Her Master's Teacher Read online

  HER MASTER’S TEACHER

  A novel by Lily White

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Her Master’s Teacher: Copyright © 2014 by Lily White

  Cover: Cover Me Darling

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-0-9915666-9-3

  Other Books by Lily White

  Her Master’s Courtesan

  (Book 1 of the Masters Series)

  Target This

  Hard Roads

  Serial

  (co-written with Jaden Wilkes)

  “This book is dedicated to those who are not afraid to stare into the abyss.”

  PROLOGUE

  She caught my attention the first day I was seated in her class.

  Her dark red hair fell in waves down her back and her alabaster skin appeared to sparkle under the lights of the lecture hall.

  I’d admired her from a distance, never speaking or doing anything to draw attention to myself. Class was always boring, a repetition of facts about the human psyche that I’d learned in my training within an illustrious career that a select few have held before me. However, education was required and I was forced into this brightly lit room to sit amongst those I considered as nothing more than chattel.

  Each day that I spent watching her, I noticed how her eyes would flick up to me. She was weary of me, frightened, and she had reason to be. I’m a trained predator; a man who has been taught the fine art of my trade. Not every person in my business is like me. We each have our own style, our own flair. Whereas others have an air of power and prestige, I prefer to use my youthful looks and a dimpled smile to lure and enrapture. I resemble innocence, even though I am anything but…

  Allow me to introduce myself.

  My name is Holland Strong and at 21 years old, I’m the youngest man training to be a Master within a society of wealthy and influential men. My training began early and I’m considered a potential savant within the society.

  Claire Elliot is my psychology professor in college; that is, at least, until I make her my first courtesan. I didn’t intend this when I first sat in her class, but after one particular lecture, I could no longer resist.

  She believes she knows everything about how the mind works and I believe I can prove her wrong.

  This journey will be a test of intellectual superiority and Claire will be the ultimate challenge…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Holland

  “Stockholm Syndrome…”

  She paced at the lower stage in the auditorium. Students sat in seats that rose up and around the stage, each person’s attention focused on the lovely woman that taught psychology at an elite college. Her steps weren’t hurried and she appeared deep in thought as she paced the floor. I’d not paid attention to her for most of the hour I spent in her class this afternoon, but those two words – they forced my eyes from scrolling through the internet on my phone.

  “Many of you may have heard of this phenomena. It’s not typically a discussion or lecture I use in my mid-level psych classes.” She stopped suddenly, turning to look up at the attentive students in their seats. “However, given the recent media coverage on subjects regarding human trafficking and enslavement, I thought this could be a popular theory to discuss.”

  My chair squeaked when I straightened my posture and her eyes shot up, looking in my direction. This was nothing new. She watched me constantly. When her eyes met mine, I smiled and she looked away immediately.

  “It’s widely believed that Stockholm Syndrome occurs when a victim of abuse falls ‘in love’ with their abuser. This could be a victim of domestic abuse, a captive, a human slave or even a hostage of a bank robbery or other type of crime. In fact¸ it was from that last scenario that the phenomena received its name. What we’re going to talk about today are the other underlying elements of this phenomena; the bits and pieces that have been deciphered and labeled as features of the syndrome by the psychologists and doctors that have studied its effects. Stockholm Syndrome is not just the ability of an abuser to somehow enrapture their victim…there is a systematic approach used by the abusers to bring about the mind frame necessary in the victim in order for the syndrome to take effect.”

  She started to pace again, allowing the students time to absorb what she said. I nodded my head at her words, inwardly agreeing with what she’d taught so far. It wasn’t until she spoke again that the challenge of her words ignited interest inside me.

  “More so than the specific actions of an abuser to create the feelings within the victim, it can be the mentality of the victim themselves that determines whether they will eventually ‘bond’ with their abuser. Many believe Stockholm is a defense mechanism; a way for the victim of abuse to protect their own ego against the wrongs they have suffered.”

  Turning towards the class, she raised her head up to look once again at the students’ expressions.

  “I believe, and this is just my theory, that if a person is able to understand the mechanics of how Stockholm works, a person can take steps to prevent it from occurring within them if they find themselves in an abusive or captive situation.”

  I chuckled at her theory. Her eyes flashed up at me again, but immediately moved to look away.

  “In a situation where you are being abused, it’s important to remember what your abuser will do. There are methods to the madness, so to say, and I’ll list them for your now.”

  She paused as the students picked up their pens or readied their laptops to take notes. Her eyes remained on everybody but me and I smiled as I sat back in my seat. I was ready to take notes as well. This once boring and monotonous class had just become interesting.

  “First and foremost, an abuser will attempt to limit your communication with the outside world. They will isolate you in order to ensure that their views and opinions are the only things to which you have access. This is important to the abuser. They do not want any outside influence that could remind you that what they are doing is wrong.”

