by Bry Ann
“Lacey!” I snap.
Her head snaps up. When she sees it’s me her body reacts instantly. Subtle shaking because she knows my power, but also the faintest hint of relief. That’s the part that intrigues me. I’d hurt her worse than anyone.
“Sir?” she asks quietly.
“Get up.”
She scrambles to her feet. There’s a bucket by her left foot and a dirty rag in her right hand. Her white cotton dress is ripped on the side and there’s a huge bleeding gash there. I walk over to her. Her eyes pulse when she sees where I'm looking.
I trace my fingers along the bloody cut, coating my fingers in it. I stare the blood lacing my fingers.
“You’re always bleeding.”
“Your…”
Then she clamps her mouth shut and looks down, resigned.
“Lacey! Finish what you were saying.”
“Sir. Please no. I'm sorry.”
She starts to shake profusely. Her dirty blonde, nearly brown, comes down to hide her face. I want to move the hair out of her face, but I don’t.
“Say it Lacey or I guarantee you will be punished. Also, be warned, I will know if you are lying.”
She starts to cry. Something she doesn’t do often in my presence. She’s really scared because Lacey rarely cries in front of me. Or anyone.
“I was gonna say,” she glances up at me quickly. Her grey eyes meet mine before looking away. “I was… I was gonna say,” a tear falls, “Your men always hurt me.”
Then she starts to shake so rapidly I have to place my hands on her shoulders to steady her. I don’t know what to do with what she just said. She should be punished, but her words hit me like a knife in the gut. Fuck.
Your men always hurt me.
I don’t let any of my indecision show.
“Come. You’re done cleaning for the day.”
I place my hand on her left side, opposite the injured side, to help usher her out the door. She leaps and cries out as soon as my hand touches her there. My eyes immediately darken and I take my hands off her. I was careful to choose the side without the blood. She looks at me wide-eyed and now purely terrified.
“Follow me.”
I walk out the door knowing she’ll follow. I hear her quiet footsteps behind me. We walk awhile before I open a large concealed wooden door. She stares at it, looking scared but empty. Like a shell of a person.
I did this to her.
Well, not all of it. There wasn’t much left when I found her.
“Well go in.”
She looks at the bed and the dark walls and the curtains and the fancy shit I don’t need. I see the recognition in her eyes.
“Yes. This is my room.”
She’s been in here before but she wouldn’t remember.
“What… do you need sir?” Trained question. Her voice is barely audible and she’s shaking so hard I think she is going to pass out at some point during this interaction. She doesn't know I’ve already fucking forgotten what she said earlier. My mind is on one thing, and one thing only
“Lift your dress.”
Lacey’s eyes fill with water immediately.
“Please, sir…” Second time she hasn’t directly obeyed. The second time since she’s gotten here and it’s in the span of ten minutes. Tisk, tisk Lacey. “No.”
“I’ll only ask one more time. Lift. Your. Dress.”
I walk up to her. She backs into my bed, her delicate little legs pushed up against it. With shaking fingers she lifts her dress up. Her eyes fall on my pristine hardwood floor. I let her avoid my gaze.
When the dress falls just below her breast I grab her hand and stop her. That’s enough. She stops immediately and holds her dress there. She looks up at me, confused. Those broken gray eyes don’t understand. I walk around to her left side and immediately she knows I know. She starts shaking again, but that quiet strength is back. She doesn’t back away or says anything. It takes me a minute to get my eyes off her small white cotton underwear, and what I know is underneath. So innocent and fragile.
Immediately, my eyes go wide and all thoughts of the fucking underwear are forgotten. Did she really think I wouldn’t find out? I stare at her. Shocked. I can’t remember the last time I felt this surprised. Angry. Furious.
All along her left side is the largest bruise I’ve seen going from where her bra line would be, down to her hip. It’s huge. On top of it is dark, self-inflicted wounds. At least forty, fifty, one hundred. Shit. They are all ranging in size and severity. In the bruise, there is also scarring from old cuts. I stare at her. I can’t wrap my mind around this. Lacey’s always been so strong. I don’t understand. She’s crying in shame.
