by Regine Abel
“So, I put on a sexy but fancy dress, pick a song from the ‘acceptable’ repertoire and make minimal movements on a stage and boom, I’m respectable?” I mumbled, sitting down on the stage, legs crossed.
“That’s the first step,” Romero said with a chuckle. “But sweetheart, that will only increase your chances of getting the right doors to open. You need talent and charisma – which you do possess, you little diamond in the rough. But above all, you need honesty.”
I blinked. What the hell did honesty have to do with anything? Romero smiled at my confusion. He brought a chair close to where I sat on the stage. Flipping it around, he sat on it backward, his arms resting on top of the backrest.
“You cannot fool your audience, darling. They will know if you’re faking it. It’s the difference between a B-movie actor and an Academy Award winner. The difference between the singer living off the bar gigs and a superstar. It’s just like a relationship. If you’re not honest with your partner, there is no hope. You can rarely get away with faking an orgasm or faking your affection. Sooner than later, your partner will know, he’ll feel it. The same honesty must flow between you and your audience. Treat them like a lover and they’ll worship you.”
“Well then, I might as well give up now because I fucking suck at relationships.”
“Sugar plum, the key to success in business, on stage and in a relationship, is figuring out what your customer, your audience, or your partner truly wants and give it to them.”
“My partner wants revenge. He wants to hurt me.” My voice broke down. I looked away. “He hates me.”
Romero stared at me quietly as I sniffed, kicking myself for my loose tongue. I shouldn’t be talking badly about Anton, let alone airing out our problems like this. Worse, Anton was paying Romero’s bill. Instead of the tongue lashing I expected, Romero rose from his chair and sat down on the stage, next to me, our shoulders touching.
“No, pumpkin. Nobody spends twelve million credits to get revenge on someone they hate.”
My eyes bugged. “How—?”
“Everyone knows. I’m afraid the creditors weren’t very discreet,” Romero said with a sympathetic smile. “Mr. Myers doesn’t hate you. If his reaction towards you is unfriendly, then it’s the symptoms of you not giving him what he wants, what he needs from you. The same way a disgruntled audience will boo an artist off-stage if they fail to meet expectations.”
Folding my legs, I wrapped my arms around them. I started rocking back and forth but quickly put a stop to that; the butt plug having reminded me of its presence.
“But I do everything he says, everything he asks.”
Romero put a comforting hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“People only tell you what they want you to hear. You need to learn to read between the lines. The signs aren’t ten feet tall and all blinking neon, but they are plain to see if you pay attention. Remember when you sang for me before hiring me?”
I nodded, staring at him, hopeful.
“After you noticed me smiling when you held that high note then modulated it, you made sure to repeat it twice more during your performance. You noted what I liked and catered to my tastes. This is what you must do on both the professional and personal stage.”
He tapped a finger on the tip of my nose. Rising, he dusted the seat of his pants then helped me to my feet.
“Now, sugar pie, for your homework…” Romero shook his head at my pout. “Yes, darling, homework… you will analyze your target audience and make a list of the things that make them tick and tingle, both negative and positive. That includes the triggers and quality of their response. We will use your observations as the foundation for your new show; one that will mesmerize your audience and get them eating out of your hand.”
* * *
After training, I returned to the penthouse and headed for the kitchen. It was only a few minutes after noon and the cook would have lunch ready. I opened the door and saw my usual place all set with my plate sitting on a warmer. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how anxious I felt coming to the kitchen. Deep down, I feared Anton might have ordered the cook to put down a set of dog bowls on the floor for my food and water. Since he forbade me to remove my collar, I could only assume he wanted me in the role of a pet for the long haul.
This whole situation was so messed up, I didn’t know which way was up anymore. Although I was pretty submissive, roleplaying a pet never appealed to me. The memory of the men and women eating directly off the floor as their masters tossed food at them at Risqué made my stomach squirm. If this was Anton’s plan for me, I didn’t know how I would make it through.