  I nodded again. Aiden had demonstrated that fact numerous times. The separation from their former identity…a life they could no longer cling to in order to avoid their fate. So far, Claire was correct.

  “Additionally, an abuser will show small bits of kindness: gifts, small favors, a caring touch. They do this after wearing the mind down, to make the victim believe they are not all bad. They may offer small bits of information about themselves; sad tales that will make the victim feel sorry for them or believe there is an excuse or reason for the way the abuser is acting.”

  Chuckling again, I drew her attention. She stared at me long and hard this time, anger seeping out behind the sparkling color of her eyes. Even from a distance, they were striking.

  “Are you finding something funny, Mr. Strong?”

  My eyebrows rose up on my forehead from shock at her question and I flashed a dimpled grin in her direction. Clearing my throat, I spoke in a loud voice to ensure she could hear my response.

  “Not at all, Ms. Elliot. I find your analysis quite educational, which is to be expected in this environment. Please, I’d love for you to continue. I apologize for my immaturity in laughing during such an enlightening lecture. I agree with your ‘theory’ and was only chuckling in realization that such tactics would never work on me if I was taken hostage or abused.”

  She eyed me, he
r face searching my expression for any indication that I was lying. She was smart and it only made me more interested to discover how her mind worked. Strong women were attractive. They were a challenge; one that I couldn’t help but accept.

  Looking away from me, she walked briskly across the stage to sit on the edge of her desk. Her pencil skirt slipped up her leg to bunch over her thigh, revealing the smooth skin beneath. Holding a blank expression, I couldn’t help but concentrate on that small hint of the body hidden beneath her clothes while listening to her lecture.

  Her words mattered very little to me, and quite frankly, the subject was comical. Many people wished to believe that their minds couldn’t be warped or manipulated if placed in a situation where they had no control. Unfortunately for them, they were wrong.

  Having trained as a Master since reaching the age of eighteen, I had not only witnessed, but also participated in the systematic breakdown of a human being. Man or woman, it didn’t matter. The sequence was the same and the results were always exactly as we’d planned them to be.

  I was the protégé of the most revered Master within a small group of affluent men. Aiden Oliver was a ruthless bastard in a polished suit. He had no morality to speak of; just a clear-cut idea of money and how to make himself wealthier with each passing hour. I admired him for his tenacity in business. He was a sharp mind blended seamlessly with a firm hand.

  “Okay class, it appears we only have a few more minutes before time is up. It’s unfortunate that I have to assign you all work to complete over Spring Break, but with only one more class prior to the break, I want to give you the assignment now in case you have questions during the next lecture.”

  Claire Elliot’s words broke me from my musings and I pulled out my phone to record her instructions for the assignment. In truth, I couldn’t give two shits about the degree that I was being forced to accomplish. Education had no meaning when being a Master was all I would ever need to support myself. However, Aiden was a strict son of a bitch and required higher education for every man he trained; namely, me.

  “I would like for all of you to research Stockholm Syndrome and how it relates to three different areas: crime, domestic violence, and human trafficking. You can use recent events if you like. However, I recommend you research older events so that you can obtain specific information that has been released to the public. Current events will be difficult due to information being withheld for ongoing investigations. You may NOT use the event from which the syndrome received its name.”

  She winked at the class and murmured laughter flowed across the room in response.

  “I will not make this easy on you and allow you to use the Norrmalmstorg Robbery because the analysis has already been performed for you. The paper needs to be 1500 words with a bibliography and at least, but you are not limited to, five references.”

  I raised my hand with a pressing question in mind. Begrudgingly, she glanced up at me, nodding her head to indicate for me to speak.

  Plastering a wicked smile on my face, I asked, “Are we allowed to use personal experience for our papers or is this solely limited to stories that have played out in the media?”

  Her eyes blinked heavily, one beat then two, before she answered, “I prefer media stories, Mr. Strong. It is my hope that you’ve not endured a situation tragic enough to qualify as having been abused to a point of submission and loyalty.”

  My grin widened when she looked away and I called out, “One more question, Ms. Elliot.”

  Returning her attention to me, I saw apprehension written into her expression. She didn’t like me, which made her that much more attractive. “Will you be keeping your regular office hours up until the first day of break?” I kept my voice cordial, not wanting to arouse suspicion in the other students.

  “Of course.” Looking back at the class, she added, “If any of you have questions or issues regarding the assignment, please see me during my business hours. There’s no need to make an appointment.” Her eyes flicked to me for a split second before she returned her attention to the class. “Come in at any time. I love surprise visits.”

  Chapter Two

  Claire

  The leather of my briefcase slapped against the wood surface of my desk as the weight of my body hit the chair. Glancing across the desk, I saw the curious brown eyes of my friend and co-worker, Julia Chase. She held a piece of paper in her hand that she was reading before looking up at me, her brown eyes staring out from behind the pink framed glasses she wore.

