“Jesus.” I exhale, raking my fingers through my hair in agitation. I can’t think about this shit. But I can’t help it. I know he—Knox, has affected me more than I thought he would. I don’t usually dream. What happened yesterday has clearly bled into my psyche. That’s the only way I can even begin to explain this. Whatever the fuck this is.
Reaching over for my phone, I sigh in irritation as I shut off the blaring alarm— 6:45 a.m. and I’m exhausted. I feel like I didn’t get any sleep at all. I’m so tapped out of energy that even getting ready for school seems like an impossible task. There’s a note from Dante taped to my bedroom door when I finally make it outside of my bedroom.
I was a dick. I’m sorry.
I’m not quite over it. But I’m too preoccupied to linger on what happened with him last night. Thankfully, he’s still asleep by the time I head out the door. I’ll talk to him later today. Lucky for him, I have this annoying ability not to hold grudges for too long, especially toward people who deserve it.
Chapter Ten
Katia
Alexi has promised me virgins, but I never take anyone’s word at face value. It’s not good for business. You can’t trust people. People are prone to lying. Which is why I have to evaluate things myself. I’m a little bit like Santa Clause. I like to check my list twice and then check it again for good measure. There’s also the fact that I give presents. But instead of rewarding the good, I bring presents to those who’ve been very naughty. Mischievous men, to be more precise. Men who want young, nubile girls, and in this case, they have to be virgins. And if on the off chance they aren’t? Well I have a doctor for that. I’m not sure he’s actually licensed, but he’s done work for a mutual contact before. Surgically restoring the female hymen was apparently his area of expertise, which was why he came highly recommended. He’s a tall man with a reedy frame and pale blond, thinning hair. He’s simply called Doc and is, like most of the people I’ve employed, of Slavic descent.
Deep in the underground in one of the rooms at the auction house, he is allowed to perform his job without interruption. It’s a sterile, all white room with a solitary black exam table at the center of it. Aside from his latex-gloved hands, he’s been provided the tools necessary for him to perform his job, set on the metallic rolling table by the exam table. He turns to me with his Grim Creeper-like features, awaiting my signal to begin.
I’ve been provided a chair to sit front-row center of this theatric entertainment, with a full view of everything that is about to transpire. I’m so close in fact, that I’ll be able to see cunt. Nothing I mind much considering I prefer a good, clean pussy to dick any day, but that’s beside the point. Raising a hand, while keeping my phone to my ear with the other, I flick my fingers for him to proceed. The first two captives are brought in and I am satisfied to see that they’re much cleaner now. Alexi has been thorough in that regard.
This batch of captives are younger than what I usually bring in, but they are special requests and I am, if nothing else, a Madam who aims to please her clients. The youngest one I believe is fifteen. She’ll bring in the best price. They’ve all been plied with sedatives to keep them calm, docile but fearful, in my opinion, is and has always been the most effective form of restraint. The chains also help. Each of them is fitted with an iron neck collar cuff an inch smaller than the width of their necks. I like knowing they feel the threat of suffocation is right there, it’s like having my own hands around their necks but without doing all the dirty work. The small rings wielded in the front and back of the collar allows the insertion of a metal chain linked to their wrist cuffs. The chain that loops through the back ring descends to wrap around their waists. The last two chains, linked in a loop on each side of their waist, falls down the sides of their legs and hooks to the small rings of the cuffs around their ankles. The weight of the chains alone makes escaping impossible.
They aren’t allowed clothes. This makes it much easier to see the angry red logo of the auction house embossed on their hipbones by a cattle prod. The Eye of Horus. I see everything. I am everywhere. The mark is a physical representation of my ownership of them. They are my livestock, objects to be consumed, animals on the auction block that I can sell and discard when and how I want. It’s also a status symbol among my clientele. I sell designer slaves only the upper echelons of this business could afford.
