by Olivia Ryann
He starts to propel me forward down the hallway. The white tile underfoot is as cold as the cement floors, and it shows some aging, the tiles chipped and cracked.
What is this place? How many other people have been kept here? I count at least six other cells as I am frog-marched past them, but they are all empty.
At the end of the hallway, my guard leads me to a painted white stairwell. I’m half-dragged down the stairs, flight after flight, each flight looking the same as the hallway I just left behind. Six flights, or seven… I lose count of them quickly.
“Where are you taking me?” I try again, but my guard only scowls.
When we reach the bottom floor, he opens the door and pushes me inside. I’m faced with another long hallway of cells, but this one is different.
Though I can’t see anyone, these cells are full of people. Women’s voices. Some calling out for help, some crying, some just murmuring quietly.
“You go,” my guard says, pushing me forward. “Third on right, that is yours.”
I drag my feet, trying to see through the tiny slots in the grey doors, but all I can make out are a couple pairs of eyes. My guard has no interest in the moans or pleas coming from the cells; it is almost as though he is immune to them somehow. He hurries me along, swinging the door to my cell open.
“Go in,” he says. “You get nekkid.”
“Please—” I try, only to have his hand descend onto my shoulder again. This time, when he pushes his thumb into my flesh, he does some serious damage.
I cry out, falling to my knees, tears springing to my eyes. While I’m stunned, he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Wait!” I call after him. “Please wait!”
But he is gone. I crawl on my hands and knees to the door, peering out the slot. Like before, it is made so that I can only see white walls. I can hear plenty, but nothing really sticks out.
“Hello?” I call. “Can anyone hear me?”
If the other women can, they don’t respond to me directly. I sink down, despondent.
Mostly, I’m wondering, what now? Why am I here? What is about to happen?
Not too long after my guard leaves, a tiny old Asian woman opens my door. Scowling at me, she holds a fancy white dress on a hanger in one hand and a little zippered pouch in the other.
I sit up, studying her face. “Can you tell me where we are?”
If she speaks English, she doesn’t care to answer. Instead she just motions to the shift dress I’m wearing. “Off!”
“Please, where are we?” I say, imploring her.
The woman looks nonplussed, and sets the little pouch down.
“Off now!” she says, raising her voice.
“No!” I argue.
A taser appears from the woman’s voluminous skirts. She brandishes it, impatient with me. “Off!”
I bite my lip, gauging the distance between me, her, and the door. She sees me looking and steps more fully between me and the door. She rattles the hanger.
I wouldn’t have made it anywhere even if I had tried. I know that.
“Off!” she repeats, her tone growing panicky. She glances over her shoulder. I realize that maybe isn’t here of her own free will either.
I turn my back on her and pull the shift up over my head. The woman tsks, turning me around. I shiver and try to use my hands to cover my nakedness. I am extremely ashamed, but my red cheeks do nothing to give the woman pause.
She just puts the taser back in her skirts and motions for me to put my hands up over my head. I lift my hands up, and she slips the dress off of the hanger, forcing it down over my head.
I help work the white tulle dress down over my body, dropping its full skirt to the floor. It is a stunning dress; I feel stupid wearing it, having not showered or shaved for three days.
I want to ask what I am being dressed up for, but the more time I spend with this woman, the less convinced I am that she knows anything at all.
The woman grabs the little pouch that she dropped on the floor, unzipping it to reveal a basic makeup kit. She says something in her native tongue, motioning for me to be still. I close my eyes as she dabs some silver eye makeup on my face with her fingers, then does a lot of bright pink blush with a long brush.
When she’s done, she looks at me, appraising me. She gives a decisive nod, then turns to leave.
“Wait—” I say, but she doesn’t shut the door behind her.
Instead, my guard reappears, a syringe in his hand. My eyes widen as I realize that I’m going to be dosed again, and I struggle as he grabs me.
“No! No, I don’t want that!” I cry. “No, please—”
He injects me in my upper arm, ignoring my struggles. Instead of everything going black though, the world just seems to soften. The light takes on a golden hue, and my interest in resisting…
Whatever that was, it’s gone now.
My guard leads me out of my cell by the arm, and I go, utterly docile.
3
Arsen
As my two enforcers ride in the front seats, I sit in the back seat of the SUV, my fingers tented. I stare pensively out the window. After a wild three days of almost nonstop negotiating and threatening, I’ve finally managed to find her.
Katherine Carolla, the wretched daughter of Sal Corolla.
See, Sal wouldn’t give up his daughter’s location, even when my booted foot was on his neck, my gun pointed to his temple. I admit, I was in a little bit of awe of him, of that kind of stubborn protectiveness. Of course, I killed him anyway, but I still admired it.
Then I found out that the real reason old Sal wouldn’t fess up to hiding pretty little Katherine is because he sold her to a very exclusive private auctioneer.
He sold her.
Like she wasn’t his daughter. Like she was just an asset to him, and he was just biding his time, keeping her hidden until he could profit from her unveiling.
When I found out, I was so surprised, I actually laughed out loud.