The food was good but I don’t think I tasted any of it. Problem-solving had never been my forte and figuring out how to solve this particular situation used every single one of my brain cells. I washed down the braised pork with a glass of wine, put away the dirty dishes, and wandered back to Anton’s bedroom.
It was a large room with a massive Blackwood bed propped against the back wall. A small breakfast table, large enough to comfortably seat two, sat in the corner across from a floor to ceiling vidscreen. When turned off, the screen blended with the sleek, light gray walls. Anton often set it to display nature sceneries, as if it was a window onto a breathtaking outdoors view of some exotic planet. Otherwise, he would set it to news feeds. You could watch movies, but that would mean rest and relaxation, two words that didn’t fit in Anton’s vocabulary. My pet cushion lay on the other side of the bed, between the nightstand and a large Blackwood dresser. Across from the bed, a set of sliding doors gave way to a mammoth walk-in closet and a fabulous in-ground tub – more like pool – a separate shower with massaging showerheads, and a sauna.
This was another reason Anton’s behavior towards me confused me so badly. The first week, he had taken me out every night, buying me a completely new wardrobe – which occupied half of his walk-in – and ensured I got off every time we had sex.
But he stuck me on that stupid pet cushion at night.
The staff waited on me, he paid for my trainer, and I got to use his awesome bathroom and personal gym. Even now, I was sitting at the breakfast table with a state of the art holographic keyboard to do research on the kick ass vidscreen. These weren’t the living conditions of someone you hated.
Maybe Romero was right. Maybe Anton just wanted me to apologize for that stupid stunt. And then, we could go back to nicer Anton. I would like that. He didn’t look down on me or talk down to me even when he gave me speeches about being lazy, my outfits or my shows. He took the time to teach and explain things to me like I was worth the effort. Hanging out with him was fun and he seemed to enjoy my company too.
Anton wasn’t pretty but he wasn’t ugly either – his face was actually growing on me. I liked pleasing him and he seemed to like caring for me too, at least that first week. It felt nice not to be treated like trash or like I was too stupid for someone like him.
I just needed Anton to like me again. I wanted him to whisper my name like he did last night when he fucked me against the wall, and hold me the way he had, as if he cared. I wanted him to flaunt me around like he did at Risqué that first time, as if I was a precious jewel – as if he was proud to be with me, to own me.
A lot of girls hated that idea of being owned, but for me, it meant I belonged. Someone cared enough to want to keep me, take care of me. Not just use me then discard me. I mean, everyone uses everyone, so what’s the problem? Marcus used me all the time to draw in crowds and keep his ‘special’ customers happy. And I used him too, in my own way. As long as I sang, showed my stuff, and did what I was told, he kept me safe, made sure I ate well and had a good place to sleep. Except for his cheating, we had a pretty good life.
But now, my life was with Anton, at least for the next five and a half months.
With a heavy sigh, I turned on the vidscreen. I navigated the menu to the entertainment library Romero recommended for my homework. The large folder contained a few h
undred recordings of some of the Hive’s elite clubs’ top performances. They were sorted by Artist. Feeling petty, I skipped the entire section with Sheila’s name. I resented that her name appeared on this list. Sure she had talent, but dammit, you shouldn’t hit on a man who accompanied another woman. Anton was mine, so the bitch needed to fuck off.
Mine? Really?
Whatever… I didn’t have the energy to set the mental record straight.
I loaded the footage from one of Eliza’s shows. The controls allowed me to focus on the performance or switch between the various cameras displaying the audience, and even zoom in on them. I settled as comfortably on my chair as the butt plug allowed and started ‘analyzing’ the performance. Eliza was pretty amazing. Too amazing I suppose because I lost myself in her song and forgot to analyze the audience. When I wasn’t gaping in awe, my mind was wandering back to Anton.
Screw it.
Unable to focus, I put Eliza on full screen and curled up on my pet cushion, rocking softly to her hypnotic singing. The butt plug annoyed me, but I didn’t dare remove it. It made lying down and sitting in certain positions rather uncomfortable. In spite of that, I must have dozed off because the com startled me awake.
