The second bodyguard—Mateo, I assumed—approached with what looked like a pink collar in his hands. Before I could react, he fastened it around my neck. It was soft leather lined with some kind of silky material, but unmistakably a collar. A small metal tag dangled from the front, catching the light as I looked down at it in horror.
“Property of Daddy Jax,” I read aloud, my voice barely a whisper.
“That’s right,” Jax said, reaching down to fondle my breast. “You’re Daddy’s little fuck toy now.”
CHAPTER 3
Louisa
Jax’s bodyguards—Rudy and Mateo—were efficient and professional as they escorted me from Walker’s apartment. They wrapped me in a soft blanket before leading me through a private service elevator to a waiting black SUV with tinted windows. Neither spoke beyond giving me basic instructions, and I was too shocked to resist or even ask questions. The collar around my neck felt like an anchor.
I’d been sold. Like property. Like a fucking pet.
The drive was short, maybe fifteen minutes through downtown streets. I stared out the window, watching normal people living their normal lives, wondering irrationally if any of them could tell what was happening inside this vehicle. A college girl who’d made one bad decision after another, now being transported to some rich pervert’s lair with his cum drying on her face.
We pulled into an underground garage beneath a sleek high-rise that I recognized as one of the most expensive buildings in thecity. Mateo opened my door and helped me out with surprising gentleness.
“This way, miss,” he said, guiding me toward another private elevator.
“Where exactly are we going?” I finally asked, my voice sounding small and broken even to my own ears.
“Mr. Walton’s penthouse,” Rudy answered, pressing his thumb against a biometric scanner beside the elevator door. “Well, Daddy Jax to you. Top three floors of the building.”
Of course this fucker had a penthouse. Three floors of one, apparently.
The elevator ascended silently, opening directly into a vast foyer with gleaming marble floors and artwork that probably cost more than four years of the college education I’d never finish now. Rudy led me through what seemed like an endless series of rooms, each more opulent than the last. The place was like a museum—cold, perfect, untouchable.
Finally, we entered what was clearly the master bedroom. The space was dominated by an enormous bed with a dark wood frame that looked sturdy enough to withstand a hurricane—or whatever kinky shit my new ‘owner’—I swallowed hard… my newdaddy—had planned. The sheets were charcoal gray, the comforter a slightly lighter shade, everything coordinated in masculine neutrals.
“Please sit on the edge of the bed,” Mateo instructed.
I obeyed, too numb to fight. The blanket slipped open, exposing my nakedness, but I couldn’t even summon the energy to care anymore.
“Arms out, please,” Rudy said, producing what looked like pink leather cuffs from a drawer in the nightstand.
“Is this really necessary?” I asked, but extended my wrists anyway. What was the point of resistance now?
“Your daddy’s instructions were very specific,” Mateo replied, fastening the cuffs around my wrists. They were lined with some soft material that prevented them from chafing, which somehow made the whole thing worse. My captor—another swallow, another involuntary mental correction… mydaddy—had invested in quality restraints. This wasn’t a whim for him; this clearly represented a lifestyle.
They attached the cuffs to each other with metal clips, then to the bedpost with a short chain, positioning me so I was sitting on the edge of the mattress with my bound hands in my naked lap. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly helpless.
“Now we need to clean you up,” Rudy said, disappearing into what I assumed was an en-suite bathroom. He returned with a basin of warm water and a soft cloth.
“Please,” I whispered as Mateo held my hair back and Rudy began to gently wash my body. “What’s going to happen to me?”
The men exchanged a glance, some unspoken communication passing between them.
“It’s not our place to say, miss,” Mateo finally answered. “Your daddy will explain as much as he wants you to know, when he arrives.”
“But… what kind of man is he?” I pressed, desperate for any information that might help me understand my situation or plan an escape.
They continued washing me in silence, carefully avoiding my face where Jax’s cum was still drying in tacky streaks. The gentle way they cleaned between my legs made me want to die of shame. When they finished, Rudy set the basin aside while Mateo combed my hair, working through the tangles with surprising care.
“How many other girls has he… acquired?” I asked, the word sticking in my throat.
Another glance between them.
“You should save your questions for your daddy,” Rudy said, his tone gentle but firm.
