by Skye Warren
He paused then strode quickly up to where she sat. “What did you say?”
She thrilled to see the banked excitement in his eyes, to know that he cared about her and what she had to say, but something heavier weighed on her now. “His shipping business. What does he ship?”
Master cocked his head. “Parts for manufacturing, for building. Once he got to transport a shipload of Maseratis. I think that was the high point. It’s mostly boring stuff. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious…Master.”
His look seared her. “You can call me by name.” He stepped directly in front of her and held out his hand. “I’m Sam. Nice to meet you.”
She stared at it curiously, large and calloused and inexplicably familiar. Finally she reached out, and he took her hand and pulled her to him. She was enfolded in his arms, tucked under his chin, and she never wanted to leave.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“…don’t know.”
“Okay,” he said, accepting her words as if it were completely normal not to know her own name. As if she were normal.
“Number forty-five,” she mumbled. “Slave forty-five.”
She curled into his embrace, as if she could climb inside him, breathe only his musk, and be the beat of his heart. He smoothed her hair, ran his hands along her arms, still answering her unspoken pleas even though she could speak.
“I know this must be scary for you,” he murmured. “I’m going to help you however I can, but one day you’ll go back. No, shhh, not right now. You don’t have to leave tonight. But we could try to contact someone. Surely there are people who miss you, who want to know that you’re okay. A family.” He paused a beat. “A husband. Can you remember any of it?”
“Can’t… she doesn’t… she doesn’t know.”
The silence was stark then, so complete between them that the faint buzz of a nearby insect intruded. Nothing had fazed him, not the scars on her body, her overly submissive ways, or even her inability to speak. But now he seemed at a loss, she was at a loss, unable to even say the word I.
I don’t know, was what she had meant to say, but even in her mind she tripped over it. Like she wasn’t even a person anymore. How much had they taken from her? Too much, now this.
“Subby.” His voice raw, as if he’d been shouting. “Who did this to you?”
She swallowed. “I…I…”
I think it was your brother.
Her memories from her old prison were muted but clear enough to make out faces. She had never seen him there, even though her skin tingled with sick familiarity when he touched her last night. But even if he hadn’t abused her, she suspected he was involved with them. How much shipping industry could there be in a group of islands?
More than that, he had known. He had known that she couldn’t speak, he’d known that she had been trained. All without ever meeting her before.
But she only had to get through today. He would be gone tonight.
“How often does he come? Your…your…Brendan?”
“Maybe every few weeks. Sometimes a couple of months go by. Why?”
“Rather be alone.” With you.
He squeezed my arm. “I suppose you’re attached to me because I was the one to find you. But you don’t have to worry about my brother. Not all men are like the ones who hurt you.”
She looked down, wishing she could believe it.
“He’s a good guy.” His gaze was off into the trees, far away. “We didn’t used to get along. When we were kids, we were competitive. Even when we grew up, we would keep in touch just trying to one-up the other. Then something… something happened. I want to say it’s all his fault. For a long time I did think so, but I take responsibility for it now.”
He paused, and she thought he wouldn’t continue. She nuzzled her nose into his chest to prompt him. His gaze snapped back to the present, to her, and he smiled slightly. Then it faded.
“We used to Dom together. It was just something we did. There isn’t any excuse for it. It wasn’t that we just shared the girls… we used them. Pushing them harder and farther and longer just because we had something to prove.”
He sighed. “Then I met a woman. We started dating, then she moved in. Pretty soon she was subbing twenty-four seven, like you. I had so much damn pride. Too much. Then I found out she was seeing my brother.”
A small sound escaped her. She had some idea of where this was going now, of the part she had played in this sibling rivalry. It had been bad enough knowing she had betrayed a nameless Master, distant and aloof from herself, but now that he was opening up to her, now that she knew how much harder he would take it…
“We had shared her when we started dating, only once, and I knew that would be the last time. When I found out she was still seeing him, I went a little crazy. I broke up with her. Didn’t even pay attention to the fact that she was totally dependent on me, just kicked her out. She got mugged and killed a few days later.”
He looked down at her, eyes like swirling mercury. “I finally gave up the fight. Moved down here. So my brother won after all. At least that’s what I thought. But her death affected him too. He came down to visit me, saw some of my furniture, and carted it back to the states. This is as close as we’ve ever been.”
A sudden premonition that she would ruin this fragile peace left her cold. Surely she wasn’t important enough to warrant that. She was a piece of trash he found on the beach, not a treasured lover. Not his lovely pet. She shivered.
“We should head back.” Abruptly, he stood, catching me from falling off his lap with a firm grip. “Hey. Don’t worry. Everything will be just fine. You can talk to him at dinner tonight. Who knows? You two might hit it off.”
* * *
The savory smell of the steaks that Brendan had brought simmered in the air. Her mouth watered even as her stomach turned over. She was a bundle of nerves, a mass of fear. If Sam found out that Brendan had fucked her, he wouldn’t only cast her off, he would give her to Brendan.
Maybe worse than that, she had to get through a meal with Brendan. It wasn’t just what he had done to her. She had been hurt before, worse. He didn’t seem especially cruel. There was something about him that made her skin crawl with both wariness and recognition.
