by Keri Lake
“Christian thing? What the hell church did you go to?” I spit back, still wriggling to get loose.
“One more merciful than yours, apparently.”
“This is why … you didn’t ask … my name.”
“What?”
Realizing my fight is futile, I still beneath him. “Back at the cave. I found it odd that you introduced yourself, but didn’t bother to ask my name. I figured you didn’t want to know, for some reason. But you already knew, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Who is your contact at Szolen?”
“I’m not telling you that.”
“Why? So you can keep the business of selling women? Tell me!”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s dead.”
Dead? “Who? Who’s dead?” I turn my head to the side, unable to see his face from this angle.
“Gwen.”
Pieces of two completely different puzzles float around inside my head as I try to make the connection between him and the woman I traveled with. “Did you plan to sell her off, too?”
“Not important. Why’d the Rager sniff you?”
He saw that? “You presume I know what the hell a Rager is thinking before it decides to rape me?”
“It wasn’t gonna rape you.”
“How would you know?”
“Only time they do that is if something’s wrong with you.”
Wrong with me. What the hell could be so wrong with me that a Rager would cast me aside as unworthy? It’s a question that has me laughing on the inside, in spite of my urge to cry right now. “You watched it. You waited to see if it would?”
“Was curious, is all.”
“You really are a piece of shit.”
“All the more reason to rid yourself of me, don’t you think?”
My body jerks, as he pushes off me and hops over the edge of the truck, before tugging the rope hard enough to yank me toward him. Once close enough, he lifts me out of the bed of the truck and sets me down.
“You try anything tricky, and I’ll put a bullet in your back.”
“Thought I was worth more than that.”
“As long as you’re alive.” He cuts the rope and takes hold of the small stretch of chain between my shackles, jerking me behind him.
“Oh, my. Oh, my!” The woman lifts her dark sunglasses and rests her palms against her cheeks, her eyes appraising me. “She is a vision!” Her face hardens, eyes narrowing on the men surrounding me. “You didn’t lay one finger on her, I hope.”
“Not a one, ma’am. She’s untouched. You have my word.”
Brows winged up in sympathy, she shakes her head, and before I can stop her, pulls me into her too-big breasts for a suffocating embrace. “Poor child. You look exhausted. In need of a more civilized meal, and out of the company of brutes. Am I right?”
Hands still at my shoulders, she takes a step back, relieving me of her unwelcome hug. Without taking her eyes off me, she kicks her head to the side. “Henry, remove these shackles from her wrists.”
Eyes flitting to the exceptionally brawny man behind her, I rub my aching wrist. “He can do that?”
“He’s a thief by trade.”
“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am,” Sam says, and what I wouldn’t give to turn around and punch him square in the face right now. “She might try to run.”
“She might. That is the nature of free will. Now, take your measly little earnings and be off with you.”
The beastly man behind her nabs the chain with one hand and, after fishing into his pocket with the other, produces a small knife that he flips open. As he goes to work on the locks of my shackles, Sam and the others gather up the stacked crates that appear to be filled with supplies. The currency out here in the Deadlands, it seems, along with young virgin women.
Too bad I’m not a virgin.
“I’ll see you around. Thalia.” Sam’s voice is like ground glass scraping across my eardrum, and I don’t bother to look back, as he and his men pack up the last of the crates.
The first shackle falls from my wrist, the way my arm flies backward making me realize their burdensome weight. Behind me, the truck’s engine fires up, and just like that, I’m at the mercy of Madame Beaumont. She knows I won’t run. Where would a girl, with no training in survival out here, hide away? And what would I do with myself, if I did manage to escape her?
No. She knows I’m not that stupid.
And she isn’t, either.
Chapter 6
The next shackle slips off, and I exhale a breath, massaging the red ligature marks left behind.
“Better, dear?” Madame Beaumont’s soft fingertips capture my wrist, and she gives a light massage, working out the last of the ache.
“What do you want with me?”
“I’ll bet you’re a smart girl, aren’t you? Shrewd. And stubborn as a whip. That’s why you’re here, after all, isn’t it?” Sliding her sunglasses back over her eyes, she jerks her head for me to follow after her. “Let me show you around. If you’re not pleased with my home, I’ll set you free.”
“After you just paid in crates of supplies.”
“I am one of few who live an abundant life out here. The universe has blessed me beyond measure.”
The beast of a man pushes through a cast iron gate, and as we cross the threshold, I immediately take notice of the guards standing at posts, strapped with guns. If Sam and his crew had attempted anything tricky, they’d have been shot dead on the spot. The place is a fortress.
Of course, he probably knew that. In fact, I bet he trades with her on a regular basis, picking up wayward girls he finds out in the Deadlands.
After taking in the security, my eyes are greeted by a jungle of greenery and exotic flowers. Gorgeous, cultivated gardens that don’t make any sense in the thick of all the surrounding abandonment.
Gaze drinking in the view, I tip my head back, look toward the tropical trees that create a tunnel of shade along our path. “What is this place?”
“It belonged to a real estate mogul, back before the whole end of the world thing.”
“Where are we?”