Heavily guarded and carted around by men who were all brawn and brute force but had very little brains. One of them stepped forward to unlink the chains of the second girl from the first, who timidly sat up on the table and dutifully placed her feet on the stirrups placed on each side of the table when Doc requested her to do so.
“Slide forward.” She does. Her legs splayed wide open for Doc and my viewing. Doc starts the exam and I return my attention to the conversation on the phone. It’s business. Sister Beatrice in Toulouse is calling with potential stock for me. So I only have half an interest on what’s happening in the room, but that all changes when I hear the commotion. Chains rattling, screaming, and the nerve-grating shrieks are what finally push me to hang up on the nun. It appears as though one of the captives is attempting to escape. Utterly futile, yes, but desperation seems to be her driving force. She’s wriggling and kicking, swinging her arms around despite that she’s shackled. But it’s the screams that get on my nerves.
“Enough with the screaming,” I say, in exasperation, bringing my fingers up to rub at my temples. “Shut her up.” One of the guards is quick to comply with a backhanded smack across the captive’s face, sending her crashing to the ground. Effective, but not at all what I had in mind.
“Idiot!” I fume. Climbing to my feet, I march over to him, closing the short distance in a few long strides. The scowl on my face says everything. He may have been the muscle, but I was scarier in so many other ways. “I swear, if you scarred her face…get her on her feet!” He jumps to carry out my order. I inspect the captive in front of me, my eyes going from her red face down to her bare feet and back up again in seconds. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen. There is unmitigated hatred gleaming in her dark brown eyes that has little effect on me. Docile virgins are good, but the obstinate ones, the ones who have fight still left in them, who believed escape is still possible, are even better. Someone is going to pay good money to break her.
There is an angry red mark forming on the side of her pale face that will more than likely turn into an ugly bruise in the next few hours. The first auction of the quarter will be held at the end of the week. I highly doubt the bruise will be gone by then. Aside from the auction logo, clients expect a clean, unmarred canvas when they purchase their merchandise. This captive’s price will be lower if that damn bruise doesn’t disappear.
“You had better pray that mark goes away by Saturday or I’m going to have your buddies line you up against a wall and use your ass as target practice, got it? And you,” my eyes shift back to the captive, “I strongly suggest you shut your filthy, slave mouth and allow our good doctor here to check and see if you’re still a virgin or I can simply have two of these muscle heads shove their dicks so far up your snatch your grandchildren will be tasting come. I don’t give two fucks which way this ends up, but let me tell you, if these guys end up fucking you, you lose value, I lose money. If I lose money, I will donate you to the vilest, most sadistic man who will make you wish you were never born.” I smile for her, but it’s not a smile born of humor.
“Now, are you going to be a good little girl and let Doc see if anyone’s popped that cherry?” The only reply I receive comes in the form of a warm glob of phlegm the captive hocks at my face. The shock wears off quickly and cold calm replaces it. I take the tissue Doc hands me and while I carefully wipe the spit away, I retain my smile. I make sure to lock eyes with her as I speak, “Serge, Aron, drop your pants. I’m giving you a gift. Put on a show for me.”
“Yes, ma’am…thank you, ma’am.” Serge is like a dumb puppy that’s always eager to please even when he gets in troub
le for pissing on the carpet. I can tell I’ve made him very happy with this generous offer of virgin pussy. Aron is a little quieter in his appreciation, but the way he’s eagerly unbuckling his pants is all the gratitude I need.
“Don’t mention it,” I reply, turning to take back my seat. “Oh, don’t be shy boys, make her beg for it.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Aron finally replies.
They unchain her first and while she screams and struggles to escape them, she’s no match for the strength of the two large men. It’s like watching something out of the Discovery Channel. The way they take her down to the floor and fall on her like a pack of hungry dogs is fascinating.
