The Ruby Shackle: Bound To The Billionaire

Audie Wilcox kicked off her heels. They hit the marble floor of the side corridor with a clatter that was too loud for 2:00 AM, but her feet were screaming. She leaned against the wall, pressing her cheek against the cold plaster.

She took a breath. In. Out.

She needed to lower her heart rate. She needed to look like a girl who had just come back from a bad date with a mechanic, not an operative who had spent the last four hours assessing the perimeter security of a dive bar.

She turned to the antique mirror hanging in the hallway. She widened her eyes. She practiced the tremble of her lower lip. The "frightened doe." It was her best look. It was a look that required no words, a performance of pure, silent terror that had saved her life more than once.

The motion sensor light at the end of the hall flickered.

The smell hit her first. It wasn't the usual lemon polish the maids used. It was heavy. Acrid. Expensive tobacco.

Basil Dean was smoking indoors again.

A hand shot out from the shadows.

It was a blur of movement, black leather gripping her wrist. Audie's training screamed at her to pivot, to drive her elbow into the attacker's solar plexus, to snap the radius bone.

She didn't.

She forced her muscles to turn to water. She let out a pathetic, high-pitched gasp and slumped against the wall, letting the attacker take her weight.

"Late," a voice rasped.

Basil Dean dragged her. He didn't walk; he moved with a predatory stillness that was more unnerving than a storm, his grip on her wrist tight enough to bruise. He pulled her toward the library, past the rows of unread first editions, to the mahogany paneling in the back.

He pressed his thumb against a scanner hidden behind a bust of Caesar. A red light scanned his eye.

Beep.

The wall slid open.

He shoved her inside. Audie stumbled, catching her toe on the carpet, and fell to her knees. It was a calculated fall. Clumsy. Helpless.

The steel door hissed shut behind them, sealing them in the soundproof panic room. The air here was recycled and stale.

Basil towered over her. He looked like a wreck. His tie was undone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the pale skin of his throat. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that came from medication, not lack of sleep.

He held up a photograph.

He threw it at her face. The glossy paper fluttered down, landing on her lap.

It was a picture of her. At the diner. Smiling at Arthur, the mechanic with the grease under his fingernails.

"You smiled at him," Basil said. His voice was dangerously quiet.

Audie picked up the photo with trembling fingers. She looked from the photo up to his face, her own expression a mask of confusion and fear. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but only a choked little sound came out. She shook her head, a frantic, silent denial.

"I don't care what my mother said," he snarled, misinterpreting her silence as an unspoken appeal to his family's instructions.

Basil slammed his fist into the padded wall beside her head. Dust motes danced in the vibration.

Audie flinched, curling into a ball. She held her breath, forcing her heart to hammer against her ribs. She needed him to feel it.

He crouched down. He grabbed her chin, his leather gloves cool and smooth against her skin. He forced her to look at him. His thumb pressed into the soft hollow of her throat, right over her carotid artery.

He was checking her pulse.

Audie let the panic flood her system. She thought about the mission failing. She thought about the CIA finding her. Her heart rate spiked to 140.

Basil's eyes narrowed. He felt the erratic thrum under his thumb. The tension in his shoulders dropped an inch. He liked the fear. It grounded him. It made him feel like he wasn't the only one losing his mind.

"You don't smile at him," Basil whispered. "You don't smile at anyone like that. Only fear. You show them fear. You show me fear."

Audie squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears leaking from the corners. She gave a series of sharp, desperate nods, her body shaking. It was a promise delivered in the only language he allowed her.

She reached out, her hand shaking, and grabbed the fabric of his trousers at the knee. It was a pathetic gesture. A plea for mercy from a master.

Basil stiffened. He looked down at her hand clutching his expensive wool suit. He didn't kick her away.

He reached for the bottle of whiskey on the metal table. His hand shook-a tremor he couldn't control. He poured a glass, splashing amber liquid over the rim.

Audie watched his gait as he turned. He was favoring his left leg. The old skiing injury was flaring up in the damp weather. Information. Always information.

She crawled toward him. She pressed her face against his knee, rubbing her cheek against the fabric like a cat seeking warmth.

Basil froze. He reached down, tangling his fingers in her hair. He pulled, forcing her head back, exposing her throat.

"I could make him disappear," he said softly. "A car accident. A fire. It's so easy, Audie."

She shook her head violently, a low whimper escaping her lips. "No," she whispered, the single word raspy from disuse. "Please."

"Then take it off."

Audie blinked. Her eyes asked the question. "What?"

"The dress. It smells like cheap diner food and another man's lust."

Audie reached for the zipper on her back. The sound of the cheap polyester parting was loud in the silence. She let the dress pool at her waist.

She was wearing generic cotton underwear. Her body was covered in fake bruises-makeup she applied every morning to sell the narrative of a clumsy, abused girl.

Basil stared at the marks. His eyes were dark, unreadable. He wasn't looking at her with desire, but with possession. Like she was a broken toy that belonged only on his shelf.

He stripped off his white dress shirt and threw it at her.

"Put it on."

She scrambled to obey, buttoning the oversized shirt with fumbling fingers. It smelled like him. Sandalwood and distress.

The steel door slid open.

"Go," Basil said, turning his back to her. "Tomorrow, the mechanic is gone."

Audie grabbed her dress and ran. She didn't look back. But as soon as the door sealed shut, her posture straightened. The fear vanished from her eyes, replaced by a cold, hard zero.

Audie sprinted down the second-floor corridor. The marble was cold under her bare feet. She clutched the ball of her cheap dress against her chest, Basil's oversized shirt billowing around her thighs.

She paused at the corner, using the reflection in a gilded oil painting to check the hall. Clear.

She turned the corner.

"Miss Wilcox?"