“Vegas, darling!”
Her light, flowy fabric moves with her, as she shuffles along, leading me up a stone staircase that rounds the mansion, flanked by more elaborate gardens, to the other side. There, an enormous pool and running waterfall stop me in my tracks. Not even Szolen boasts this level of luxury. A dozen, or so, women, with bare breasts on display, swim and play in the water, their laughter dying beneath the waterfall’s pattering, as they pause to stare back at me.
“How is this possible?”
“Szolen wasn’t the only genius of his time. My husband was a brilliant engineer, may his soul rest in peace.” She performs the sign of the cross, never once breaking her pace. “This place runs on five of its own solar power grids that could feed the entire neighborhood, if I got so ambitious.”
One of the women, a pale redhead who keeps to the shade, smiles and waves back at me.
“And just how ambitious are you?” I ask.
“You’re inquiring about your fate again, am I right?”
“If you’d be so kind as to enlighten me.”
Madame Beaumont finally comes to a stop and removes her sunglasses, hooking them on the neckline of her shirt. “The question, my dear, is how ambitious are you?”
“I’m not selling my body, if that’s what you’re asking of me.”
“No, of course not. You’re worth far more as a virgin. Out here, a man would have to fuck a child to get his hands on one. Women are so scarce these days, that when a man does find one, he’s lucky to have her all to himself. One girl might be used by several men throughout the course of her life. It’s not even rape anymore. It’s expectation. Survival.”
So wrong. And enraging. I can’t even imagine growing up on this side of the wall. I’d never have survived out here.
“Women have become a source of currency,” she continues. “A means of trade. I
t’s utterly disgusting, what life has become for so many of them.”
“Yet, here you are with your own personal harem.”
“Every one of these girls is free to go. I don’t keep them here. My guards don’t keep them here. The life I offer them is what keeps them here. Look around you. This place is paradise, compared to where they come from. Some of them had no idea what a shower was, or a pillow, or a private pool that they didn’t have to share with another neighboring hive.”
Without a doubt, the women don’t appear distressed, but it doesn’t erase the slimy, icky undercurrent of this place. “You trade them. To have all these things, you trade sex.”
“Of course. For a man who hasn’t seen a woman in months? It’s as valuable as water and food. With the number of women I have under my roof, I’d have been the equivalent to a billionaire before the Dredge. And those are women who have been fucked in every hole twenty ways to Tuesday. You represent the ultimate unicorn. A fully grown woman with her virtue intact? It’s unheard of! Men would fall at your feet, if they weren’t so keen on taking without asking. Fortunately for you? You’re in a good place. Secure. Safe.”
If she only knew I wasn’t a virgin. What then? Would I be forced to have sex with men, just as back in Szolen. Seems to be the expectation for young girls these days, whether within the safety of the walls, or not. “What. Do you want. From me?”
“Want. That is the driving force, isn’t it? Possession is derived at birth with the mother’s breast.” Eyes dipping to my chest, she palms the edge of my breast, and when I bat away her hand, the corner of her lip lifts with amusement. “Possession evolves over time, with darker motives, of course. Mine is to possess what every man left on this planet covets most: an untouched woman.”
I glance back to the pool again, where two of the women give life to my thoughts as they fondle and kiss each other. “As in … sexually?”
“No, of course not. You see, wealth is measured by what you possess. Control. And what you choose to control gives tangibility to what you desire most. A man who collects guns spoils for war. A woman who collects jewels longs to be seen as rare and beautiful as a gem. You are the object of desire, of chastity and purity, and as the one who possesses such treasure, I am the envied.”
Perhaps it’s the concussion, the events of the last two days, or over exhaustion, but the broken bits of her words fail to come together, as I try to imagine how my virtue benefits her.
“You must be hungry. And exhausted. In dire need of fresh clothes. Come, darling, let me show you to your room.”
With another glance back at the pool, I’m reminded that, at the moment, I have no home. No one looking out for me here. I’m on my own. Is this worse than the convent? Is pretending to be some strange woman’s coveted gem as bad as facing Mother Chilson’s scorn?
It’s too much to process on an empty stomach and little sleep, so even with my suspicions and hesitation, I follow after her, taking note of the beastly man who follows after me.
“Forgive the outdated decor,” she says, breezing through an open room that has so many windows, not an inch of the inside is untouched by the sunlight. The furniture throughout looks as if it’s never been used, the fabrics vibrant and clean, begging to be broken in. Colorful and intricately-detailed works of art hang from the walls. Scenes of women from the Roman period, if my history lessons are anything to go by, loose-fitting garments hardly covering their voluptuous figures. Mosaic tapestries mirror the ones I’ve seen in books, making me wonder how she managed to procure these things believed to be non-existent these days. “It’s not easy finding interior designers in this climate.”
The woman must be delusional. Old enough to have lived through the first wave of Dredge, she must surely be accustomed to what the world around her has become. And yet, there are those living in Szolen who’ve never seen beyond the walls. Have no idea of the death that stripped the world of its vitality. Not even I had ever ventured out before, but my father brought stories of famine and violence. Told me of the desolation and, ultimately, desperation that afflicted those who lived in the Deadlands.
