by Kitty Thomas
The sun was setting when she reached the shore. A dense and foreboding jungle loomed in the distance, but on the coastline were the artistically thatched huts of the native people.
Torches were being lit, and fires were being stoked beneath the evening meal that had been hunted in the nearby jungle. Though some of the islanders owned shops and restaurants in the town and used money, a good portion of them preferred to live off the land as they had for centuries.
She was glad she was wearing something relatively normal. In her bikini and khaki cargo pants, she looked like a girl gone wild on spring break. But at least she didn’t look like some kinked-out slave, except for the collar around her throat and the nearly healed brand on her hip.
As she neared the camp, a few of the islanders looked up. Their expressions weren’t friendly. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
She didn’t see anyone fitting James’s description. Maybe he no longer lived with them, or maybe there was another settlement on a different part of the island Asher wasn’t aware of.
A few of the men moved away from the fire toward her. She had to fight every instinct not to run, but the only options this late were the jungle or the boat, and neither place seemed safe in the encroaching darkness.
They spoke rapidly to each other in their native tongue. Grace wouldn’t have understood them even if she’d considered herself fluent. They were speaking far too fast. A few kept pointing to their throats, and she knew they were having some kind of conversation about her slave status.
“Do any of you speak English?”
They stopped for a moment and blinked at her. She didn’t know as much about the politics and culture of the island as she’d thought. She’d lumped all islanders together as if they were one cohesive unit, not bothering to consider that different groups might live in different ways. These people were clearly not integrated with the main island like the shop owners were.
She started to back away. Angry natives and a language barrier didn’t sound like a fun time. They advanced. Grace stumbled in the sand as she ran, and a moment later they surrounded her, talking fast and loud as before. She moved her hands defensively in front of her face. Without language, she had no means to talk herself out of the situation, nor did she know what might come next.
“Stop.”
The men looked up and Grace turned in the direction of the clearly spoken English. The man had no accent as a native islander would. He looked like a surfer. His sandy blond hair, streaked with lighter gold from the sun, fell in a sexy mop over his eyes. She couldn’t tell from just the torchlight if they were brown.
The surfer turned to the men and spoke in the island language, calmly and reasonably. The men looked back at her as if deep in thought, then back at the blond. Finally they spoke in what sounded like agreement and went back to the camp.
The man held out a hand to help her stand. “There’s a price on your head, you know. All runaway slaves fetch a high reward if returned to the officials. They were arguing over what they should do with you. I said we should bring you to camp and find out your story before we make any rash moves. I’m James.”
Words tumbled fast, before she could stop them and run back to the boat to form a Plan B. “I’m Grace. I belong to Asher Collins. He’s been arrested for the murder of his last slave. He helped me escape so they wouldn’t take me and said to come to you and give myself to you, that you’d keep me safe.”
She’d taken a chill in the night breeze and wrapped her arms around her frame to ward it off, wishing she were wearing something warmer. James stared at her for a long time, long enough she feared he’d turn his back on her and leave her there in the dark. Finally, he started back toward the settlement.
“Come,” he called quietly behind him.
She somehow made her feet move and followed him into the camp past several huts until he stopped at one and pulled back the heavy burlap that served as a door.
“Inside,” he said.
She went in, but when she turned around, he was gone again. A few moments later, he returned with two plates of wild boar that must have been roasted over open flame all day. The boar was surrounded by rice, a few vegetables native to the island, and several rings of fresh pineapple.
“Sit.”
She was confused by his sudden monosyllabic nature. He’d spoken in full sentences before she’d told him why she’d come. She sat on the rug and he gave her food. He put his plate on the ground and left again, returning with two cups of water.
She hesitated before she spoke, uncertain if he might punish her. But Asher said he’d keep her safe. That he was a friend. If her master trusted him, he must be okay. “Will you keep me?”
An endless stretch of silence hung between them, interrupted only by the sound of crude flatware scraping across plates. He ate several bites of the boar as if he hadn’t heard her, as if he were lost in his own private world where no sound could penetrate. What would happen if he didn’t want her?
As much as she couldn’t stand the thought of giving herself to someone else, the reality was that Asher was gone and someone would have her now. It was better to belong to the man he’d chosen than to Lucas. She had to keep that thought in the front of her mind. Anyone was better than Lucas.
She was trying to gather the courage to speak again when he looked up at her, his face unreadable.
“Yes.”
She let out a shaky breath and went back to her plate. He didn’t speak again, didn’t look at her, didn’t try to touch her. It was then that she noticed the pain that seemed to surround him like a death shroud. She wanted to know what had driven him out of the fine mansion he must have once occupied to live with this tribe by the ocean. But she knew it wasn’t her place to ask.
When their plates were clean, he still didn’t make a move toward her. She wondered if he could feel her pain over losing Asher and if it added somehow to his own. She’d always hated the saying “Misery loves company”. Misery hated company; it only made the blanket of pain that much thicker and impossible to untangle oneself from.
He didn’t seem committed to the idea of her being there, and the fear of what that meant hit her in the gut like a fist. She had to make him want her there.
