by M. S. Willis
“Aaron … ” His slurred words reverberated throughout the hushed silence of the room, “ … so good of you to return to the celebration of your birth. I do hope you’ve found … enjoyment from your gift.” Laughter, drowned in mockery and disdain rolled from his father’s lips; his sloppy movements and slurred words made his inebriation blindingly apparent. “What brings you back? I thought for sure you’d be riding her raw this evening.” Another dark laugh. “Or, has it been so long that you’re all dried up?”
Aaron waited for the responsive shouts and jeers by the men in the room to simmer down before answering. “I thank you for the gift, father, however, I have a condition I’d like to request before I agree to use her as you require. You see, I prefer my dick not shrivel and fall off my body, so I have a thing about not fucking whores who have been passed around liberally.”
A perfect eyebrow arched quizzically on his father’s brow. “And what, exactly, is it you’re requesting, Aaron?” His father’s voice deepened as he spoke. Aaron hoped that his father believed he’d succeeded in finally corrupting him; however, he knew the man was far too shrewd to believe that he had caved so easily. They’d been playing this game for too damn long.
“I’m requesting that the slave is mine, alone; that you order your men not to touch her while she remains in my service.”
His father’s hand grabbed the head still bobbing in his lap, wrenching the woman back by her hair and tossing her aside like nothing more than garbage. She’d cried out at his father’s actions, but knew better than to move away. Crouching at his feet, the woman remained motionless, her eyes lowered to the floor, as she waited for when she would be made to continue. Aaron kept his eyes trained on the steel grey eyes of his father, not wanting to look down to see his father’s unabashed display.
His father took a moment before responding. Suspiciously eyeing his son, he finally spoke. “I have to admit, I’m a little shocked by your request. I thought for sure you would have tossed her aside, refused my offering.”
Rolling his shoulders back, Aaron carefully chose his words. Madeleine’s safety was at risk, he needed to ensure she would be viewed as his. “I assume, father, that you located this woman due to my interest in her. Perhaps, you had me followed the night of her performance. Given that to be the case, you know I was interested prior to your gifting of her to me. It would make no sense for me to turn her away now.” He made sure his voice was purposeful and strong, showing no signs of his desperate need for his father to agree publicly to his request.
The frantic beat of his heart echoed through Aaron’s ears as he waited for his father’s response. White noise, a pulsing sound, as the blood rushed through his head. The silence of the room was only disturbed by the shuffle of feet, a cough or the sound of a throat being cleared. It was not only Aaron that waited, but the entire party, as well. Never before had these men seen Aaron take part in the depravities of The Estate, in the cruel and sadistic actions of his father. Yes, Aaron had killed, had taken the lives of those who threatened the network that, over the years, had been built by his father. However, Aaron had acted only against other criminals, other people who’d committed enough evil of their own, that the world would never rue their absence.
If it hadn’t been for his father’s inebriation, Aaron knew his motives would have been further explored. As it stood, his father could barely remain sitting upright, much less have enough mental function to see past Aaron’s intent. “And is it your request that she remain untouched by all of the men in this room? Is she a toy kept for your pleasure alone?”
Weighted was the question his father asked; one intended to goad Aaron into a mistake. He knew his father was placing him in a position to, once again, be reminded who ruled this network of murderers and thieves. If Aaron gave the wrong answer, Madeleine would be dragged out here now so that his father could show him who sat at the top of The Estate. “No, father. I am still well aware that nothing within this compound shall be denied to you. I’m simply requesting that all others be restricted from touching what is mine.”
Silence, pregnant with the anticipation of his father’s approval, was deafening against Aaron’s thoughts. No man spoke, even the short coughs and cleared throats were absent as Aaron awaited his father’s directive. Standing firm, his blue eyes never looked away from the scrutiny of the steel grey.