They prop her on her hands and knees and they’re generous enough to have her facing sideways so I could see the entire show. Aron beat Serge for the position of being behind her, so Serge was left to stand in front of her. Pants around his knees, huge cock bobbing in front of her, he didn’t wait for Aron as he fisted a hand through her hair and brought her face up to meet his cock, forcing every inch into her mouth. Aron brought her hips back and plunged into her in one brutal thrust and I got to see the sheer horror and agony on her face as he eviscerated her hymen. Her eyes widening as tears coursed down her cock-filled cheeks. It was a pretty sight. Aside from Doc, there was only one other spectator in the room. The girl who’d been carted in with the red-haired bitch. She looked on with absolute terror as Aron and Serge ripped into the other captive and at the point when both their dicks squeezed and rammed into her stretched pussy, she double over and spewed. She was shaking so hard that I could hear her chains rattling over the muffled noises of groans and squishing sounds of penetration and slapping flesh.
I redial my contact’s number and bring the phone to my ear. While I wait for an answer, I look up at Doc. “I’m not paying you to rub one off, Doc. I suggest you find a mop and clean that one up until Serge and Aron are done with your next patient.”
I don’t count this as a loss. I’m not going to make as much money as I stood to make if she hadn’t been touched, but Doc is going to put his extensive skills to use when Serge and Aron are done. She’ll be broken and battered, but she’ll be a virgin again. I’ll give her away at a discounted rate.
Chapter Eleven
Lacey
I try to live in the now. In the day. But I can’t seem to shake the dream. And what’s even more disturbing is how well I remember it. It’s a week later and still, every detail, every sordid act is ingrained in my mind. I’m in and out of my head for the rest of the day. No Prom Committee today and my SAT classes have been rescheduled for later in the week so I decide to hang out with Tyler and his friends after school. I have a ton of homework, but I need some other distraction to get the lingering dream out of my head. I’m putting books I don’t need back in my locker. Tyler’s getting his car from the student parking lot and I’m supposed to meet him out front. I’m at the front entrance of the school, backpack in hand when Tyler finally pulls up to the curb in a dark blue Lexus. A gift from May and Donald, of course. I guess I have shotgun since the backseat is already full of his friends.
“You up for Thrashers?” Tyler asks when I get settled, seat belt snuggly in place.
I shrug. “Yeah, it’s whatever.”
I tune out the rest of the conversation after that because it’s all filthy guy humor, with Declan giving the play-by-play on how he had Tina Miller on her knees in the utility closet on the third floor during fifth-period gym. Okay, so maybe I have half an ear on the conversation. I scroll through the songs on Tyler’s playlist. He doesn’t have horrible taste in music and I’m glad to know we have sort of similar music taste, but right now I’m ready to listen to something else besides EDM. He doesn’t care one way or another, but it’s courteous to ask. “Mind if I change this?” My voice is pretty quiet over the din in the car so I’m not sure he heard me. But when his eyes shift to me for a second, he gives me a crooked smile. “Since when do you have manners?”
Yeah, that’s what I get for trying to be nice. I flip him the bird and he laughs before diving back to his conversation with his friends. Massive Attack eventually catches my attention and I settle on one of my favorite songs of theirs. I raise the volume to “Teardrop” and sit back, allowing the drum riff and somber melody to lull my mind. I don’t have the balls to sing aloud so I’m quietly humming the song in my head, looking out the window at the blurry landscape outside. Seeing everything but not seeing anything at all. It’s only when my eyes flick to the side mirror for the briefest second that I notice it. And at first, I’m thinking maybe I’m imagining it. It can’t be him. There must be hundreds of black Dodge Chargers in this city. What the fuck are the chances the one I’m seeing now, trailing two cars behind the Lexus, actually belongs to the extortionist?
While at first glance, I thought it couldn’t possibly be him, at this point I’m almost sure that it is. This is probably the fourth time I’ve seen the Charger in the last seven days. I could’ve simply chalked it up to coincidence, but the appearance of the hooded figure outside my bedroom window the last few nights has me convinced of something far more unsettling. It’s only for a few minutes— glimpses— in the shadows of the building across ours before he disappears without a trace and I’m left to wonder whether he was really there at all.
