Chloe nearly choked on her own tears. Seventeen’s entire body trembled. Her skin was raw pink where the wand had hit her.
“Now,” Demetrius ordered.
Chloe clutched the studded belt and, with a cry, struck Seventeen.
The steel slave’s back bowed. Chloe had caught her just beneath the shoulder blade. A mark formed immediately, angry and red, but no blood came.
“Pity,” said Demetrius. “You’re quite the cruel Mistress, aren’t you, to strike so softly and hurt her again?”
Chloe shrieked along with Seventeen as the wand came again, striking her thigh with a flash of lightning. Seventeen’s cries were agonizing. Chloe couldn’t take it. She screamed and struck Seventeen again, hitting her square across the back. Again, no blood. Demetrius shook his head and hit Seventeen in the buttocks. The steel slave’s cries only grew louder.
“Please, Mistress!” she screamed. “Please strike me!”
Chloe’s world shook on its axis. She felt Demetrius’ eyes on her, but she couldn’t look away from Seventeen’s body, at the bright pink firework patterns the wand caused, and the two red marks she had made with the belt. Chloe shoved back all thoughts of shame and pain. Beneath them, a rage bloomed, a rage she fanned until it consumed her. She struck Seventeen again, hard enough to lurch the slave forward, but it was not enough to break skin. Chloe used the inevitable wand strike as fuel for her anger. She drew her arm back and belted Seventeen across the buttocks, drawing a cry from the steel slave’s throat, but before Demetrius could use the wand, she struck again. And again. And again. Chloe screamed over the vicious slap of the studded belt, using her full arm, striking with abandon. Demetrius faded away. Seventeen’s screams became nothing. There was only the slap of leather against flesh, the raised red streaks blooming brighter and brighter, as bright as the hatred inside of Chloe.
It seemed an eternity before Demetrius’ cool hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her blows. Chloe slowly came to. Seventeen had collapsed onto her hands and knees, her back marred by swollen streaks. A thin stream of blood trickled from a brutal strike near her back ribs.
Chloe’s rage evaporated.
“Oh, God…” she whispered, staring at the sweat-drenched and whimpering woman before her. “Oh, God.”
“Good girl.” Demetrius’ voice was rough and strained. Chloe looked at him. He was staring at Seventeen, his chest heaving as if he had been the one striking her. He was fully erect. He seemed to be drinking in the image of the bloodied slave. Chloe let the belt drop from her hand. Her body felt numb. She remembered when she craved Demetrius’ attention, the feeling of accomplishment she experienced when her own pain brought him pleasure. Now she just felt sick.
Demetrius reached out and brushed Seventeen’s back. The steel slave screamed as if he had struck her, collapsing onto the sheets, writhing in pain. A low growl permeated Demetrius’ mask. He looked at Chloe, and the hunger in his eyes wasn’t for her.
“Twenty-One,” he said. “Sit at the corner of the bed, and hold the bedposts.”
Chloe stumbled over her numb feet to crawl into the bed. The sheets were damp with Seventeen’s sweat. Demetrius reached beneath the bed again and came up with rope. Chloe knew what was coming. She bowed her head and let silent tears fall as Demetrius bound her wrists to the wooden bedposts, her arms spread just shy of uncomfortably wide. Demetrius bound her hastily, his eyes cutting to Seventeen’s panting form every chance he got. Something burned in Chloe, some shadow of the rage she had felt as she struck Seventeen.
Demetrius finally looked at her. His hair had fallen over one eye.
“What are you?” he asked.
Chloe stared at him for a long moment, trying to understand the feeling growing inside of her. “I am a slave.”
“Again.”
“I am a slave.”
“Yes.” Demetrius patted her hair in an idle, distracted manner. “And you will never forget it again, will you?”
Chloe shook her head, unable to speak. Demetrius seemed to accept a weak reply for once.
“You will sleep like this tonight, to remind you of what you are.”
He had barely finished speaking before he turned to Seventeen.
“Slave,” he said to her. “Spread your legs.”
