Read Online Mind of the Phoenix by Jamie McLachlan - Free Book Online Page A

a frequent visitor of the pleasure house, and in fact his face seems vaguely familiar, with its broad forehead and dimpled chin. He’s not a previous client of mine, but he’s paid for the services of a concubine. I look down at his large hands and know that they have bruised several women in the past. This man enjoys exercising his authority—not justice—and is one of the reasons why I have such low regard for the police. There’s not a moral bone in that burly body of his, and his mind tastes dark and weak, like that of a person who spends more time exercising his bodily wishes than expanding his mind. When I look up into his eyes, I see that he has quickly summed up his assumptions of my character with a similar negative slant. I’m a woman, a concubine, and an object to satiate his desires.
    “What’s your name?” I ask, trying to subdue my hostility.
    “Constable Bradford.” He tilts his head in mock greeting.
    “Well, Constable Bradford, I’m going to bathe,” I tell him, and he gestures for me to lead the way.
    As I’m forced to walk in front of him, I can feel his eyes watching my ass as he follows behind me, and I grit my teeth. All I can smell is the cloying scent of his desire, and my stomach rolls with revulsion. When I enter the bathroom and try to close the door behind me, Constable Bradford puts out his hand and stops me. He grins as if he is privy to something that I’m not.
    “The detective has instructed me to follow you everywhere .”
    “Is that so?”
    He nods and enters the room, closing the door behind him. He’s lying, but there’s not much I can do. I could refuse to bathe, but my defiant nature scoffs at the idea of showing this man that he has control over me. So, instead, I undress even though his eyes are on me as he sits in the corner of the room. As he watches me bathe, he shifts in his seat and adjusts the front of his pants. The perverted bastard is aroused. I can either seethe in rage as his eyes linger over my breasts, allowing him to feel as if he’s in control, or I can assert my dominance over him. Isn’t that what the detective said? There are the weak and the strong, and with every human encounter there is the role of the dominant and the submissive. I want to dominate this man with the use of persuasion, not indulge in his sexual fantasies. I plan to command him.
    In the boudoir, a concubine uses persuasion to cast an illusion so that the person sees blonde hair instead of brown, or a different face entirely. The empath doesn’t need to be extraordinarily gifted with persuasion because the client agrees to be put under an illusion. And even though it can be difficult to trick someone into seeing something that isn’t in front of them when they haven’t agreed, it’s one of the easier feats of persuasion. A more difficult persuasion that not many empaths can do doesn’t alter a person’s perception of their senses, but rather alters their thoughts. It is the sort of game that the Phoenix is playing by compelling his victims to either commit suicide or murder. I don’t plan to go to that extent with Constable Bradford, but it doesn’t mean I can’t play with him in the manner in which he has played me. He has the advantage of brute force, but I have the power to unravel his mind with one touch.
    I give him my best seductive smile and languidly rise from the water so that my breasts rest on the edge of the tub. “Do you mind passing me my towel?”
    He’s looking at me with confidence and desire as he rises from his seat. I don’t need to read his mind to know that he’s aroused, and I continue to smile at him as if to say, “I’m weak and you’re in control.” He has the towel in his hand, but he’s not going to give it to me. He wants something else, and that’s fine because I, too, want something other than the towel. He thinks that I’m powerless; that the worst I could do is make him think he sees a different woman or read his thoughts. But,