I’ll need gear; lock picks, a silencer, a burner comms unit. I’ve already stashed most of it in a safe house two blocks from the compound. I’ll go light—no backup, no noise. This isn’t a siege. It’s a ghost operation.
Get in. Get her. Get out.
I pause, staring at the name I’ve circled on the floor plan: Lot 27.
That’s where they’re keeping her. I can feel it.
I flip to a fresh page and write it again, like a vow; Nell. Room 27. 2:17 a.m.
I close the notebook and sit back, the weight of it all pressing down on me. If I fail, she disappears. If I hesitate, she breaks. And if I die—well, at least I’ll die trying to bring her home.
I’ll use the auction as a sweep—get a feel for the layout, the security, the rhythm of the place. Blueprints are useful, but real eyes on the ground? That’s where the difference between success and failure lives.
Then I’ll strike.
If I move fast enough, I can still preserve my alias—stay embedded, dig deeper into the ring once Nell is safe. I’ll be in a position to save more of them. To dismantle this operation from the inside.
And when the time’s right, I’ll take the Broker down myself.
Piece by fucking piece.
I can’t stare at the screen any longer. My eye has been struggling for days now, and the constant glare of artificial light only makes it worse. The blindness is creeping in—slow and steady. I’m learning to live with it, one blurred day at a time.
I collapse onto the hotel bed. The mattress is too firm, the pillow too soft, but I don’t care. It’s enough.
But rest doesn’t come.
My mind drifts—always—to Nell. To the night I lost her. I remember the way she looked at me, the way her fingers curled into my shirt like she didn’t want to let go. I wanted her then—wanted to lose myself in her, like I had before. Not just for the heat of it, but for the connection. The grounding. The truth of her.
I miss her scent. Her voice. The way she saw through me like no one else ever could.
And when I get her back—when, notif—I’ll make sure she knows exactly what she means to me.
I flick back through my phone to the night she pleasured herself on her bed with that damned toy. The way her back arched into it, the way her teeth dragged over her bottom lip.
Fuck. I need her back.
My dick is growing uncomfortably hard, just as desperate to be back inside her as I am. And before I grow sexually frustrated as well as emotionally battered, I fist my dick punishingly. This isn’t a casual wank, this is a demand for release.
I want it to be over, because until I have her back in my arms, safe, this isn’t a good use of my time. My movements are punishing, pulling down a little too forcefully.
Right now though, I need the pain. I need to feel something other than grief and anger.
I watch her over and over on repeat, wishing it could be a live stream, that all of this could be over. I grip tighter, forcingmyself to endure the uncomfortableness of it, because I need to hurt.
My balls tighten, but I’m not ready yet. I jerk my hand faster, imagining it’s her riding my cock, imagining the way her hands will grip into my chest, and she’ll moan my name.
I still remember how tight she was, how her body accommodated me, how wet she was for me. Iwillmake her feel like that again. I know it.
I’m going to show her how good it feels to be tied up, utterly defenceless, and be forced to orgasm over and over again. I’ll show her the darkest side of myself, the one even Kyla retreated from, and I know Nell will embrace it. She’ll let me do whatever I want to her body without making me feel weird for doing it.
Christ, that woman tied to a spreader rack will be a sight…
I come before I have chance to grab a tissue, my release squirting over my stomach, leaving me sticky and used up. It’ll do for now. It’s scratched the itch and cleared my mind enough that tomorrow I can focus back on my work.
As long as I last longer than that when I see her again, we’re all good. No two minute wonders when she’s back.
I just wish it was her mouth around my cock and not my own damn hand.