“Yes?” I said, answering the call groggily.
“Hi Grace, it’s Dana,” the receptionist’s voice said over the com. “You asked me to tell you when Mr. Myers returned. He’s on his way up to the penthouse as we speak.”
“Oh right,” I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Thank you.”
“You got it,” Dana said before hanging up.
I raced to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. Knowing Anton, he’d probably head straight to his office. I debated whether to ambush him there or give him a few minutes before we had ‘the talk.’ After fiddling and fussing over my appearance worse than when getting ready for a night out, I paced the room, trying to work up the courage to see him. I fingered my collar. I’d been doing that a lot since Anton put it on me last night.
Whatever my feelings about being collared, it was a fine piece of jewelry. Incredibly soft, and airy. At first, I feared the leather around my neck would make me sweaty and irritate my skin, but it felt like silk. Hoping to pacify Anton further, I chose a black and amber sarong that complemented the collar, echoing the gems embedded within.
Stop procrastinating and get it done already!
Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and marched out of the room to Anton’s office. I knocked, entering when he bid me to come in. His eyes narrowed when he saw me. My stomach dropped at the dead look in his eyes. Biting my lip, I considered making a hasty retreat and trying another time. Anton gestured with his chin towards the red leather empire chair across from his desk – the same chair I sat in when I signed the contract.
I closed the door behind me and quietly sat in the chair while Anton concluded his call. His dark eyes never wavered from me the whole time he talked over the com. Unnerved, I couldn’t help fidgeting and once again considered retreating. By the time I decided to make a run for it, Anton ended the call. He leaned back in his chair, and raised an eyebrow at me.
This was such a bad idea…
I swallowed.
“Anton, I… I wanted to apologize for what happened back in Jeruna.”
Wow, really? That’s the best opening I could come up with?
“I mean, I was just a stupid kid but it doesn’t make what I did okay,” I said twisting my hands in my lap. “It was wrong, and… it was cruel. But I swear to you, I didn’t know they were going to push it that far. It was stupid… I already said that,” I mumbled to myself. “Truly, if I could go back and change any of it, I would in a heartbeat. What… What can I do to make it up to you? You name it… I’m so sorry.”
He tilted his head, his jaw setting in a hard line. “That’s your apology? You think you can stroll in here, say you’re sorry, and make it all go away? How stupid are you?”
I flinched.
“We were just kids!” I said, my voice rising. “Yeah, it was shitty, but come on, Anton! It was just a prank. That was six fucking years ago. It’s not like we killed anyone.”
Wrong answer, dumbass.
As if in slow motion, I watched his eyes fill with rage, his lips distort into a furious snarl and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrests of his chair.
“Just a prank?” he said in a low, menacing tone.
“Anton, I—”
“Just a fucking prank?” he shouted.
He exploded out of his chair
I withered in mine, heart pounding, and watched him circle around his desk towards me. My lips parted in fear, I shrunk into my chair, pushing myself away from him.
“Do you know what your ‘little prank’ cost me? Cost my clan?” Anton said through his teeth. “For three fucking years, my clan was outcast and shunned from the Empire for being dishonored. THREE FUCKING YEARS!” He slammed his hand against his desk. It resounded through the room like a thunderclap.
“I’m s—sorry,” I sobbed, curling into myself.
I had never seen him, or anyone, so enraged. For the first time, I truly feared for my life. The thugs at the hotel would have violated me and maybe even sold me, but I doubted they would have injured me permanently. This Anton standing before me had murder in his eyes.
“Sorry?” He fisted my hair and brutally pulled me to my feet. I whimpered in pain, pressing my palms against his chest for support. “Now you’re sorry? You three cunts almost cost me EVERYTHING! Had you pulled your little prank one hour earlier, the elder clans would have canceled the investment contract I’d spent ten years putting together.”
