by Jesse Jordan
“I figured that too,” I lie, making Larissa laugh. “What?”
“Just remember, Rachmaninoff will want the money soon. A girl like that, what do you figure?” Larissa asks. “Priceless?”
It's my turn to laugh, Larissa reads me too easily which both scares me and amuses me. “Nothing in our world is priceless, Larissa. At least, not what we sell. But I figure Rachmaninoff is going to want between two and three hundred grand for this one. A fair price, most likely.”
I climb in and pull away, driving quickly. I intentionally bought my villa on the far side of Caccamo from The Farm, a country villa that was nearly totally wrecked when I bought it a year and a half ago. With four acres of total land, and a half acre main property that is ringed by a fifteen foot high wall, it's a beautiful house. From my second floor bedroom I can even look out and see Lago Rosamarina, the artificial lake that adds a majestic splendor to my morning view.
The whole drive, Jessica stays quiet except for a few whimpers of fear, and I can feel for her. She's terrified, and she barely understands how much better she is with me than what The Sultan had set aside for her. She gets jostled a little when I turn off of the paved Provincial Strada and down the dirt road that leads to my villa, but I've made sure the road is graded as smooth as possible considering that I still haven't finished all my renovations.
The gate opens on my remote command, one of my first big upgrades to the house and a useful security feature. I drive through, parking and shutting off the engine to my truck before I turn around. “We're here. I'm going to carry you, there's some sharp stones in the yard, and you don't have shoes. Don't fight me, or I'll drop you on your ass. Understand?”
“Yes,” Jessica's muffled voice says. “Can I see?”
“Inside,” I reply, heartened that she asked instead of demanding. “The blindfold's for my safety now as much as yours.”
I go around and pull her from the truck, carrying her over my shoulder again. I'd like to be more dignified, but that whole carrying a woman in your arms thing doesn't work when her entire upper body looks like a fucked up high school drama club version of a mummy. Still, I'm as careful as I can as I take her into my villa. I've gotten most of it renovated, and structurally it's more sound than it's been since about eighteen seventy.
But there's about a quarter of the first floor that, while strong, isn't finished off yet. It's one of these rooms I put Jessica in, a room that I was thinking of turning into a root cellar or maybe a walk in refrigerator, getting food out here is a bitch sometimes when I'm busy with work for Scoglitti. For now it's a secure storage closet, with just what I need for Jessica until she earns a better place, and until I can trust her more. I set her down and she squawks when her butt thumps off the dirt floor, indignant and surprised. I reach down to open the hole and pull the hood of her poncho off, careful to avoid her mouth in case she wants to bite. She blinks even though there's only a single dim twenty watt light bulb, looking around with a sarcastic fawning expression. “Nice.”
“You behaved on the ride, so hang on,” I retort before leaving, closing the door behind me. The room has a thick steel bolt closure with space for a lock on it, so I quickly run upstairs, grabbing what I need and hauling it down. I open the door to see that Jessica has at least wormed herself into a sitting position, her knees underneath her as I drag the thin mattress through the door and lay it down.
“It gets cold in here at night, and I don't have any clothes for you yet. Use this and this blanket, it'll help for now until I return.”
Jessica looks around, then at me, her eyes still so angry, but also there's fear in there. “So what am I, a dog now?”
“No,” I reply, squatting down and reaching for her ankles. “Here's the rules. They're pretty simple, and you seem smart, even for a Jersey girl.”
“How'd you know I'm from Jersey?” Jessica asks, and I chuckle.
“You've got the accent when you get angry. Now, the rules. You're going to stay in this room until I know I can trust you not to do something stupid. Don't try and get out, the wall behind you is a foot thick, same with the side walls. You behave, you learn to obey and do things right, you get rewarded. You don't, you'll be punished.”
“You mean raped,” Jessica says, and I can see the accusation in her eyes, she's scared of it more than anything else. The relief that washes over her face when I shake my head is clear.