“Do you leave this place much?”
“Of course I do! Silly girl, how do you think I manage supplies?”
There is a certain brilliance in crazy, I’ve found, and perhaps it’s been her means of survival. My grandmother had a patient who suffered from tertiary syphilis, and had begun to go mad toward the end of his life. Most of the hours, he rambled on in some foreign biblical tongue that didn’t coincide with what I learned at church.
But it didn’t seem all that farfetched, either.
He spoke of the tunnels beneath a hospital, where creatures brought forth the deadly plague that wiped out our world. An ancient species whose wrath would, one day, be unleashed in another deadly wave that would allow them to conquer.
The other caretakers called him a lunatic.
I, on the other hand, always wondered if God sent harbingers to speak in a tongue that we couldn’t understand, and only those with open minds might glean some long-awaited answers.
“You’ve done well for yourself here.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I’d like to think it’s my relentless pursuit of hope that has kept me alive.”
“You believe the world will return to what it once was.”
“I hope it doesn’t! We lived beyond our means. Beyond this world’s capacity to accommodate our greed. No … my hope for the future is much simpler. I want to drown myself in art and mirth, music and sexual liberation!”
Unless I was hit hard enough to cause hallucinations, it seems she’s done just that.
Gaze cruising over the ridiculous surroundings once again, I shake my head. “The world has no place for hedonism anymore, in case you didn’t happen to notice the destruction outside of here.”
“Pleasure is derived by knowing and accepting the limitations of desire.”
“Epicurus.”
Lips curving with a smile, she winks at me. “I knew you were a smart girl.”
“You enslave women. How does that factor into your philosophies?”
“Do those women look unhappy to you? Do they look like slaves? I liberate them by providing a safe means to offer what men are so inclined to take. Out there? They’re food for the wolves. But here? They’re goddesses. Untouchable.”
“Unless someone offers the right price.”
Shrugging, she leads me through what I surmise to be something of a living room. “Of course. My protection comes at a cost. The concept is nothing new, even to this world.”
Her interest in me is still obscure, but I feel as if I’ve been running in circles.
We come to a stop in front of a tall sculpture of a naked man, one very familiar from history books. “The Statue of David.”
“Not the statue, that was destroyed, along with every other relic, of course.” She reaches out to run her finger over the tip of his manhood. “Good likeness, wouldn’t you say?”
Having spent my entire life within the walls of Szolen, luxuries are something I’ve grown accustomed to, but aside from the statue of Szolen himself, nowhere in the community are there relics carved from marble like this. This woman seems to live inside her own bubble, while the rest of the world scrapes at the edges.
“You allow men inside this place to sleep with them? Strangers from the outside who could easily overtake this place?”
A chuckle flies out of her and dies to a sigh. “Your father was a soldier, wasn’t he? Only the daughter of a soldier thinks of such things. Mine was, as well. Fought in the Vietnam war. Therefore, I’m not as stupid as you seem to think.”
With a jerk of her head, we keep on through the house, up a staircase beneath where a crystal chandelier hangs as yet another reminder of this absurdity.
The room she shows me to is large enough to fit two of mine back home, with thick, crushed velvet covers and crisp, white sheets. Long drapes have been pulled back around the view of the waterfall outs
ide, and the scent of lavender lulls me into a long-awaited calm.
“There are clothes in the armoire, and I’ll have the cook bring you something to eat. Perhaps you’d like to bathe first, my dear. I’ll have Yasmin come wash you.”
At the mention of a bath, I twist around to find an adjacent bathroom, more elaborate than I’ve ever personally laid eyes on, with beautiful mosaic tiles leading up to a large porcelain tub.
“I’m capable of washing myself.”
“Of course you are. But there is pleasure in being washed thoroughly. You have the freedom to come and go as you please. Enjoy my home and all its amenities.”
As subtle as I can muster, I lift my attention toward the beastly man waiting at the door. “And your men? Can they be trusted?”
“More than you’re accustomed to, I’d wager to guess. My men are aware that if they so much as lay a finger on one of my girls, said finger will be severed.” The moment the words fall from her mouth, I shift my attention to Henry’s hands, where all ten are intact and accounted for. “Men are such simple creatures, really. Feed their basic needs, and they’re quite content.”
There’s something out of balance here, though. How does this small, fragile, old woman keep these men under her control? If they wanted, they could band together, kill her off and live like kings. Even as sheltered as I may be, I’m no stranger to such primal motives.
“You’re overthinking, dear. I can practically hear the wheels turning inside your head. Get some rest. Eat. Bathe. Everything will make sense, I promise.”
Cool water trickles down my skin, as Yasmin drags a cloth over my back. Arms crossed over my breasts, I lean forward, every nerve alive with discomfort.
“Nudity is nothing unusual here. You don’t have to be shy.” She works the lavender soap into a lather and paints gentle circles across my back.
“Do you …. I mean, are you happy here?”
“I grew up in a small hive that was raided by marauders. I’d take this over the Deadlands, any day of the week.”