Seventeen had barely obeyed before Demetrius fell onto her. He gripped her hair in one hand and entered her from behind. Seventeen moaned, a pleasure sound Chloe was not expecting. Demetrius rode her, running his fingers along every streak Chloe had made on Seventeen’s back. The feeling burned brighter in Chloe’s chest and prickled up through her temples. Demetrius did not look her way a single time. She expected him to, to stare at her, to mock her, punish her by showing her this…but why would that be a punishment? He was not hurting Seventeen. Chloe herself had done that. No, he was fucking her, running a hand through her hair, dragging his nails along her wounds to make her cry out. Chloe was invisible to him. Seventeen was everything.
Chloe finally understood the feeling that pestered her. It was envy. And it grew every moment Demetrius failed to look her way, burned when he spent himself across Seventeen’s streaked back, and finally consumed her when he shackled the steel slave to the headboard and stroked her breasts affectionately, whispering, “good girl” into Seventeen’s ear. Demetrius slipped out of the room without another word. Chloe was alone with her own thoughts for far too long. She wrestled with envy and self-loathing for an eternity. She was his, even though her hatred for him returned with her name, even though she knew she shouldn’t want to be. She had no choice but to be his. But Demetrius was not hers. She had known that before this encounter, but never before had it stung her so badly. She drifted off, finally, bound to the bed posts, staring at the bruised and battered slave across from her until her eyelids sunk.
Chapter 39
December 11, 2011
Demetrius had just finished posting the last of the dolls for their final night at the Oryx when he heard Rafe’s footfalls echo across the empty dance floor.
“Rafe,” he greeted, stepping away from Five. The dolls had been decorated with silver garlands and tinsel for the holiday. Much like Abigail’s theatrics, he found this particular theme for the dolls ridiculous, but each year the crowd loved it.
“Got a phone call, Boss,” said Rafe, running a hand over his bald head, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “Some detective.”
Demetrius frowned. A detective? Of course Rafe was nervous. They dealt with police regularly, like any bar, but a detective was an unusual caller. He thought back through the month. Bobby was sitting in jail at this very moment, up on charges after the tire slashing incident. There was no need for a detective in a case like that. The Oryx had been quiet otherwise, save for one thing.
“Has Mariane been around lately?” asked Demetrius.
Rafe gave him a blank face.
“The little blonde piece who gave Bobby a hard time a while back.”
Rafe folded his arms. “Oh. Not that I’ve seen. Don’t remember seeing her since then.”
That clever little bitch.
“Is the detective on hold?”
“Yeah. In the office.”
Demetrius headed toward the office, thinking fast. If Mariane had gone to the police, he would have heard from his contacts at the station by now. But he couldn’t think of any other reason for a detective to be calling him. He closed the office door behind him and picked up the phone.
“This is Demetrius.”
“Mr. Heart, hello,” came a monotone female voice. Demetrius sighed internally. He had long ago come to terms the ridiculous surname, but still damned Mama Dede for it. “This is Detective Jamie Gatz of the FBI. We’re investigating a missing person’s case, and the name of the Oryx came up as the last place they were seen.”
Detective Gatz paused, as if waiting for him to speak. Demetrius flexed his fingers.
“Doug Dorn is the owner of the bar, Detective,” he said. “I’m only an employee. I can put
you in contact with him for this sort of business.”
“Well, actually, Mr. Heart, he was coming to talk to you.”
He was coming to talk. So Mariane was the reason for this. Demetrius almost smiled. She’d known she had no evidence to implicate him in Chloe’s disappearance, so she dredged up her one card against him, that one night years ago, when the idiotic brother of one of his slaves had turned up at the bar. He felt the urge to touch the bullet scar near his collarbone.
“I was wondering if you could come down to the Oak County Precinct and answer a few questions for us?”
Demetrius mulled this over. Legally, he didn’t have to. Detective Gatz had chosen her words very, very carefully. They were vague, and she paused at deliberate points, as if waiting for him to speak. She was fishing for information, hoping he would fill in blanks and possibly bring suspicion upon himself. If they had any sort of solid evidence against him, she wouldn’t be searching for a lead like that. Mariane was their only connection to him, and she was more than easy to discredit. It would be best for him to go in and endure an hour or so of Detective Gatz trying to trip him up with her leading questions. Once he discredited Mariane, the incident would resolve itself.