“I don't rape, Jessica. I don't need to, and I don't find it fun or in any way manly. Those pussies at the slave pens are pathetic motherfuckers who aren't even men in my opinion. So no, no rape. You are mine however, and that means I will take care of you and properly train you. Now, just like before, if you promise to behave, I will untie you. If not, I'll drag your tied up ass to the mattress and drop the blanket over you to keep you warm, leaving you here for a while to think shit out. Will you behave?”
“Yes,” Jessica says, her eyebrow lifting when I don't move. “What, I said yes!”
“The proper answer is yes, Master,” I inform her quietly. “Understand?”
“Yes.......” Jessica says, struggling. I can see it in her face, using that word is going to be very difficult for her. It makes it even more delicious, so many women have thrown around that word without understanding just how much meaning it has to me. Not this one. “I guess you need to drag me to the mattress.”
I shake my head, undoing the hitch knot on her ankles before reaching for the knots on her upper body, undoing two of them and loosening the third, which is made up of the poncho itself. Finally, I undo the nylon packing strap, giving her a chance to get out. “You tried, you get something for that. If you wiggle carefully, you'll be able to free your hands and lower arms in about ten minutes. Now, if you want clothes, when I come back I expect to find the poncho folded neatly at the foot of your mattress, the rope that's around your knees on top of it.”
“And if I decide to hang myself?” Jessica asks, and I look up, her eyes following me.
“Going to be impossible to do that with no beams or anything to tie the rope off on,” I reply, standing up and looking her over. “Stay warm, behave, think about the rules that I've outlined, and I'll bring you some dinner when I return. If you behave.”
I leave quickly, making sure the door is closed and the bolt shot across before I jump back in my truck and head back towards The Farm. As I do, my mind ponders what the fuck I just did. First of all, I feel like shit for locking Jessica up. I know it's for her own safety, she's an American woman in Sicily. She's already been taken prisoner once, she's naked, and she's a victim waiting to happen. Still, I'm not in the habit of locking up beautiful young women like fine wine.
Besides, that doesn't explain everything. Why'd I even buy her? Interrupting Kahled is one thing, he's a jackass who would have scarred her for life if not flat out fucked up and maimed her. But buying her? I've never done that before, I've never even thought about it. At least though she's got a much better future with me than she would have had. I've met some of The Sultan's 'elite customers' when they've come to The Farm on 'shopping tours,' they'd have had Jessica beaten severely already. To them, losing a couple hundred thousand euro because they've beaten a girl to death is about as much of a problem as a normal person breaking a coffee mug. Sure, you might get pissed off, sure you might even curse a little, but it's no big thing.
Jessica though... that body, those eyes, that spirit... maybe that's just what it is. She speaks to the other side of me. The side of me that thrills at the thought of her calling me Master, the side of me that wants to see those amazing legs trembling and her breath catching as she explores all the sensations that a human body can provide, that side of me sees her as worth the risk. The side of me that says this woman could be priceless.
Which means I need to be very, very careful.
“That's the last one,” Leon says as he closes the door on the back of the truck. To anyone who doesn't know the truth, they'd think The Farm was just making a delivery to Termini Imer
ese, and the paperwork the driver has says that it's a shipment of agricultural products bound for Lebanon.
“Good,” I reply, watching the rest of The Sultan's men pile into their vehicles to go back to their ship. “Anything else?”
“The Sultan will not be happy about Kahled,” Leon says, bringing the subject up again. “You know that, right?”
“I know that if Kahled wants to be a bitch about it, I'll be more than happy to deal with it,” I shoot back. Leon's a passive aggressive type, a wheedler and a whiner. I have no fucking clue how he got so high in The Sultan's operation. “If The Sultan wants to be compensated for his medical care, then he can speak with me personally about it.”
Leon blanches at the threat in my voice, and he nods, getting in the last of The Sultan's vehicles and driving away. I watch them go, feeling bad about what's going to happen to the girls I didn't save. But nearly two dozen girls... I can't. Even if the rest of their lives are going to be most likely nasty, brutal, and short, I can't do anything about it.