“The bruise?”
She shakes her head no. It’s not self-inflicted. I stick my finger under her chin.
“Who did it?”
She looks at me, eyebrows pulled together. For the first time, I don’t just see brokenness in her eyes. I see pain. Wells of it. Never ending pain. My heart stops beating in my chest. I’ve never felt like this before. My eyes feel heavy. WHAT. THE. FUCK.
“Lacey,” I growl. “Who did that?”
I gently take her hand and let her drop the dress. A sigh of relief leaves her. Don’t get too comfortable with it.
“Sir, he’ll…”
I cut her off and grab her arms. “Do you still not understand who I am? Do I need to whip you and hurt you and fuck you for you to know I'm in charge here? I run it all. I own it all. I'm the motherfucking boss.”
“No. I know.”
“Then believe me when I say you are better off telling me than protecting a pawn.”
She looks at me horrified. “I'm not protecting him!”
Holy fuck, she’s scared of him. I almost want to laugh.
“Lacey,” I let myself move her hair back behind her ears, “my little dove, you’re mine. No one can hurt you if you’re mine.”
She looks at me on instinct. Her eyes saying more than she’d ever have to.
They already have.
“He, won’t hurt you again. I promise. If you tell me.”
Why the fuck am I bargaining with her?
“Giovanni,” she whispers. “He… did that.”
I lift her up and set her on the bed. “How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lacey…”
“A baton. Then pushed me into something. It bruises kind of a lot.”
I sigh and run my hands over my hair. I'm motherfucking lucky we don’t have any kind of major war going on right now. This little girl with cotton panties, this prisoner, has all my motherfucking attention.
“The cuts.”
Her eyes water. “I won’t talk about that.”
My eyes go wide. She’s just deliberately disobeyed me. No begging. Just strict disobedience.
“Yes, you will.”
“No sir. Those are mine.”
Mine? Oh, Jesus Christ. It's control. Pain. Fucking hell. What am I gonna do? Hurt her more for the information? I sigh.
“Stay there.”
I go to my restroom, under the sink, where I keep my extensive first aid kit. I keep one there so I can handle injuries without my men seeing my weakness. It’s one of the ways I’ve stayed in this position for so long. People never know when I am down.
I grab the kit and plop it down on the bed next to her. She's staring at it like it’s an alien lifeform.
“It’s a first aid kid Lacey.”
“I know. I'm… wondering why it’s there?”
She looks at me. Her grey eyes meeting my nearly black ones. It’s not light to dark. It’s angel to devil. Pain to death.
Great motherfucking question Lacey.
“You’re side. Obviously. Stupid question my little dove.”
The weirdest thing happens. She looks at it and the corner of her lip turns up, almost like she wants to smile but won’t. My heart beats again. It feels like it’s flying. I hate myself for being this way with her, but my door is locked and no o
ne can see so I indulge for a few moments in this one weakness of mine.
I lift her dress again, tucking it up in the back. I place the ice on her side and hold it there. There’s an awkward silence. I'm just holding it to her side. No cruel words or touches. Neither of us knows what to do.
“Lacey?” I make my voice gentle.
“Tell me about the cuts. I won’t make you. I'm asking you to tell me.”
You have the control. Please tell me.
“You’ll…”
“I’ll what? For the next five minutes, you can speak freely.”
She glances at the clock, getting the time. Taking it very literally. What have I done to this girl? A minute over and I’ll hurt her, or have someone else hurt her. That’s what she thinks. No, that’s what she's experienced. Motherfuckng shit. That bothers me now.
“You’ll use it against me, sir.”
“I could use it against you now.”
“Yes, but why give you more?”
“I already have everything Lacey.”
“No,” her small fingers trace over the spot above the ice where most of the cuts are, “not these.”
“Those aren’t prizes Lacey.”