The voice was sharp. Precise.

Audie spun around. Corine Morrow stood in the shadows of the alcove, wearing a silk robe that cost more than Audie's entire cover identity. As Basil's stepsister and the co-trustee of his estate, Corine's perfectly coiffed grey hair and laser-like gaze were a more constant threat than Basil's mercurial moods.

Audie gasped, clutching the bundled dress higher to cover the fact that she was wearing her stepbrother's shirt.

Corine's eyes were like lasers. They swept over Audie's disheveled hair, the bare legs, and landed on the dress in her hands.

There was a dark, wet stain on the fabric.

It was whiskey. Basil had spilled it when his hand shook.

Corine stepped closer. Her nose wrinkled. "Is that... alcohol?"

If Corine knew Basil was drinking, she'd up his medication. She'd lock him down tighter. Audie would lose her access.

Audie shook her head frantically, her face burning red. She couldn't risk speaking, couldn't risk her voice betraying the lie she was about to construct. "No, ma'am," Audie stammered, forcing the words out as if they were stones in her throat. "It's... it's BBQ sauce."

Corine raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"The... date," Audie whispered, her gaze fixed on her own bare feet. "I was nervous. I squeezed the burger too hard. The sauce... it went everywhere. It was so embarrassing. That's why I came back through the side door. I didn't want anyone to smell me."

She held the dress out slightly. The smell of the cheap, fruity shampoo Audie used wafted up, masking the faint note of scotch.

Corine stared at her. Disgust curled her lip. It was the look one gave to a dog that had rolled in mud.

"BBQ sauce," Corine repeated. "How... quaint."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Morrow. I'll wash it immediately."

"See that you do. And Miss Wilcox?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Has my stepbrother been... difficult tonight? I heard noises from the library."

It was a trap. Corine was fishing.

Audie shrank into herself. "He yelled at me, ma'am," she mumbled, the lie tasting like ash. "He said I didn't dust the shelves properly. He threw a book."

Corine relaxed. This fit her narrative. Basil was unstable. Basil needed her control.

"Go to bed, child. And try to elevate your standards. You represent this house now."

"Yes, ma'am."

Audie scurried away, forcing herself to trip over her own feet near the stairs. She heard Corine sigh.

She reached her room in the servants' quarters. It was small, windowless. She locked the door and went straight to the bathroom sink.

She threw the dress in and poured bleach over the stain. She scrubbed until her knuckles were raw.

She looked in the mirror. The frightened girl was gone. The Auditor stared back.

She reached behind the toilet tank and pulled out a waterproof bag. Inside was a micro-tablet.

She booted it up. Her fingers flew across the screen.

Target: Basil Dean. Financials.

There were small, erratic movements in the offshore accounts. Tiny transfers that looked like errors. But to Audie, they were a pattern. He wasn't just drinking in that safe room. He was moving capital.

He was building a war chest.

Outside, a dog barked. Duchess. Basil's Doberman.

Audie shut down the tablet and hid it. She lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling. Basil Dean wasn't just a paranoid recluse. He was planning a coup.

And she was standing right in the blast zone.

The sunroom was blindingly bright.

Audie stood on a ladder, wiping the floor-to-ceiling glass. Her arm ached, but the rhythmic motion was grounding. Through the glass, she could see the manicured gardens. Basil was out there, walking Duchess. He was limping.

"Audie, come down from there."

Corine sat at the wrought-iron table, sipping tea from bone china. She looked benevolent today.

Audie climbed down. She missed the last step and stumbled.

"Careful," Corine chided gently. She placed a slip of paper on the table. "For the dress. And for your... trouble last night."

Audie picked it up. A check for five hundred dollars.

She widened her eyes. She looked at Corine and shook her head, pushing the check back across the table.

"Nonsense. A girl needs to look presentable. I can't have you walking around smelling like fast food," Corine insisted, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Basil has been under a lot of pressure with the asset freeze. If he takes it out on you, just know it's the illness talking."

Audie gave a small, reluctant nod, leaving the check on the table.

The glass door slid open.

Basil walked in. Duchess strained at the leash, barking ferociously at Audie.

Audie shrieked and ducked behind Corine's chair.

"Control that beast, Basil!" Corine snapped.

Basil shortened the leash. He looked pale, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill morning air. His eyes landed on the check on the table.

"What is that?"

"Compensation," Corine said. "For the dress you ruined."

Basil walked over. He snatched the check from the table.

"Basil!" Corine gasped.

He ripped the check in half. Then into quarters. He let the confetti rain down onto the pristine tile.

"Deans don't give handouts to beggars," he sneered.

Audie whimpered, covering her face with her hands.

"She needs clothes, Basil," Corine said, her voice tight.

"Then I will buy them," Basil said. He stared at Audie, his gaze burning through her fingers. "I decide what she wears. I decide what she owns. She doesn't take money from anyone else. Is that clear?"

"You're being irrational," Corine said, reaching for the bell to summon the nurse. "You need your morning dose."

Basil leaned in close to Audie, under the pretense of intimidating her.

"Library. Tonight," he murmured. The sound was barely a breath. "Come collect what you're owed."

He straightened up and stormed out, dragging the growling dog with him.

Audie fled to the kitchen. Her heart was pounding, but not from fear.

She found a corner near the pantry where the cameras had a blind spot. She wiped her dry eyes.

Basil wasn't being irrational. He was cutting off her supply lines. He wanted her dependent solely on him.

She looked up at the corner of the ceiling. A new camera blinking red.

He was watching. Everywhere.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from an unknown number. Arthur.

Hey. I know last night was weird. But the fair is in town this weekend. Maybe we could try again? No BBQ sauce this time. :)

Audie's thumb hovered over the delete button. Basil had warned her.

She deleted the message.