In some ways, I wish Larissa were here right now to talk. Yes, she's a seductress and a killer. Yes, one of her favorite things to do is to fuck her targets and then kill them just after they come. Yes, she likes to playfully flirt with me, mainly because she knows I'm fully aware that she's a black widow, and that I'll never let her get close enough to slip a blade into my brain even as I come deep inside her body. But she does have a moral code, and I find comfort from listening to her point of view. And besides, she's one of the people in The Network I actually enjoy spending time with outside of work. Not that I'd ever let my guard down with her.
In any case, I've got other things to do. I leave The Farm and drive back through Caccamo, stopping on the main road at a small women's clothing shop. Caccamo is a city that thrives on two things, The Network and tourism, and most of the modern shopping is further away at Termini. But there's a few stores, like this one, that cater to locals who either can't or won't make the twenty kilometer drive to the oceanside port.
“Bonnanote!” the owner says as I come in, something that I do like about living in Italy. These old school shop owners, they'll yell, they'll haggle, they'll harass you... just like they do with their best friends or family members any time they come into the shop as well.
“Where's your casual things?” I ask in Italian, my accent not quite Sicilian but still clear and sounding almost native. In fact, in Rome nobody asks me if I'm a foreigner at all. In Caccamo they know better than to ask.
“Over here,” the shopkeeper says, showing me the small selection. This is a small shop, this isn't like shopping at a mega discount store. Still, she has what I need, light sweatpants and sweatshirt along with a t-shirt. I wouldn't get Jessica underthings here, and besides, she hasn't earned them yet. “Ah, very good! Your lady will enjoy these!”
“I hope so,” I answer, not letting on exactly who or why I'm buying them. “How much?”
“Forty euro,” the shopkeeper says, smiling when I hand over a fifty and wave off the change. I do my best to make sure the town gets a little bit more of the profits from our activities than what the townspeople might report on their income taxes. It's the Sicilian way. “Thank you, kind sir.”
“Ciao,” I greet as I leave, getting back in my truck. Before I start up my engine I reach into my pocket and take out my cell phone, typing out a quick message to an unlisted number.
Shipment leaving Imerese tonight. Heading for Lebanon, bound for Mideast. Sultan is transporting.
I hit send, waiting for the phone to say that the message was sent. I know I won't get a reply, I almost never do. I just get a deposit in my other bank account, and the moral quandary that'll have me visiting Father Giacamo at confession in another day or two, ready to unburden my soul as much as I safely can.
In Caccamo, even the confessional isn't always sacrosanct. And keeping secrets is very important, if I want to stay alive.
Jessica
The blanket helps but isn't really enough when I hear the bolt on the door to my room being drawn back and Rodrigo returns, two bowls of something that smells good in his hands and a bag on his back. When he does, he looks at the foot of my mattress, nodding in approval when he sees that I've folded the poncho and coiled the little bit of rope on top of it.
Not that I didn't think about trying to use it. I even got as far as wrapping it around my neck, but a couple of things stopped me. First, the rope's short, I don't think I'd be able to wrap a knot that would hold me. But secondly, maybe I'm too much of a coward, because I can't stand the idea of dying. Finally, and the part that disturbs me the most... I rolled up the rope and poncho because Rodrigo told me to. The way he said it, his tone of voice, the look in his eyes when he said it, it's all swirled around and around in my head since he locked me up.
“You did well,” Rodrigo says, setting one of the bowls down next to the poncho. I look and see that it's a simple stew, lots of tomatoes and chunks of what looks like pork on top of rice. It's plain, but it smells heavenly, and I wonder how long it's been since I last ate. “Good. No use carrying the bag down as well if you just were going to waste the opportunity.”
“Thank you....” I whisper, trying to force myself to call him Master, I know it'll help me, but I can't. I'm a free woman, I'm nobody's slave. Finally, I nod my thanks again, repeating myself. “Thanks.”
“Hmmm... still making the effort though. Well, you still get these,” Rodrigo says, opening the bag and taking out a set of thin sweatpants and sweatshirt and a thin t-shirt. “Here, go ahead and dress, then eat. We can get to know each other as you do.”