She gingerly reached behind her to untie the strings of the bikini top. Then she stood and let the shorts fall, and the bikini bottoms with them. He looked up at her, his gaze both hungry and distant. But he didn’t make a move.
Grace sat back down, feeling too much on display standing naked in front of him. He wanted her; it was in his eyes. All she had to do was make a move to secure her safety. Conflicting thoughts tumbled through her mind so loud it blocked out everything else.
I can’t just betray Asher. It’s not betrayal if he ordered it. James won’t hurt me. If he would, I wouldn’t have been sent here. If I don’t do this, he might throw me out. I need to convince him he wants me here. He’s my only hope of surviving now.
Several minutes passed before she made herself crawl over to him, the tears sliding down her face. This is what Asher ordered. I have to do this. How can I even think about disobeying him in any way after everything he did for me?
He tentatively reached out, his fingers feathering lightly over one breast before closing around it. The other hand threaded through her hair and wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her to his mouth. The gesture was so much like Asher that she could close her eyes and it was him. So she did.
She was lost in the heady daydream of Asher holding her, kissing her, when she was pushed away and ripped from the fantasy. She looked up, afraid he knew she hadn’t been with him as his lips had stroked over hers. Afraid he might punish her for it, and so conflicted over who she should be loyal to now. When her eyes met his, it was that same agonizing pain on his face.
“I’m sorry . . .” She hesitated, unable to let the word Master pass through her lips. Not yet. He would insist at some point, and she’d have to obey. But she wanted to hold onto
the one remaining thing that tied her only to Asher for a little while longer.
“I killed Darcy,” he said, his voice flat of emotion.
The admission had her scooting away. Did Asher know? He had to know. William said it was an accident––not by her master’s hand. Accident or not, the knowledge that the man she was with had taken a life had her moving as far from James as she could get without leaving the hut.
“I won’t hurt you.”
She wanted to believe him.
Minutes crawled by and he sighed. “I can’t do this.”
Those words had her scrambling back to him, desperate to change his mind, knowing what would happen if he wouldn’t keep her. “Please, I can’t go back to Lucas. You don’t know what he’s like. Please don’t send me away––”
“Get dressed.”
She wanted to protest, but his decision had been made. He stood and gathered their dinner plates. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the bikini and pants, feeling stupid, exposed, ashamed, scared. So many feelings and no feelings all at once as a part of her seemed to numb out over the idea of being returned to the man she loathed and feared.
“I have to turn myself in. I can’t let him lose another woman he loves because of me.” James looked at her then, as if just now realizing she was in his hut, so lost in his own head he hadn’t stopped to think how his previous words had sounded. He brushed her hair back from her face and wiped her tears, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Shhhh. I’ll fix this. I promise.”
Grace just stared as he crossed to the door flap and peered out.
“I want you to stay in this hut. I’m going to tell them you’re mine and that I have to go do something but may send a friend for you. If anything happens and Asher can’t come, if they think you’re mine, they may let you stay.”
Purpose attached itself to him, and he seemed to come alive as he packed a bag for his journey. “How did you get here?”
“Asher’s boat.”
“Good. I need to use it. I’ll take it back to his house, then go into town from there.”
She knew enough about the layout of the land to know going through the jungle would be far quicker, even on foot, than traveling around the circumference by sea. But going through the jungle was more dangerous, and alone, James faced better odds if he took the boat. She just hoped there was enough fuel to get him back.
He went to the door again and stopped. “When Asher comes for you, tell him his forgiveness means everything to me. I know he wouldn’t have sent you here if he hadn’t forgiven me. I’ve tried to forgive myself, but it’s just not working. Maybe doing the right thing will fix that.”
She sat by the door, listening as he explained things to the natives, then all was quiet outside the hut.
He’d only been gone a short while when one of the islanders that had first chased her came in. She swallowed around the lump in her throat as he brought her outside. Several men held torches and each had a small bag of provisions looped over one shoulder. Whatever James thought they’d agreed to, they obviously hadn’t. They were yelling at her in that language she didn’t understand. Then they were dragging her through the jungle toward the center of the island and the waiting bounty.
***
It was midnight when the officials returned her to Lucas. With the shortcut through the jungle, they’d beaten James to the prison. Money talked, even to natives living off the land. The trade had been fast, with the officials saying things in the native language she didn’t understand, catching only the “thank you” part. Then they’d taken her back to Lucas, despite her pleas for asylum from him.
As she cowered in the dungeon, the only bright spot was the hope that James would make it, do the right thing, and then Asher would be freed to come after her. At least she had that hope to cling to. She knew she’d need it.
“Miss me, pet?” Lucas’s cold, dark eyes were almost enough to make her start screaming and begging after only three minutes in his care. But she remained silent, mentally calculating in her head how close James was to the station, and how long it might take him to give his confession, and then how long it might take Asher to get free and come find her. She shuddered over the idea of all the extra time she’d have to wait as he made his way over to the natives, only to discover they’d returned her to the officials.