“There something!” she shouts at me. Fire in her eyes. “I have nothing! They give me purpose!”
“These cuts,” I can’t even hide the shock and horror in my voice, “cutting yourself is giving you purpose?”
“It means I'm alive still.”
“Oh, Lacey.”
I drop the ice and walk to the other side of the room, placing my head against the wall by my hands. My mind is spinning. Several minutes pass. I hear quiet footsteps and then a soft shaking hand on my shoulder. She doesn’t say anything. She just puts it there. Is she trying to help? Me?
She’s ripping my non-existent heart out.
“You’re suffering,” she whispers.
I spin around and look at her. For one beautiful moment, equals.
“No Lacey. You hurt for everyone else because you are hurting so deeply. You feel people’s pain because you know what it’s like. These,” I graze her side, “bury the pain, but it’s there. So Lacey no. I'm not suffering. You are.”
Her mouth drops and she looks down again, falling silently into her role. I furrow my eyebrows, confused.
“It’s been five minutes sir.”
She really is the perfect prisoner. I shouldn’t give that up. I should exploit it like I should everything else. But I don’t want to.
“If you are in this room you are free to say what you please, but past these walls Lacey it all stay the same. If you can’t do that, this privilege will be taken away and there will be punishment. Understand?”
A tear falls from her cheek. “Thank you sir.”
“Lacey. Nothing changes past these walls.”
“I know sir.”
“Alright. Back up on the bed. Let’s finish getting you wrapped up and disinfected.”
Chapter 11:
Rose:
Five days. Five days since Sven, my boss, mafia pawn, criminal, gave me first orgasm. I was doing so well up until then. I got to bury myself in work. I’d been eating. Stopped smoking. Barely drank. Now I'm a full-blown alcoholic and smoker. I’ve barely eaten. I’ve already lost so much weight. Sven hasn’t really been around. Who knows what he’s been doing, but I can only thank the Lord that I’ve barely seen him. I think I’d combust. I can still feel the way his fingers felt inside me. My body betraying me. Just like my heart betrayed me as a kid.
“Rose,” Kristy calls. Wow, she can make time for me now.
“What?”
“I… just wanted to see how you are doing.”
“Oh is now a good time for you?”
I know I'm being a bitch, but I’ve been falling apart and nobodies cared because I still love the clients dearly. I guess that’s all that matters to them. That I do good work. I'm on my own. I was mistaken for a moment.
“Rose…”
“Look. I need some personal space. I'm mad at you. I need… to be alone.”
She nods sadly. “I'm sorry Rose.”
That’s the end of our friendship. It was a goodbye. I nod and walk off. I’ve always been too much for people. I have too many problems, and not enough to give them in return. I'm just about to leave when Maria calls me. Okay, Maria’s been the exception. In her own way, she’s tried to be there for me. She’s been nice.
“Hey. What’s up Maria?”
“Let’s go out tonight. We’ll get you all sexed up,” she looks at me worried, “Let’s just forget for a night.”
“Forget what?”
“I don’t know girl. I'm okay. Forget whatever you want.”
There are so many reasons I shouldn’t go. Perfect. “Yeah let’s do it.”
“Really?” she lights up. “Great! I have my shit in the car already. Don’t ask. Let’s get ready at your place.”
“Okay.” I shrug.
Two hours later Maria is ready and has me all done up. I turn around and look in the mirror. Woah. I don’t recognize this girl. She’s done an amazing job making me… someone else. Dark eyeliner and heavy black eyeshadow coat my eyes. My hair has lots of volumes and is messy, but in that sexy way, a lot of people seem to love. The outfit. Well, there’s not much of it. I'm wearing a strapless black crop top with a form-fitting black shirt and boots.
“I love it, Maria.”
Her eyes light up. She needs to go into cosmetology. It makes her so happy.
“I'm so glad.”
She claps her hands. We head to her car. She’s wearing a tight purple dress that shows off her incredible curves. Her hair is long, voluminous and curled. She’s so hot. I feel like a knockoff.