  “Did you see this memo that was emailed to the personnel and students? Apparently the school’s security system went out last night. They have no surveillance out in the parking lot and won’t have it working again until after the break.” Chuckling, she added, “All students and teachers are supposed to leave before sundown. That’s comical, considering the last class doesn’t end until 9:00 at night.”

  Without returning her humor, I said, “It could be dangerous. They should fix the problem faster. It’s not uncommon for women to be attacked in parking lots on college campuses.”

  The frustration I was feeling must have been obvious in my voice. Her eyebrows narrowed between her eyes and she placed the paper on my desk.

  “Bad day?”

  The question made me laugh. “Yeah, something like that.” My thoughts returned to the classroom and the questions that Holland Strong had asked. “Let me ask you something. Do you have any students this year that seem ‘off’ to you?”

  Confusion furrowed her brow when she answered, “Is somebody bothering you?”

  Shaking my head, I sighed, not fully understanding the feeling that came over me every time I was in the same room as Holland Strong. “Not bothering me, just giving me an odd feeling.”

  She sat back against her chair, bringing her hands together in front of her. “Oooh, who are we talking about? I never get any interesting students. Just math geeks that get excited over the newest graphing calculator on the market.”

  Laughing at the visual of grown men excitedly playing with electronics, I said, “Well, that’s because you’re a math geek…”

  Lifting a finger, she interrupted, “Math Goddess, thank you very much. There’s a difference. It’s not my fault the universe implanted a calculator in my brain.” Smiling sweetly, she waved me on, requesting I continue. “So, who is the student and what did they do to bother you?”

  Sighing again, I confessed, “Holland Strong.”

  Her eyes widened at the name. “Holland Strong? Tall, broad shoulders? Insanely sexy Holland Strong? The same Holland Strong that I would happily sacrifice my career to spend one night with? That Holland Strong?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No.”

  I chuckled at her immediate response, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “Seriously, Claire. How is he bothering you? I’m mean, sure, he’s obviously an arrogant prick, but when he was in my class, he didn’t do anything more than crack a couple jokes. Other than that, he aced all of the homework, projects and tests and didn’t complain even once. He seems like the perfect student.”

  He was the same in my class. Always acing all of his work, never causing problems, but there was still … something. I couldn’t put my finger on it and I felt stupid for having brought it up at all. “Maybe I’m just being overly analytical today.”

  “Or prudish. You haven’t been with a man in four years, woman. Maybe it’s all the sexy that rolls off that guy that’s getting to you.”

  Chuckling, I appeased her, “Yeah, maybe.”

  A knock on the door interrupted our conversation and I immediately called out, “Come in.”

  The knob twisted slowly and the old, wooden door creaked. A man’s boot stepped inside, my eyes traveling up the length of his tall body to land squarely on the pimple pocked face of my youngest student. A genius, Marcus graduated high school with a full ride scholarship at the ripe age of fifteen. Still going through puberty, he not only
excelled in my class, but also left the other students in the dust. All students, that is, except for Holland Strong.

  “Hi. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Of course not, Marcus. I said my office has an open door. Please come in.”

  Julia stood up, reaching down to the other chair to retrieve her bag. “I’ll talk to you later, Claire.”

  Nodding goodbye, I turned my attention to Marcus. “How can I assist you, Marcus?” I noticed that he stood back with his shoulders hunched over like a scared animal. His beady eyes tracked Julia as she crossed the room. He liked her. That much was obvious and I smiled at the obvious adoration in his expression.

  Julia finally disappeared through the doorway and Marcus shook himself back into the present situation. He noticed my attention and blushed with embarrassment. “Sorry, Ms. Elliot. What did you ask again?”

  Stifling my laughter, I answered, “How can I help you?”

  Pulling the strap of his backpack up onto his shoulder, he crossed the room, taking a seat in the chair Julia had previously occupied. “I need to talk to you about the Spring Break assignment. I’m not sure I can have it completed by…”

  Three quick knocks against the door and I looked up into the emerald green eyes of Holland Strong. Sparkling with something I didn’t recognize, he looked down at me with a mouth that was pulled into a seductive grin. His body relaxed against the doorframe and the black thin sweater that he wore hugged each perfectly toned muscle of his body.

  Clearing my throat, I swallowed down the emotion he conjured in me. It was a distinct feeling: fear mixed with curiosity. Looking at him was like looking into the beautiful face of temptation.

  “Mr. Strong.”

  He smiled brighter, his eyes never wavering from how intently they held mine.

  “I’m interrupting. I can wait outside until Marcus is finished.” Smooth and far more polished than it should have been at his age, the way he spoke denoted an air of refinement that typically came with a man well into his late thirties or forties. It was pure confidence that I heard in the tone of his voice. Nothing shy or unsure like most of the students I’d known.