All rationale jumps out the window in that instance, not literally, but my eyes won’t leave the mirror.
I stoop forward trying to get a better look. Trying to see if maybe...hopefully not, but maybe it’s him and I’m not going crazy. The Charger remains two cars behind, even when the car in front of it makes a turn. It slows until another car can merge back in front. It keeps a steady pace, well within the speed limit. Now if that isn’t suspicious then the fact that the Charger trails behind us for the next twenty minutes is. It doesn’t turn. It doesn’t speed up. It remains behind us. At all times, two fucking cars behind us.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Tyler asks after a while, noticing my odd behavior. I can’t answer his question because I don’t even have the answer for myself. “Lace?”
I blink and lean back in my seat. “It’s…it’s nothing.”
“You sure? You look a little pale.”
I nod, convincing myself I’m probably losing my shit. “I’m good.” I get hit with a moment of genius. “Hey, let’s stop by Burger Boi.” I wanted to see if the Charger would follows God, please let me be insane.
God likes me today. Prayers answered? You bet your ass. We pull into the drive-thru and the Charger’s gone. I check the side mirror just to be sure. I even twist in my seat to take a look in the rear window, but I can’t see much because Declan’s head is blocking my view. He grins, makes a V with two fingers, his index and middle finger, and wiggles his tongue between them.
“You wish,” I say, before turning back in my seat with a small smile, too relieved to be bothered by their laughter.
In celebration of my answered prayer, I order a heart attack burger with extra bacon and large fries and a Diet Coke. Have to keep that prostitute figure. When we get back in the car, we’re driving up to Thrashers, the only indoor skate park in Riverdale that Tyler and his friends use in the winter. I’m three quarters of a way done with my burger when I realize I’m eating a replica of the dinner Knox got for me last night. That thought alone kind of screws with my head a little, but what really pushes me over the edge and makes the blood in my veins freeze is seeing the Charger again. It’s only the briefest sighting, in profile, blurred by slightly-tinted windows. But I know, like instinct, with an unshakable feeling that goes deep in my marrow that it’s him. I’m out of the car, standing by the passenger’s side, when he drives by on the adjacent street.
Time stops. The world freezes. The only functioning thing is my heart, beating so loudly in my ears that it’s deafening. I don’t imagine that he looks at me. I feel that gaze through the glass of the rolled-up window. I take in the weight of it, the heat of its accuracy burns me like wildfire. It’s only a
few seconds, maybe a solid minute, before it’s over. He’s gone and everything is allowed to move again. The world rights itself. It crashes all around me in a wash of sensory overload. No one seems to have noticed anything. The hairs on the back of my arms and neck don’t settle for a long time after.
It’s a few hours later and instead of asking Tyler to drop me off at home, I opt to spend the night at his house. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, followed…stalked. Is that what this is? Technically, he would have reason to. I didn’t even get a chance to give him the portion of the money I had. He’s probably making sure I don’t skip town or something. There is still a huge debt owed, and one way or another it’s going to get paid. I’m going to need to pay it.
“So, how will you be spending Thanksgiving, Lacey?”
I’ll let you know.
The echo of his low, husky voice filters through my head. I am almost too afraid to discover exactly how he plans to make me work off that debt.
“Lace!” Tyler calls, with a nudge to my shoulder.
“What?” I ask, turning to him with a confused frown.
He nods his head toward the two sets of eyes staring curiously at me. I feel my cheeks heating and muster a sheepish smile for May and Donald. “I’m…” Words are dust in my mouth, and my eyes automatically shift down to the uneaten pile of mash potatoes on my plate. I could blame the burger for obliterating my appetite, but I know that would be a lie. “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, I was just…”
“Preoccupied?” Donald supplies in his typical terse manner, and my blush only deepens because it feels like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. They’ve opened their home to me, invited me to eat dinner at their table, and I can’t even manage to feign interest in their polite dinner conversation.
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