She slipped on the dress Sam had laid out for her, a soft purple one that flared out at her hips and ended mid-thigh. She had figured out by now that these clothes had belonged to the woman Sam had loved.
It was only a little bit creepy to wear the clothes of a dead woman. After all, the cell she inhabited had been covered in a gooey metallic substance when she arrived, and it hadn’t taken a genius to figure out what had happened. Any squeamishness she might have had in a former life was long gone.
It was more that wearing the woman’s clothes served to underline that she didn’t wear the collar too. It underlined her complete and utter lack of permanence here. He did seem to want her and had about admitted as much, which was an improvement over when she had first arrived. But that was a long cry from wanting to keep her… preferably forever. Ironically, he seemed to think she would want to leave soon, but she wouldn’t.
As she stepped out of the cabin, he turned to face her and raised his eyebrows. “You look good, subby. How are you with a knife?”
He set her up with a pile of onions and a chopping block. “Slice them thick for the grill,” he said.
She went to work, but paused to push a strand of hair back from her face with her forearm. He hadn’t included any sort of tie for her hair. The muscles of his forearm caught her eye. Her gaze traveled upward to where a lock of black hair curled over his brow. No, she didn’t want to leave, it wasn’t anything to do with how handsome he was, in his own dark way. It wasn’t because he made her feel safe. Not even because he had woken her from the prison of her own mind.
It was because he made her think of the future. She could see them together: watching him work with the wood, cooking together under the warm sunset, having k
inky sex in the sweetly sticky nights. It was a fantasy, a fairy tale, but it was more. She had slipped out of survival mode without even realizing it. Her thoughts weren’t consumed with avoiding the next blow or earning the next meal. Thinking back on how she’d been only a few days ago, terrified and broken—it was like waking from a nightmare, sweaty, heart-pounding.
His hand on hers startled her. “Be careful there. Can you even see anymore?”
She couldn’t, not with the tears in her eyes. The knife slipped from her fingers, and she let him take it. Trust, that’s what it was. Even with all of their power, as cowed as she was, the men at the compound would never have handed her a knife. Even then, she would have used it on them.
Sam trusted her.
“Hey. What’s this?” He pulled her in for a hug. She breathed him in, once again enclosed in him, safe with him on a hill in the woods. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Whatever it is, I’ll keep you safe.”
“Very sweet,” came Brendan’s voice, and something stirred within her, like remembrance. “Am I intruding?”
Sam had tensed when Brendan came out; he relaxed by degrees. Though he said that his brother was harmless, there was some instinct that remained wary. “Of course not,” Sam said. “The food’s almost ready. Why don’t you set the table?”
“Sure thing, brother,” Brendan said with an enigmatic smile that sent a shiver down her spine.
Even when Brendan returned inside to the table, Sam and she worked in silence, the air shimmering with tension. She carried in a plate of steaks while Sam finished grilling the vegetables.
Brendan stood when she came in and took the plate from her. “Here,” he said. “Have a seat next to me.”
She eyed the chair on the far end with longing.
“That’s no good,” Brendan chided. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. The prettiest thing I’ve seen in weeks. Months even. You wouldn’t deny me the pleasure, would you?”
Her trepidation rose at his flowery words, meant to trick and subvert.
“Ah, brother,” Brendan said. “You finally made it. Tell your girl here to have a seat before she falls over.”
Sam frowned, but he said slowly, “Sit down, subby.”
She did.
“Good.” Brendan sat beside her. “Right in the middle. We can share her.”
When Sam raised his eyebrow, Brendan merely smiled. “The sight of her lovely face. I was just telling her how long it had been for me since I had seen someone like her. Too long.”
“You’ve been working too hard,” Sam said. “Give us some details. We were just wondering what it was you’re shipping this time around.”
Brendan paused in the act of transferring a steaming steak to his plate. “Is that so?” He gave her an opaque look. “What a curious pair you two make. Sports equipment, if you can believe it.”
“Really?” Sam asked, taking a bite. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a cargo-hold full of basketballs.”
“All varieties of recreational activities, or so I am told. I haven’t inspected the merchandise.”
Sam was looking at her now, head tilted. Probably because Brendan had been focused on her, completely, the entire time he conversed with his brother. Brendan was going to give it away like this.
“I loved going with you today,” she told Sam quickly. “I hope you’ll take me again.”
Sam smiled slightly, though he seemed far from appeased. He wasn’t stupid, and the subtext was fairly screaming. “Sure, subby. I like having you around.”
Brendan needed a full minute to recover his silver tongue. “She speaks. This is new, yes?”
“Since earlier,” Sam said smoothly. “So you see your worrying wasn’t necessary. She’s already getting better here.”
“I still say she should come back with me.” For once he turned and looked quite seriously at Sam. “What about the people she left behind? Her family. For all you know she has a lover waiting for her, and here you are fucking her in a shithole cabin.”
“That’s enough,” Sam said, his voice soft and menacing. “I let you give me a hard time, but I’m not going to let you disrespect her.”