She takes me far into town to a club. Not a bar. A club. My heart starts hammering in my chest.
“You… sure?” I ask her tentatively.
“Oh yes. This is where you go when you want to forget. Trust me.”
She winks and gets out of the car. After a minute I follow her. Before we go in she turns to me.
“Before we lose each other and I can’t hear a word you say, all I ask is if you go home with someone find me and let me know. I’d worry.”
Then she walks in, full of confidence. What the hell am I doing here? I immediately go to the bar and order the strongest drink on the menu. That’s literally what I ask for.
“On me sweetheart,” the bartender winks as he hands the drink off to me.
I nod and walk off. I feel so unlike myself. This all makes me feel uncomfortable. He wouldn’t recognize me outside of these clothes. A few guys try and dance with me, but I push past all of them and find my way to the wall. I plaster myself against it and try and hide in the darkness. I bring the drink to my lips.
Damn. This is strong.
I wince and spit it back into the cup. I go to drink it again, gulp it down like medicine when a voice stops me.
“Wouldn’t finish that if I were you.”
My blood runs cold and I look up immediately. Sure enough, in front of me is Sven Xander in navy blue slacks, a white t-shirt, and a leather jacket. With his gold rings of course.
“Sven…” I gasp and try and bury myself into the wall. My sex immediately clenches. He chuckles like he can see right through my clothes, straight to my body. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could.
He walks up to me and traces his finger along my cheek. “My little wallflower…”
“I don’t know what I'm doing here,” I admit.
He plucks the drink from my hand and puts it on a waiter’s tray. Not asking me, full confidence in his actions.
“That was mine! I really need that.”
I make a move to grab it, but he grabs my hand, stopping it midair.
“Don’t think you want that.”
I want to smack him so bad. I know it’s written all over my face. I'm furious. I'm at a fucking club I don’t belong in, in this awkward outfit. He smirks.
“I’ll repeat,” he runs
his finger along my pulse. I freeze. His touch is gentle, but all it does is remind me how easily and capable he is of completely destroying me. Killing me. “You don’t want to drink that. The bartender slipped something in your drink.”
He levels his gaze with me and raises his eyebrows. Mine shoot up as my cheeks turn flaming red. I'm such an idiot.
“Oh. Um. Uh, thank you.” I look down and shuffle my feet. “So he, um…”
“Was going to drug you and probably rape you. Yeah.”
My heart pounds. “Thank you.”
It tastes like vinegar saying that to him.
“I mean that outfit. You are really asking for it though, aren’t you little Rose?”
I look up. His voice is level, but his eyes give him away. He looks furious.
“I mean no. I just wanted…”
“To be fucked.”
I glare at him.
“No. I wanted to forget you! I wanted to forget what you did to me!”
His anger dissolves, replaced by amusement.
“Oh yeah, you mean the orgasm I gave you?”
I jump to cover his mouth but he catches my hand. “Shhh, people will hear you!”
“So? Dance with me.”
He tightens his grip on my wrist he grabbed and drags me to the dance floor.
“Sven. Sven… I don’t want to dance with you.”
He ignores me. When we get to the center of the dance floor he spins me around and grabs my hips. I can already tell he can move and I'm so turned on by it I can barely think straight. It makes me hate myself. The confusion inside freezes me. Sven squeezes my hips harder to get my attention.
“Dance.”
“I…”
I feel claustrophobic. He rolls his eyes and pulls me so close, our bodies are flush against each other. He takes control. Our hips swivel to the beat of “Despacito”. I follow his lead. He’s dancing so close to me. It’s almost like foreplay.
“What are you doing Sven?” I ask breathlessly.
“You wanted a night out. Here it is. Now stop talking. Feel. Let go little Rose.”
I can tell he wants to share more, but he doesn’t. His hips gyrate against mine. I dance back, refusing to let him have control the whole night. He chuckles. For just a small span of time he seems… normal. Just an average hot guy.