With all that, it would be morning before he could get to her. Surely she could hold out and not betray him until morning. A part of her knew Asher wouldn’t blame her for anything she submitted to in this dungeon. Still. She felt she should be strong for him and not capitulate too quickly. She wouldn’t be able to live with the shame if she did.
He’d wanted her to go to James and submit for her own safety. He didn’t expect her to hold out on his account. He wanted her safe and alive. She had to admit she preferred safe and alive as well, but safe was no longer an option with Lucas calling the shots.
“We’ve got a lot of bad training to undo,” Lucas said. “When I saw you in the elevator, how completely you’d given yourself to Collins, I realized I gave up on you too soon. I should never have let you go.”
“But you did.”
His hand came across her face swift and sharp. “You filthy slut. It’s only because I’m merciful that I’m keeping you for myself. I should whore you out.” He ran a finger over the platinum collar, disgust in his eyes.
“You’ll have to chop my head off to get it off,” she said, unsure where her sudden bravery was coming from. All she knew was that she only had to endure a few hours with him, and she’d be damned if he broke her down to the terrified creature she’d been in that time. She didn’t like the idea of Asher riding to the rescue only to see her submitting to her former master without much of a fight.
He laughed. “Oh, it’s going to be fun breaking you back down. I thought if Asher killed his last slave, then surely he was a bigger bastard than me. But when I saw you with him in town that day, and you looked . . . happy . . . Well, it seems he had different intentions for you than I did. As to your collar, I’ll call a locksmith in the morning. We’ll have the offending object off your throat by lunchtime. I expect I’ll only have to withhold meals for a couple of days and you’ll be back to where you were before. Don’t think you’ve suddenly gotten strong. You’ve just gotten spoiled. It’s a very different thing.”
Grace didn’t comment. There was no sense baiting him more. If she pissed him off enough, he might lose control and kill her. It was obvious the little bit of sanity he had was becoming dangerously frayed. She was the one project he seemed determined to finish.
She closed her eyes, trying not to see the look that would be on Asher’s face when he discovered her dead in Lucas’s dungeon. To come this far, only to end like that seemed stupid at best. Whatever her captor managed to deal out to her in the next few hours, it would happen, and then it would be done. All she had to do was survive it.
She cringed when he stroked her collarbone. “Pity you’ll lose this tan. I prefer you pale and vulnerable. I think I’ll take great pleasure in watching the golden color drain from your skin day by day until you’ve paled out. You’ll never see the sun again. I hope you enjoyed it while you were over at the Collins’ Vacation Spa.”
“Why do you even keep a slave if you can’t take care of one? You know the value drops when you do that shit.”
He shrugged. “You fetched a high-enough price. There is always someone willing to pay. Always someone with similar tastes and ideas of what a slave should be, but I won’t sell you again. We are forever, Grace. I should have known the moment I laid eyes on you that you would be the one.”
Having grown bored with the pleasantries, he pulled a knife from his pocket and cut the clothes off her. Tears sprang to her eyes when he yanked her hair back, turning her this way and that, inspecting his returned property.
He cursed when he turned her around, and she knew he’d seen the brand. At the time Asher had done it, it had felt like safety, a guarantee of some sort.
But there were no guarantees on this island, and now all it did was anger the man she was currently with.
“You little cunt.” He spun her back to face him, obviously unable to bear looking at Asher’s estate symbol a second longer. Enraged, he grabbed her by the throat and pressed her against the wall. “You have the nerve to talk about devaluing property? Whatever made you think you had the right to wear his estate symbol? Did you really think you’d be free of me forever?”
What the fuck did he mean did she really think she’d be free of him? He’d sold her. He’d seemed thrilled to get rid of her because of that last piece he couldn’t break or have, or whatever insane babbling he’d been doing the day of her sale. Back when he’d been so smug and convinced Asher would break her beyond recognition and finish a job he was either too lazy or incompetent to finish himself. Now he seemed motivated to try again.
“Answer me, slave.”
“You sold me. So, yes, I thought we were done.” She hadn’t uttered the word master yet, and hoped somehow she would get out of here without ever having to refer to him in that way again, but somehow she doubted it. Rescue was still a long way off. If it’s even coming at all.
Although she had some idea of how things were supposed to play out, it actually happening that way was still in the air. The boat could run out of fuel, and James could be stranded. He could change his mind, leaving Asher to pay for his crime. He could confess, and they might not believe him, or they might keep them both in custody, anyway. There was no guarantee her master would be released at all.
She shivered as that realization fully sank in. What if he never came for her? She’d torture herself forever wondering what had happened, each day her hope of rescue shrinking smaller and smaller. She pictured herself back where Lucas had her before, maybe worse. Because he was right. She had been at the Collins’ Vacation Spa. She’d been living a life of luxury and pampering and love.
His hand squeezed tighter around her throat, cutting off her oxygen. “My, have we got our work cut out for us. After I get that ridiculous collar off your neck, I’m going to cut that branding mark off. Since you’ve already depreciated, I’m going to brand your other hip with my estate symbol.”