Rodrigo watches me as I dress, his eyes still so studious and perceptive as he looks at me, a small frown forming when he looks over my face. “Come here. Hands behind your back.”
For some reason I obey, and Rodrigo grasps my chin, studying my swollen lip. “Kahled caused that? I thought it might have gone down already.”
“Yes,” I admit. “I don't feel it too much, I heal up quickly. And....”
I stop, and Rodrigo lifts an eyebrow, amused. “Yes?”
“I enjoyed watching you kick his ass,” I whisper, my heart starting to beat faster looking into Rodrigo's powerful gaze. I enjoyed more than that, I secretly admit. Watching him was like watching the real deal for the first time, not some fake. Thousands of so-called men in my life... and I think I'm seeing the first real one I've ever met. “Did you break his arm?”
“His wrist,” Rodrigo says, smirking and letting me go. “We'll keep an eye on that, I don't want you damaged. At least.... not by anyone else. Have a seat, eat your dinner. There's seconds if you want it.”
I sit down, feeling for the first time since I regained consciousness at least somewhat normal, if only because I'm wearing clothes again. Rodrigo watches me as I eat, the same little smile on his face as I try not to make a pig of myself with the stew, it's delicious.
“Here,” Rodrigo says, reaching into his bag and taking out a one liter bottle of water. “Don't chug, but I'll take you upstairs after we get done here to use the toilet and refill the bottle. We don't have a downstairs toilet, so you might have to get used to a bucket for your nightly needs.”
“Thank you,” I repeat, sighing in pleasure. “So... you know my name, you know I'm from Jersey. What else do you know?”
“You're smart,” Rodrigo says, smirking. “I'd say... bachelor's degree?”
I shake my head, a proud little smile coming out as I feel like bragging just a little bit. “No, I just finished my Master's from Rutgers. I'm from around there, I grew up seeing plenty of Giants and Jets games. You ever been?”
I know that I'm half flirting, half trying to gain sympathy. I want out of this room, I want my freedom, and if I have to flirt a little bit, make sure my boobs push out this sweatshirt a little, then I'll do it. There's lines I won't cross however.
“Never been to a Giants game,” Rodrigo says, still watching me. He sits down on the dusty unfinished concrete floor, making sur
e he keeps himself between me and the door, and I'm pretty sure that the door's open, only momentum keeping it shut right now. Still, there's no way I could get around Rodrigo and through the door before he could grab me, so I use my brain and body for now, hoping for a chance to develop. “So what did you study?”
“Chemistry,” I reply proudly. “I came to Europe for a three month break before going back to start my fellowship and my doctorate studies.”
“So where'd you get taken?” Rodrigo asks. “I know not here, The Network has a hard and fast rule to not shit where we eat.”
I think, I've had time since he locked me in here, and my memories have come back. Whatever it was that they hit me with, it came on hard, but it's gone now. “I flew into Catania about two weeks ago I guess. I don't know how long I was out.”
“Less than a day, if you were taken on Sicily. The drug they hit you with can be addictive, and the slave markets prefer girls who don't have any addictions before they are sold. Continue.”
I take another bite of stew, chewing slowly. “I spent the first two or three days just relaxing, enjoying the beaches, soaking up some winter sun. Jersey's already getting cold and miserable, but the beaches.... I loved rocking my bikini on the beaches. I thought it'd be scandalous, I mean I read so much about how Sicilians can be conservative, but I fit right in on the beach.”
“I'm sure. But you didn't spend two weeks just sun soaking, your skin's too pale for that. You'd either be heavily tanned or sun burnt and blistering,” Rodrigo says. “Let me guess, art museums?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, I went to Syracuse. One of my electives during my undergrad work was Ancient European History, and the idea of getting to go to the same place as where Archimedes lived, the biggest ancient Greek colony in Italy... well, I guess that's not your thing.”
“You'll find yourself very surprised what my so-called things are,” Rodrigo counters, chuckling. “Very surprised. So how was Syracuse?”