VIP section? I’d been reading this site for years and had never heard of a VIP section. I hovered my cursor over the registration link and then paused. Even though this place had seen me through some tough times, I was ashamed to frequent it. Becoming a VIP was doubling down on it, falling deeper into the rabbit hole.

But what if this was the one thing that could help me with Audrey? Shouldn’t I just get over my humiliation and do it? After all, didn’t I always say that I would do anything for her?

With a sharp nod of resolve, I clicked the link and entered the invite code. Almost immediately, a smaller window popped open, reading: Welcome! Congratulations on becoming one of the elite. I keyed in the URL from the direct message and found a post in the VIP Forums titled “Full Access.”

Fellow Exposers, there’s been a lot of discussion about RATs here. If you’re looking for that information, or if you’re just wondering what the fuck a RAT is (remote administration tool, for the uninitiated), you’re in the right place. Below is my guide for setting up a tool on a slave’s computer so you can watch them all the time. So easy a trained monkey could do it.

I reread that paragraph, my skin slowly alighting in flames. You can watch them all the time. In my mind’s eye, I saw Audrey in her apartment, slowly shedding her clothing in an unintentional, unself-conscious striptease. Twisting that long, fire-laced hair up to expose her thin, pale neck. The temptation was almost too much. My palms sweat; saliva filled my mouth.

Heart pounding, I slammed the computer shut.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CAT

Catherine.”

Panic shot through my already rattled body when I heard Bill Hannover’s voice booming from my office doorway. Bill had requested that a memo on a complex procedural issue be on his desk by the time he arrived this morning, and I was still working on it at almost noon. I couldn’t believe I had blown this deadline. I’d never been late with work product, not ever, and certainly not when it mattered this much. If I dropped the ball on this, Bill would never put me on the Phillips trial team, let alone select me as the associate to argue in court.

“Where’s that memo?” he asked, an undercurrent of impatience belying his otherwise calm voice. “The deadline to file our motion is Friday. I need that research.”

“I know,” I said, nerves making my voice squeak like a cartoon character. “You’ll have it within the hour. It’s almost finished.”

It really was almost finished. The problem was that it had been almost finished all morning. Over the last two days, I had read dozens upon dozens of cases, plus all the applicable statutes and legal treatises, and had compiled a highly detailed outline highlighting the most relevant issues. Writing the memo itself should have been a breeze. At midnight, with all but the last section drafted, I had decided to take a break. I’d set my alarm for five o’clock, thinking that a few hours of sleep and a clear head would let me finish the memo in just an hour or two. My plan was solid. I should have handed in the memo on time and still felt refreshed for the rest of my day.