“I’d be happy to, Detective,” he said. “Though I have to tell you, I meet new people every night. You’re going to have to refresh my memory.”
“Of course, Mr. Heart,” said Detective Gatz. “We’ll be happy to.”
Chapter 40
December 13, 2011
The attendants were just as excited as they had been before the dinner party. Chloe and the rest of the slaves stood in the dining room on a long tarp as their attendants brushed them with sharp smelling paint. Chloe was tense, standing At Attention as Gabe coated Seventeen’s legs in dull pastel streaks that became bright metallic green when they dried. He painted her to look like some sort of mermaid. Other slaves were painted with tiger and zebra stripes, and a multitude of other animal pelts. Abigail flitted about the basement in a skin tight blue gown, directing the twins as they decorated the walls with streamers. Chloe tried her best to avoid drawing attention to herself, but every now and then she felt Abigail’s gaze boring into her. She tried to focus on the décor around her. It was easy to pick up on the circus theme. There was even a large tank full of water set up in the center of the podium for Seventeen and the other “mermaids.” The shackled table and the rack full of nasty little tools were still there from the dinner party. Chloe was relieved to see that the crosses had been removed.
Gabe stepped back and studied Seventeen. Chloe followed suit. Her legs were green with a black scallop pattern from her thighs to her ankles. He had painted stripes on her feet to simulate a fin. Her nipples were coated in the strange green paint as well. They glittered like gems set in her lush breasts. Her hair fell long and glossy over her shoulder, half concealing her kohl-rimmed eyes and shimmering green lips.
“All right, you, go sit by the tank while I finish up here,” he beckoned to Chloe. “Hurry up, sweetie, we’re already behind.”
As Chloe and Seventeen crossed paths, Seventeen caught Chloe’s hand for a breath, squeezing and letting go before Gabe could notice. Chloe frowned. She watched Seventeen walk by as Gabe posed her. The beautiful slave looked over her shoulder at her, and her eyes held the same terrible sorrow Chloe had seen before they had had the photo shoot. Chloe’s heart constricted. Gabe had covered up the bruises Chloe had left on Seventeen’s back the night Demetrius had forced her to be a Mistress, but Seventeen’s eyes held every ounce of pain she had endured. Chloe remembered the feeling of being sucked into those large dark eyes, and for a moment, she liked the idea of being trapped in Seventeen’s sorrow, of losing herself in that inviting blackness.
Gabe lifted Chloe’s chin and painted along her jawline to the edge of her collar. The paint smelled terrible, sharp and acrid like ammonia. She tried to breathe through her mouth and looked at the jar in Gabe’s hand. The paint inside looked grey and milky. She wished she could see the colour it became as it dried. She could feel it on her neck, tightening and becoming more resistant. Chloe lifted her chin to stretch the front of her throat. The paint fought her, urging her neck to spring back to its original position. It tensed like a rubber band.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” said Gabe with a smile. He went to work coating her chest just beneath her collar. “You’ll get used to it. But you need to hold still ‘til it dries, or you’ll tear holes in it. That’s the problem with liquid-”
A deafening crash brought startled cries from the crowd of slaves and attendants. Chloe looked up to find that Seventeen had overturned the training table on the podium. The attendants moved at once, dropping the slaves to the floor. Gabe, however, headed right for Seventeen, leaving Chloe standing frozen in shock. She had seen one of Seventeen’s outbursts before, in the baths, but she had assumed the attendant Seventeen had bitten had provoked her somehow. This tantrum was unprompted.
Abigail and the twins dropped their decorations and rushed at Seventeen.
“Slave!” Abigail shouted, catching Seventeen’s attention away from Gabe. “On your knees. Now!”
Seventeen grabbed a jar of paint beside a nearby slave and hurled it in Abigail’s direction. Abigail shrieked and dodged the projectile. Gabe advanced on his charge, but the wild slave ran behind the rack of tools and shoved it with all her might. The rack hit the podium wall with a crack, scattering whips and floggers on the marble floor. Seventeen snatched up the nearest tool, the bamboo cane that the twins had used on Ash during the dinner party. She swung it in Gabe’s direction, making a threatening whoosh sound. She swung it at Abigail and the twins to keep them a safe distance away as well.