He shoved me away from him and I stumbled to the floor. It was a bad fall, with my knee and elbow taking the brunt of the impact. Although it hurt, I watched him while rubbing the sting from my scalp where he had gripped my hair. He circled around me like a shark, his face twisted with fury.
“This… All this,” he said, waving at the room, “everything I built would have never existed had the deal not already been signed by the time you bitches decided to fuck with me. Do you know what Braxians do to those who trample their honor and shame their clan?”
I shook my head, my vision blurry from the tears drenching my face.
Anton leaned forward, his face inches from mine. “Ever wondered what happened to your friends? Why their careers ended so abruptly?”
I slapped a hand over my mouth to hold in my choked sobs, leaning away for fear he would strike me. But Anton straightened and resumed his predatory pacing around me.
“Your fate would have been just as unpleasant had Marcus not locked you away. So no, pet, your apology is not accepted. I have waited a long time to regain the honor you so casually spat on, and you will pay every credit with interest.”
My mind was reeling. I couldn’t think straight. The venom, the hatred in his eyes… How had I not seen the depth of his contempt for me in the past two weeks? Darla… Steffie… What happened to them? And what would happen to me? Whatever punishment Anton planned for me would be painful.
“I’m sorry.... I’m so sorry.”
Distantly, I knew it wasn’t the right thing to say.
“No Grace, you’re just starting to be. Remember your words that day? ‘You seriously think a girl like me would let a half-breed Braxian cock anywhere near me?’ Remember that?”
Did I ever... That had been part of the little speech Darla designed for the occasion. Braxians were rabid in their need for revenge and it always directly tied to the nature of the offense. That explained why last night his friends said he should have fucked me to death and wrecked my throat. However, Anton saw me as an investment and didn’t want to damage my vocal cords. Some other parts, though, weren’t as essential for stage performance…
“Well guess what? You’re about to be full of that half-breed cock. Get on your fucking knees.”
Anton stood before me, undoing his pants. I wanted to run for the door but scrambled to my knees
instead. Where would I go? Who would protect me? He contractually owned me and had the right to do anything he wanted short of killing me. By rights, he could beat me, starve me, degrade me, but he hadn’t.
My only consolation was that as his indentured slave, he was obligated to release me in the same physical state he found me when we entered into this deal so he couldn’t maim me. However, these days, doctors could fully heal plenty of grievous wounds. If Anton wanted, he could put me through hell before fixing me.
Guilt for what I had done to him and the painful consequences his clan endured, burned in my guts. I didn’t want to be punished, and although I didn’t fully understand the Braxian honor system, there was no question Anton and his clan greatly suffered because of our actions. I didn’t begrudge him the right to his vindication but hoped he wouldn’t take it too far. Maybe if I didn’t fight, he wouldn’t hurt me too much.
As if to contradict my hope, Anton painfully fisted my hair again. My cry of pain turned into a heaving choking sound as he shoved his cock in my mouth. It hurt. The blunt head hitting the back of my throat felt as if a hammer punched my tonsils. My gag reflex kicked in and I dry-heaved. I slammed my palms on his thighs to slow the brutality of his movements, but it didn’t help. Anton kept up the punishing pace, barely giving me enough time to breathe.
Each impact of his cock radiated pain down my throat. My skull throbbed.
He rammed his dick in further, holding my head with both hands so I couldn’t pull away.
“Take it,” he ordered.
My lungs burned within me, begging for air. Panicked, I clawed at his thighs, trying in vain to pull away. My vision blurred and black dots appeared before my eyes. Just when I thought I would lose consciousness, he shoved me back and I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. I dry heaved, my stomach cramping horribly. My face felt sticky with tears, snot and drool. Yet, I was stupidly grateful my meal had been long ago enough that I didn’t vomit on his fancy carpet. That might have angered him more.
Please, let that be enough.
But brutally fucking my mouth wouldn’t be deemed sufficient retribution for three years of shunning. I tried to swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth, but it felt like a million shards of glass ground their way down my throat.