“Well done, Aaron, it’s good to see you understand who still sits at the top of this food chain.” Shifting in his seat while tucking himself back into his pants, his father raised his hand and snapped, summoning forth Emory, his most trusted man.
"There will be a new decree that needs to be delivered as quickly as possible …" Emory lowered his head, indicating that the decree would be made known. "… No man shall touch Aaron's slave."
Relief flooded Aaron's body as he fought to keep his stance firm, not wanting the drop of his shoulders, or the relaxation of his muscles to betray his feelings to the group. That relief, however, was short lived.
"However, although no man may touch the slave, it does not mean she can be hidden away." He turned to Aaron, amusement evident in his dark gaze. "She will be displayed when requested by me. It would be a shame for your plaything to be kept, locked away from the enjoyment of The Estate." Lowering his voice to a dangerously low level, he added, "Do not forget that we are a community, my son. One in which, only one man is allowed selfishness."
It was not a complete win, but it would do. Aaron lowered his head in silent acknowledgment of his father's directive. The tension between father and son was palpable, causing Emory to clear his throat in order to interrupt the unspoken exchange.
"And if a man breaks the decree, touches the woman without Aaron's permission?"
The steel grey eyes finally released Aaron, redirecting their focus on Emory. "Then that man shall lose whatever part of his body it was that came in contact with her."
Silence again as the group of men took in the seriousness of his words.
Having received what he'd come to request, Aaron inclined his head before turning to leave.
"One more thing, son … "
Aaron turned back, his eyes meeting the coldest of steel.
"You have five days. I expect that within that time, she will be brought under control, taught the ways of her new life. When that week ends, I'll be calling upon you to display your pet before me, for you to show me how well you can train a slave."
Aware that his father's statement was a command more so than a request, Aaron simply turned to continue his path out of the room, a response was not required.
The large doors closed behind them as Aaron and Xander wordlessly traveled down the long hall back to Aaron's apartment. Once they were safely tucked back within the walls of his private space, Aaron moved to the side bar, pulling out a crystal decanter containing the finest scotch money could buy. Filling his glass, he turned to offer a drink to Xander.
"No, thank you. I believe one of us needs to have his wits about him tonight, should our guest attempt her escape." Xander’s deep gritty voice carried an air of sarcasm.
Aaron brushed off Xander's remark. He knew the little mouse was most likely tucked safely within sleep's strong arms; she'd been close to collapse even before they'd first reached his apartment.
The liquor bit at the back of Aaron's throat as it went down, distracting him momentarily from the present. A sigh escaped his lips as he moved to sit on the large leather sofa, the same sofa that had earlier held the trembling, terrified woman.
“I’m not worried about her escaping … not any longer, at least.” With words saturated in arrogance, Aaron held the drink up to eye level, swirling the liquid within the glass. “It wasn’t a complete win, but it will do. I was hoping the old man would have been too drunk or high to remember to correct me on HIS right to her. Even with a whore in his lap, a few bottles down his throat and the drugs he is always taking, his mind is still as shrewd as a viper.” Alcohol slowly seeped into his bloodstream and his
muscles relaxed as he sank into the thick cushions of the couch. He turned his head to look at Xander. “At what age does dementia start to set in? Is the old man close?” He chuckled. “It certainly would make bringing his ass down a hell of a lot easier.”
Xander fought to keep his expression impassive, yet the slight curve to the corner of his mouth gave him away. “I believe we have a few years before we can rely on old age as our ally.” He paused, choosing his next words. “What are my instructions for the girl? Am I to start training her in the morning?”
Aaron’s brow furrowed in consideration of Xander’s question. “No.” He sat up to place the glass on the table in front of him. “I think I’ll handle her in the morning. She seemed more receptive to my company than yours during our last little encounter.”
“And what are your plans for her? She’s found her voice, apparently. Should I purchase some earplugs for us?” Xander smiled.