Chloe was astonished. In a split second, this slave had gained the upper hand against a room full of attendants. She knew it would not last long. Seventeen had cornered herself on the podium. She had nowhere to go, and eventually someone would brave a blow from the cane and capture her. But for now, Seventeen was in control. Chloe felt hot all over. The back of her throat tingled, and she could feel her heart picking up speed. She wanted to cough, to clear her throat, but she didn’t dare break the silence. Finally, Seventeen opened her mouth and spoke.
“I am Elena Andolini,” she said. Her voice was lush and smooth, a low alto burning with conviction. “I am not a slave.”
For a moment, the world stood still. Then Gabe and the twins charged at her.
Seventeen swung wildly, nearly catching Charity’s hand as they advanced.
“I am Elena Andolini!” she cried. “I am not a slave! I am Elena Andolini! I am not-”
She continued to scream, over and over, a chant to shatter the mantra that had become the prayer of twenty women. She swung at the twins and Gabe caught her around the waist while they disarmed her. Chloe and the crowd of slaves and attendants watched in awe. Seventeen’s eyes were bright and wild, as savage and beautiful as Chloe had remembered upon seeing them for the first time, and she fought in Gabe’s arms with a ferocity to rival the rebellion in the baths. Even Gabe, twice her size, seemed to struggle to keep ahold of her. He kicked her legs out from beneath her and dragged her up the steps of the tank on the podium.
Chloe’s throat went dry. She remembered when Gabe had dunked her again and again in the baths. She did not want to witness such a brutal act again, but she couldn’t look away. Her chest was tight, as if her ribcage were slowly turning to lead.
“I am Elena Andolini!” Seventeen screamed at the top of her lungs. “I am not a slave!”
Gabe threw her into the tank and held her under the water, dodging her flailing limbs. Chloe watched her writhe in the tank, twisting and kicking her painted green legs. Holes formed in the bizarre paint where she moved, tearing like cloth. Her gasp was audible when Gabe finally lifted her up for air.
“I am not a slave!” she screamed again, thrashing against Gabe’s grip. “I am not a slave!”
Gabe dunked her again, shouting unintelligible words over the str
uggle. He held her under again and again, but Seventeen did not slow or tire like she had in the baths. With each breath, she screamed, “I am not a slave!”
The words and the sound of splashing water bounced off the walls like a drum calling to arms. Chloe’s knees felt weak. Watching Seventeen submerged over and over again made her own breath short, as if she were the one drowning. The room began to blur, and all Chloe could see was Seventeen’s lithe body in motion under water, fighting, flailing, weakening. Chloe did not realize she was walking toward the tank until she tripped over a slave on the ground and nearly lost her footing. Not a single attendant moved to stop her. Even Abigail and the twins were distracted, watching Gabe dunk Seventeen, hold her, lift her, dunk her again, as she finally began to slow.
Chloe was close enough to see Seventeen’s face behind the glass. She watched the slave open her mouth and gasp as if water were air. Chloe’s own breath felt as if she were inhaling water, thick and labored. By the time Chloe had stumbled to the tank and pressed her hand against the glass, Seventeen had stopped struggling, and those big dark eyes had gone dim and glassy, unblinking as her long hair veiled her face. Chloe felt as if she herself were floating. She was in the water with Seventeen, weightless and still. They were free.
Chloe collapsed just as Gabe pulled Seventeen too late out of the water. Chloe’s skin was on fire, her throat felt too thick, a wall of flesh slowly closing. She opened her mouth and fought for air, and stupidly she thought, Put her back in the water! Put her back! We belong there!
The dining room erupted into movement, but Chloe was nearly deaf from the sound of her frantic pulse in her ears. Konri appeared in her blurred vision, shouting, louder than she had ever heard him speak.
“…under control. Now!”
He shoved a few attendants who had gathered around Chloe aside. “Move! Move!”
Chloe scratched at her throat as if she meant to make a new airway, but her fingers came back with sticky, stretchy white paint. She stared at the paint, and it was as if she were back in the dentist’s chair of her childhood, choking on her own tongue from the dentist’s latex gloves. Konri scooped her into his arms. The twins appeared at her side, their black eyes wide with panic.
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