled a few times before parking too. Our house was against a grove of trees, separating us from an empty field. I hid in the back, searching for Wilder’s form, and found him nestled in the top of one of the trees: a grown man studying my family like a hawk. I quietly climbed a tree too, a bird fluttering away.

A beat-up oval table was in front of the sliding glass door. Cards and paper money were scattered across the wooden surface. It was well past ten o’clock. Dad hit the buzzer, and Mom and Fiona, my older sister, cheered. Dad laughed and moved his yellow marker across the board. He was still choosing yellow. A bowl full of mixed nuts was off to the side. Mom had an iced tea next to her hand, always in the threat zone of being spilled. Fiona moved the glass away from Mom’s flailing hand, without missing a beat in her turn. Wasn’t she supposed to be in medical school right now? She pushed a lock of loose hair behind her ear, then gestured at the board. Dark golden brown hair. Topaz eyes. One little freckle on her cheek. Like a beauty queen.

I shifted toward Wilder. Heat boiled inside of me. Was he using me to get to my sister? That had happened before, and it would happen again. But it didn’t make sense. It would be too much work to get to her through me, when Forrest could have obviously asked my sister to marry him instead. Fiona might have been a goody-two-shoes, but she wasn’t a fool; medical school was expensive.

A coldness swept through me. Even if I wanted to leave the Feldman Farm, there was nowhere I could go home too. They were better off without me.

Fiona pouted to the side. Mom shoved her marker down, lecturing her. Fiona hung her head, her eyes in her lap. Dad held his head in his hands. What was going on now?

I glanced at the neighboring trees. Wilder was gone. I had lost track of him. But I was here now, and I knew why he wasn’t telling me where he was going: because it had to do with me.

Now that I was here, I was going to use my time.

I went closer. Once I saw Fiona was alone, washing the dishes in the kitchen, I came out of the trees, hopping over the fence, waiting to see if she noticed me. She had never seen us sneak out when we were kids, but time could have changed her.

But it didn’t. Her mind was lost in a fog, like it always was. But when she headed toward her bedroom, we caught eyes and she threw a hand against her chest. She slid open the door.

She mouthed, Maisie?

I shrugged my shoulders. Hi, I mouthed back.

She stepped outside, then slid the door closed behind her.

“Where have you been?” she whisper-yelled. She threw her arms around me, smelling like dish soap. Fresh. Like home. “You look—” She tilted her head. “The hair is different. Blond?”

“I prefer to call it yellow cake.” I pointed at my dyed hair, then I motioned at the roots. “Chocolate frosting.”

“It looks good on you,” she said.

Liar, I thought.

“Why aren’t you at college? I thought you were supposed to be in medical school or something.” Though we weren’t friends on our real social media profiles, I had made a fake account to keep track of her. After undergrad, she had taken two years off, and the last time I had checked, she was in medical school now. “Why are you—”

“Mom and Dad would love to see you,” she interrupted me. “Let me—”

I grabbed her shoulders before she could move back to the house. “Don’t. They hate me.”

“That’s not true.” She grabbed my hands. “We love you. We still do. ”

I ripped my fingers out of her grip. I wasn’t a child anymore. This was irritating. She was my older sister, but I was twenty-three, not the teenager who had left years ago. I had probably done more than she had. “No one loves me,” I said, raising my voice. “I don’t even love me. You’re the perfect one. They’ve got everything they need in you.”

“I hate it when you say that,” she said. I could hear it already: I’m not perfect, Maisie. Like it was a curse that Fiona could never get rid of. “Please. I can’t keep doing this alone.”

Now she was making fun of me. My cheeks flamed. “You’re fine,” I said.

“I’m not who they want me to be either,” she said. “They miss you, Maisie. I miss you.”

“Stop,” I whispered. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Stay,” she begged. “For a little bit. Please.”

Everything inside of me was hot. I wanted to hate her so badly, but I couldn’t. Even if she was the standard that I could never achieve, her desperation made me feel guilty. It was time to go. I climbed the fence.

“Maisie,” she said, her voice quivering, “Please.”

My feet hit the dirt and weeds on the other side of the wood. I wrapped my arms around myself, the emptiness settling inside of me. I felt stupid, out of place, wearing the clothes Wilder had provided for me. Where were my fishnets? My elbow gloves? The flashy dresses? The clip-on extensions? Everything that made me, me. Everything my biological family didn’t want.