Rubbing at the tight muscles of his neck, Aaron chuckled at Xander’s joke. In reality, it wasn’t funny, they were discussing teaching despicable things to an innocent woman who didn’t deserve the horrors she would soon face. “No. I don’t think it will be necessary. I have a week to get her ready for her presentation. I believe this can be done with as little fight as possible. Hopefully, we can coax her into submission rather than forcing the issue. However, my instruction still stands that she not be violated in any way.”
Nodding in acknowledgement, Xander responded, “Of course.”
Exhaustion battering at his body, Aaron stood to walk toward his bedroom. “We’ll reconvene in the morning, but, for now, I need my sleep. I’ll have my hands full come tomorrow.” Sluggishly, Aaron traveled the long corridor until finally reaching his room at the end of the long hall. Stripping off his clothes, Aaron’s thoughts continued going back to the small woman currently sleeping in the room down the hall. He thought about how beautiful she’d been when he’d presented the rose to her the night of her performance. Inwardly, he cursed himself for that offering, blamed himself for the events that would soon occur. Walking across the room, he turned on the stereo in his room and was reduced to shame when the lonely and haunting sounds of a cello sprang forth from the speakers. The quality of the music was exquisite, but it was the soul of the musician that called to him from within those notes. Melancholy like he’d never experienced, a kindred spirit singing to him with wordless sound. Images of a beautiful, chestnut-haired woman mastering an instrument, backed by a full orchestra came into his mind. He swore he could feel each touch of her finger to the strings, each pull of the taut hair of the bow. It wasn’t just music that was elicited from the combination of wood, metal and Madeleine, it was emotion, thought, a message only understood by those who could appreciate the fine combination of the sea of notes, blended together into an intoxicating song.
Crawling into the warm softness of his bed, his mind drifted with each note of the instrument, as he was lulled into slumber. His heart constricted at the thought that he would end up breaking her, possibly ruining the very thing that had brought him comfort in the unending nightmare he called life.
Chapter Eight
Light flickered in through the window; thin fingers of orange and red touching her face, gently waking her to a new day. Gradually, Maddy was brought from the comforting blankness of slumber's void, back into a nightmare that existed in her waking life. Groggy, she pushed herself up, her muscles protesting the movement, begging for more time to remain slack and immobile. Almost to a point of being closed, her eyes were swollen from tears shed the previous day. Hair clung to her skin, sticky from fearful sweat. Had she been home, she would have crawled into a bath, soaked in the luxury of warm waters. But as it was, she could only wait for the beautiful monsters to return, to claim her once again as theirs.
The room was quiet and sound did not invade from the hallway she knew to exist outside the door. Her eyes traveled around the room that acted as her prison. This space wasn't as elaborate as the other rooms she'd seen; the walls were bare, not even adorned with the rich colors of the other rooms of the apartment. The walls, carpeting and fabrics of the space were cream, bland in comparison to what she'd seen before.
Fear continued to hold her body hostage, but curiosity rubbed along the back of her thoughts, driving her to crawl down from the bed to tiptoe to the expansive window. Pulling the thick curtains aside, her eyes were met with nothing more than trees; their leaves, a symphony of color: reds, oranges, and golds as nature pushed forward into the slumber of winter.
Despite the large grounds, not a single sign of life stirred before her eyes, the scene, nothing more than a painting, one solitary moment frozen in time. Her fingers, long and thin, those of a musician, touched the frost kissed glass as she lamented her captivity. As she was lost to thought, she noticed how quick bursts of wind broke up the scene, creating small cyclones of fallen leaves dancing in its path. Only a week before, she'd looked forward to the coming season, a fond memory of a childhood spent enjoying the serenity of the earth as it laid itself to rest with promises of life beginning again with the coming Spring.
Warmth trailed down her cheeks; her tears were a physical manifestation of her pain. Never again would she return to that time in her life, to a time where she'd taken her freedom for granted.