“You’re not going to let me disrespect her? Oh, that’s rich. She’s a dirty little sex doll you found washed up, used up, half dead, and instead of sending her to people who might actually care about her, you dress her up in Amanda’s old clothes and give her commands like she’s a dog.”
“Get out.”
“Brother,” he started.
“Now,” Sam said with more than enough heat to show he meant it. If he had spoken to her that way, she would have cowered. Even now, she cowered.
Brendan took his time getting up. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked between her and his brother. She tried to ignore that, didn’t let their gazes his meet. He would leave and she would be fine. He would leave, and she would go back to being Sam’s recycled sex doll. She wanted to die.
“Fine, brother. Choose the girl, again. See if it turns out any better this time.”
The door slammed shut behind Brendan, belying his coolly-spoken parting shot. Sam wouldn’t look at her.
“Sir,” she said. “Master?”
“Don’t call me that.”
She recoiled. He was mad at her.
“Please,” she tried.
“My name’s Sam. That’s what you can call me. Say it. Say please Sam.”
“Please, Sam,” she whispered.
He looked at her then, but she almost wished he hadn’t. She saw in his eyes disgust and fury. She saw herself turned away, cast off once again. The empty plastic doll left on the floor. Then he veiled his expression. “I’m going to go work. I need to just…you stay in the house. I mean it this time. Stay.”
Hmm. Like a dog, indeed.
She stayed in her seat as he left the cabin and locked her inside. She really shouldn’t mind. After all, she hadn’t forgotten what they had done to her, but the more time that passed the quieter her fear.
Her sense of self had returned, but it wasn’t a switch. Not off, then on, but something that stood and stretched and grew stronger with each kind word and gentle touch. She should be content to wait as his feet, to be put away when he no longer wanted her, to be shut out of his thoughts and emotions; she wasn’t.
It was like she had been trapped at the bottom of the ocean in a hellish Atlantis. Then she had broken free and started swimming. Still deep, everything had been muted. She’d swum higher and higher and now she could see the surface, kicking furiously, dying for a single breath.
She didn’t know what was at the top. She only knew that she had to get there.
Despite her uncertainty, she wouldn’t disobey. She still worried that someone might be looking for her, and it was too dark to see. And even with her newfound strength, she didn’t mind submission. There was a clarity here, a peace. She had only minded the way Brendan had spoken about her. She only worried he might be correct.
Chapter Seven
She woke in the dark, a book in her slack hands and a blanket over her knees. She must have drifted off, but where was Sam? Harsh breathing was too familiar, suddenly. A dark presence that taunted with its stillness.
Her throat tightened. “No.”
“Yes,” Brendan murmured. “See? You know me, even if you think you don’t. You know who your master is.”
The words made her breath catch, strange and meaningless to me. “Sam will come.”
Hands enclosed her wrists, warm and firm. “What will he see? You submitting to me. Didn’t he tell you about his last girlfriend?”
Oh God. Sam.
“He won’t want anything to do with you then.” Lips coasted over her shoulder, bringing goosebumps to her skin. “Where will you go? All alone in the woods. I’ll take care of you.”
It sounded like a threat. Would Sam hear her if she called to him?
“Come on, little girl.” There was the pain she expected, almost wanted. Deserved. His fingers dug
into my skin, pushing her down. “Fight me. I liked it when you fought.”
But she didn’t. She let him undress her, let him push her down onto her hands and knees, let him cup her breasts and squeeze. What could she do? Nothing, nothing at all. He was too strong, and she was too scared.
She imagined Sam working out there, just one building over. He would be tired by now but frustrated. Something had bothered him, so he kept sanding, cutting, stripping the wood with his hands. Then he would finally let go of whatever it was, through will or sheer exhaustion, and come inside to see his brother fucking his pet. Again.
She could do nothing. She was nothing. All the names that they called her—whore, slut, cum-hole—when had they become true? His fingers were inside her cunt, that part of her both exalted and feared. They worked in and out, drawing out pitiful moisture, making her ready.
She remembered arriving in a cold building. None of the girls would meet her eyes.
A sharp pain on her scalp and her head was pulled back. A voice against her ear. “My good girl. You’ll be my good girl. It’s what you want.”
They’ll never break me, she had promised to herself, silent and fierce. But what could she do?
Each time they beat her body, her mind would drift away. She could feel the pain, but it didn’t matter so much in that empty house of hopelessness. This time, she felt the currents of his cruelty pull her out to sea. But she went somewhere else this time, to a place where color suffused the air, where sounds clashed in sharp harmony, where memories burst on her tongue like spices, rich and bittersweet.
* * *
My name is Melody Cole, and I was born in Syracuse, New York more years ago than I usually cared to admit. As a young child, I ran in a pack of girls, barefoot and wild, kicking up cold dry leaves behind us. We made a fort out of bed sheets and loose lumber that came down when the boys launched a full pillow assault. Soon enough my friends were drawn away from our tight circle by lopsided smiles and stammered invitations to the movies.
I wasn’t, but not for lack of wanting. Too skinny to be hot, too shy to be noticed, I walked the same wooded trails alone. When I didn’t get asked to prom, my mom set me up with the neighbors’ college-aged son. He was surprisingly charming, and I put out for the first time that night.