And why didn’t I care about that anymore? The constant need to rebel. To wear ridiculous clothes just to prove a point. Now, it all felt wrong.

But what would feel right?

I kept my eyes on the asphalt, heading back to my car, but as I passed the empty playground, I wandered past the equipment, heading to the trees. I slumped against a trunk, staring out at the street. When they had blocked off the Pierce Park Tunnel after an accident, I started coming out here. Snuck out every night. Got high with people I hadn’t spoken to in years. Became best friends with Bambi. Did anything I could to feel something. To make sure that I was everything my parents didn’t want. It was easier knowing that there wasn’t any chance for redemption. Never giving myself that option. And time passed that way until Bambi and I met Green. Tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them away. I didn’t know why I was crying. I had given up feeling bad for myself. I didn’t care anymore.

“You aren’t good at listening,” a throaty male voice said. Every hair on my body stood up, but before I could turn around, a hand cupped my face, my arms twisted behind my back. I grunted, pushing against the force, but that leathery, earthy scent surrounded me. Wilder. “Why are you crying?” he growled. “You feel sorry for yourself?”

“You bastard,” I said, my words muffled. He lifted his hand, letting me talk. “You’re using me for my sister—”

“Why the fuck would I want your sister?” The tension in my shoulders evaporated, and I gaped at him, a hurricane swirling inside of his eyes. Fiona was perfect, and he didn’t want her? “You have a family. A family that gave a good fucking life.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through,” I hissed.

“I know what I see. You ran away from it all. Again.”

I seethed inside of myself, every muscle tensing up. Because he was right, but I couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t let myself. I railed my fists forward, directing every blow at his chest, knowing that no matter what I did, it would never be enough. Punch after punch. He didn’t budge. Didn’t even flinch. I pulled my hair at the roots then howled as loud as I could, looking at the dark sky. Immediately, Wilder kicked my feet out from under me, knocking the wind out of me as I collapsed on the ground. I wheezed, trying to get a hold of myself. He pinned me to the grass, staring into my face.

Finally, I could breathe again. His body was pressed on top of mine, his cock bulging against me.

“We have an agreement,” I sneered. “We are legally tied to each other. Why were you following my family?” I forced a laugh. “Is it your secret way of getting to know me? Maybe you are obsessed with me! Maybe that’s the sick reason why your father sought me out!”

His hand traced my side. “You’re not wearing the perfume I bought.”

I snapped my teeth. “When I wear it, you don’t come near me and it gives me a fucking headache. You can shove it up your ass.”

His lips pulled back, revealing his teeth. A deep breath expanded his chest. Something shifted inside of him. His hand skimmed my waist through the clothes, the movement jerky like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do: hurt me, or explore me. My pussy clenched. It was the first time he had purposefully touched me like that. His bulge grew, pressing into my leg.

“I could end this right now,” he murmured.

“Go ahead,” I said. I narrowed my eyes. “Divorce me. I don’t care.”

He growled, then thrust his hand down my jeans, his fingers cupping my pussy. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. I automatically bucked my hips forward. I didn’t care how much I hated him right then; I needed his touch. He pressed a thick finger inside of my pussy, his eyes unblinking.

He wanted me. I could see it. Feel it.

I reached for his face and he flinched away. I let my hand go to his hips, tracing to his cock, and he growled, rage flashing in his eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he roared.

He whipped me around, shoving my face into the grass, thrusting his hand back down my pants as he spread my legs, fingerfucking me from behind. Like he didn’t care how uncomfortable I was, as long as he got what he wanted. A car passed on the street and I stilled, holding my breath; I was always thrilled and terrified of getting caught when I was a teenager. But Wilder didn’t stop. He kept jabbing at me, his movements harsh, like he hated me, like he didn’t know what to do to make me understand his lack of passion. But I understood. I was only a game to him: his wife transformed into an object that he could beat down under his brutality until he could discard me. My knees shook and the dew on the grass smeared my face. He pressed against my body, one hand fingerfucking me from behind and the other hand wrapped underneath me, rubbing my clit. With his nose buried in my neck, he sucked a long, sharp breath, and moaned.

Suddenly, he removed his fingers. Like I had electrocuted him. Like he had gone one step too far.

Why wouldn’t he let himself touch me?

“You will never control me,” he growled. And he left me there.