As it turns out, little Katherine wasn’t being protected by her daddy after all. Her daddy was protecting someone who Sal knew would dress up his daughter and sell her to the highest bidder. A person whom, it was assumed, would rape her thousands of times. Or pass her around to his friends, maybe.
Or just plain kill her.
If I was capable of feeling such a thing, I would almost feel sorry for Kathrine.
Almost.
Too bad she was a Carolla. She would be made to pay, as Anna had paid. Except I had bigger plans for Katherine…
Plans that involved breaking her, body and soul. Using a special blend of physical labor, torture, and sex to brainwash her. To torment her into thinking whatever I want her to think.
She hasn’t even laid eyes on me yet, but her mind and body are mine.
Then I can trot her out at strategic intervals, namely to scare the shit out of my rivals. My perfect little pet, all dark and twisty. I get a little hard right here in the car, just thinking about ruining her body, crushing her spirit.
My enforcer Denis pulls into a gated area that surrounds what looks like a beige airplane hangar, closed on all four sides. The building is isolated from everything else, no structure even close to it. Denis pulls up to a security checkpoint, presenting my invitation to the auction to the armed guard.
An invitation that I had to pull in several favors to receive.
The guard looks at me, looks at Denis and Roget, and then waves us through. We are directed by a valet attendant to pull up at an unmarked door. I get out of the car, stretching a little bit. I look at my two enforcers, who are scanning the entire parking lot and the entrance for threats.
I consider myself tall and broad, at a little over six feet. Denis and Roget are fucking enormous though, each six and half feet high and built like twin lumberjacks.
Well, if lumberjacks dressed in trench coats and were armed to the fucking teeth, that is.
“This way gentlemen, if you will?” a man says, bowing as he opens the door.
I lead the way inside, blinking at the darkness. We step into a small space, lit only by a heavy duty flashlight.
“Gentlemen, if you will find a mask?” the man says, gesturing to a table full of identical black face masks.
Roget grabs three masks, and I take mine from him. After he and Denis slide their masks on, I pull mine on as well. We all look at each other, at the almost comical erasure of our most distinguishing features.
“Grim,” Denis says. Roget just grunts and adjusts his heavy jacket.
“Right this way,” the man says, sweeping a door open and motioning inside. “You’re among the last to arrive. I’m afraid we will have to seat you near the back.”
That wasn’t a miscalculation on my part; I want to be in the back, engulfed in shadows. The man hurries in front of me, his footsteps light on the bare concrete. He leads the way into the main room, trying to be respectful of the fact that the show has already started.
About fifteen men stand in little clumps, their attention glued to the girl being led up onto a raised platform by a masked man in black. The girl is wretched, her skin sallow and her bones all but showing through her dress. She’s also high as a fucking kite, her eyes large and glassy, her mouth so dry it’s cracked in a few places.
“This is Selina… she starts at $10,000…” the man announces in a high-pitched voice.
Immediately, two hands shoot up.
“Alright, I’ve got twelve thousand…” the man says.
More hands go up.
I relax a little, rolling my shoulders. I’m not here for just any girl, so I can tune out the bidding war. All I have to do is not become impatient and lose my temper with anyone here before Katherine Carolla is called up.
Easy enough, as long as the other men keep their distance.
While I wait, I bide my time by thinking about the girl.
Katherine.
I hate that name. One of the first things I’m going to do is make her wear my chains…
And the second thing is rename her. Something more fitting to her new station.
Like Slave. Or Servant.
My lips curve upward in the cruelest secret smile.
I’m going to take her to my compound, far away from here. There, I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. I am like a king on my compound.
Then I’m going to enjoy slowly breaking her bones and swiftly crushing her spirit. Let her know that I have killed her family; let her know that no one is coming to save her. When she weeps for her father and brothers, I will whip her for caring that they existed.
I tighten my fists. It is her fault for being born a Carolla. Her fault that they are all dirty, tainted fucking losers.
Scratch that… were losers. I’ve pretty much ticked every one of them off my list of people to kill. I eviscerated each one of the bastards back there in the warehouse, and I did it with a smile.
Their dead eyes stared back at me as I laughed. They all learned not to fuck with what I call mine…
I picture Anna, her mouth open in a surreal display of surprise. Even if it’s just some whore, she was still my whore. My property. Mine.
I push the memory down. There are other things to focus on, like the way it will sound when I snap the cuffs closed on Katherine’s wrists. I focus on that, tuning out the bidding for the next girl, and the next.
Of course, I will have to buy Katherine. A lot of money, if these sad looking girls are anything to judge by.
And because she made it so difficult for me to find her, she is going to really suffer. Much more than if she’d simply been present the day I murdered her family.
A thought comes into my head.
A confession. I could make her sign a confession, of her own free will. Owning up to everything that her family did that displeased me, including Anna’s death.
That would be fun.
After I’ve stripped her of her will to live, she will beg me for the release that death brings. Just like the other did.
And then I’ll choke her, slowly. I will be the one to see the light leave her eyes, see her entire being flicker out of existence.
That moment… that moment will be so, so sweet.