A soft sound of metal sliding against metal alerted Maddy that her time of solitude had expired. She continued staring out the window, not caring to see who walked in through that door. Another click and the swish of the door brushing across the carpet and Maddy knew she was no longer alone. She waited for a command, braced for the sting of someone's hand across her cheek; but mostly, she grieved for how easily she'd been broken.
A minute passed, and another. No command came. Her body was left untouched. Curious, she turned to peek out from behind a tangled curtain of brown hair. Her breath caught; Aaron stood silently within the doorway. He held his body with perfect posture, however his hands were casually tucked inside his pockets. The material of his white dress shirt pulled at the broad expanse of his chest, hiding nothing of the toned physique underneath. The tails of the shirt were tucked into the slate grey slacks that hung perfectly from his narrow hips. Her eyes slowly moved back to his face where she was met with eyes the color of a rainforest after a storm; different shades of green blended perfectly from the light bouncing off the leaves. The perfectly straight line of his nose ended at full lips, the kind that make women think sinful thoughts.
She expected him to speak, to demand something from her, but only silence followed. Returning her eyes to the window, she watched him through the reflection in the glass. Minutes passed, tense and foreboding, as she watched him stand motionless. Her fear was soon tainted by wisps of confusion and anticipation; an undercurrent of curiosity calling for her to turn, ask him why he’d made no move to approach her. The silence was heavy, only the sounds of her breath and the beat of her heart interrupted her quiet expectation of violence.
Another minute …
Another …
Madeleine lost track of time as she waited, but Aaron simply stood in the doorway, never changing position, never uttering a single sound. Through his transparent reflection in the glass, she watched the leaves dance within the blowing winds — a kaleidoscope of colors — telling her that fall was turning into winter. The longer she waited, the harder her heart pounded, the faster thoughts and questions flooded her head. The tension between them built to a point of palpable discomfort, yet Aaron never moved, never spoke, just stood there watching her, waiting for her. Slowly, her head turned, her eyes peeking out from behind the thick curtain of matted hair. The swirling greens of his eyes held her gaze, penetrated deeply, as if he knew her on a deeper level than she understood.
Her voice, so quiet, almost a whisper, finally broke the tense exchange. “Why are you not moving?”
A crooked grin finally broke free of his sculpted mouth. “So, Xander was correct. You do speak.”
Anger tore through he
r body at his levity. He’d taken her life, her freedom from her, and all he could do was mock her for her silence. Never before had she felt such insolence from another person. He sickened her, this man that portrayed beauty and refinement, while hiding poison and death … darkness … within him.
Her head spun back to the window favoring the transparent apparition of the monster to the physical threat lurking in the doorway. Blood rushed through her head, the pounding white noise only building her anger, her absolute disgust with the man standing behind her. Never moving, not speaking again, Aaron stood … waiting.
Like a string pulled too tightly, her patience snapped, striking at her with the sting of indignation and insult. Whereas the others had made their intentions known, had struck her and insulted her and demanded her obedience, this man left her in a stagnant void, depriving her of even the faintest hint of her fate. His was the worst offense, not allowing her the knowledge of what was to come. Her only defense was to force the issue, take away his control, and give him no choice but to act.
Turning to him, her eyes burned into green eyes filled with malice and mirth. “Tell me what you want, or go away! Just do whatever it is your sick mind can come up with!” Her small body shook from the force of her anger. The feeling was alien; she’d never been driven to a point where rage drowned every nerve, every cell within her body.
Impassive and neutral, his eyes held hers. The only thing betraying his thoughts was the slight tick of his jaw. Trapped by his inaction, suffocating within the void of not knowing, Maddy lost herself, moved to approach him in demand of his intent. A burst of surprise was quickly seen in the slight widening of his eyes as she approached, but he remained still, waiting to see what she would do. When she was in range of him, her hands came up to wrap themselves within his shirt. Her strength was not enough to move him, but she pulled and pushed at him anyway, attempting to goad him into action.