Across the room, the dull brunette slave currently being auctioned off collapses. No one overreacts, which is kind of strange. The auctioneer just calls the last bidder the winner, while another burly man in a mask comes and gathers the girl up, throwing her over his shoulder almost carelessly.
“Katherine is our next girl,” the auctioneer buzzes. “Bring out Katherine.”
I sit up a little straighter. A petite blonde is guided out onto the platform, her delicate features encouraged by her white dress. She leans her head back to look around, her head wobbling.
It’s her.
She’s pretty, in a delicate sort of way. Large expressive eyes, a full mouth, high cheekbones. What is so striking to me is that she looks like Anna, my favorite whore in New Orleans. There is a similarity around the eyes, and a sort of wisdom that is out of place on someone her age.
It makes me wonder what Katherine has seen. It makes me wonder too what Anna saw, in her brief years on this planet. That thought makes me tense, makes me grit my teeth. I feel the impressions of my nails biting into the palms of my hands as I clench my fists. Denis nods to her with a questioning look, and I nod back.
That’s the girl we came here for. That’s the girl we’re going to be leaving with, no matter what.
She’s very young. I study her. Her frail arms, her small tits. Her face, sort of elven in quality, with big blue eyes, an upturned nose, full wide lips.
Oh, the things I plan to have those lips do. She surveys the room with those blue eyes of hers, but her face gives nothing away.
I realize with a start that she’s not terrible looking, not even standing front and center in that hand me down dress. That doesn’t really matter to me, but it doesn’t hurt, either.
Fuck, I am a man, after all.
The man holding her up is doing a shit job, letting her fall halfway over. Clearly, she’s on the same drug as the rest of the girls. She’d better not fucking pass out, not before I buy her.
I want her to remember the feeling of being treated like a piece of property.
“Young Katherine is still a virgin,” the auctioneer calls. His words hit me like a ton of bricks. A virgin? That will likely double her price. “She belonged to Sal Carolla. Now she can belong to you.”
Several men cheer, ready to claim their prize. But those men don’t realize that I am in the audience, or that I am who I am, or that I’m here for her.
I start to move forward, cupping my hands around my mouth. “One million. One million, and we’re done.”
Everyone turns and looks at me, some seeming surprised.
“One million, from this gentleman,” says the auctioneer. “Do I hear—”
“One and a quarter,” calls a man across the way. He smirks at me.
“One and a half,” I say.
“Two million!” says the man. “Two million dollars.”
“Three,” I growl.
The man hesitates, looking at the two men who are with him. One of them nods to him, and he grins. “Three point five.”
“Four million,” I call out, even though it is a stunning amount of money.
Money is no object, not today.
The other man pulls out his gun, though what he plans to do with it I’m not certain. He makes the deadly mistake of looking as though he might be aiming at me, and the next thing I know, I have my gun drawn.
Instinct takes over, slowing things down for me. Everyone ducks for cover. Soon there is a bullet hole neatly between his eyes. My gun smokes just a little.
Everyone else begins to move. The sound of dozens of guns being cocked rings loudly in the still air. Denis and Roget are at my side, though obviously I don’t need them.
“Call it,” I command the auctioneer. “Call it now, and we can leave.”
The auctione
er puts his hands up, though I’m not pointing my gun at him. “Sold?” he squeaks uncertainly.
The masked man that holds Katherine upright pulls her down off the platform, heading toward a back room with her trailing limply. I gesture for Denis to go get her, excitement welling up in my chest.
Everyone is on tenterhooks, watching my every movement, guns at the ready. But I’m not concerned with any of them.
No, I’m concerned with my new purchase, who Denis rips away from her guard. As he leads her over to me, I realize just how small she is beside my enforcer. She can’t be much more than five feet tall.
They reach the spot where I’m standing, and I look at her wide, desperate eyes, her blonde hair, her hands knotted in her white dress. It’s all much more than I dreamt of. More real, more vivid.
I cock my head and give her a considering glance. “You belong to me. I am your master now.”
There is a faraway echo of terror in those big blue eyes, but whatever drug she’s been given prevents her fear from rising to the surface.
Not for long, though. When I get her back to my compound, there will be no substances, nothing between us. Nothing to stop her from feeling the kind of terror that Anna felt in her last hours.
I feel like I should warn her, let her know what sort of master I will be. I dig in my pocket for my switchblade, popping its shining blade open.
Her eyes fill with a distinct note of fear as I brandish it, stepping closer to her. I grab her by the shoulder, enjoying her pathetic attempts to struggle. Denis steps forward and grabs both of her hands, pulling them behind her back.
I look her right in the eyes as I slowly slice the letter A into her collarbone, about an inch by a half an inch. I get hard when she lets out a plaintive wail. My fingers shake with pent up excitement as her blood trickles out over my knife.
Nothing has ever felt so good, I swear.
“This is to remind you that you belong to me,” I tell her, wiping the blood off of my blade on her perfect white dress, right on her right breast. The blood spreads and seeps immediately, which is very satisfying.
I turn on my heel, ready to go. I look at Denis. “All right. Put the bag over her head, and we can go. We have a long journey ahead of us.”