When the Dark Wins

by Addison Cain

  “I did,” he confirmed needlessly. Clearly, his brother had been watching the recording of the live stream and already knew the answer.

  “You haven’t even had her a whole day.”

  Glancing at his watch, he noted it had only been about fourteen hours. “Correct.”

  “You should’ve let me have her first, this is going to make her more challenging.” A growl and a curse punctuated his statement.

  Definitely a negative response.

  “How will it be more challenging? Enlighten me.” Coddling Marcus was an exhausting exercise, but one that was required to keep him engaged and productive. Without the opportunity to vent his silly frustrations, his brother’s work quality plummeted. He could sulk like a child for days.

  “You started out too strong. All pain, no pleasure. What incentive does she have to respond to you now?”

  “Avoiding it,” he clipped, looking around at the milling cattle with their rickety carts creating so much noise that it was unlikely anyone could even hear him. Regardless, it was always wise to be cautious.

  “Did she even come when you fucked her?”

  “No, but that is where you always make your mistakes. It is not about them, they are nothing.” Anthony sighed when Marcus muttered on the other end of the phone. Worse than having to listen to him speak was having to listen to him when he was incoherent.

  At least when the slaves were incoherent, they were usually making pleasant sounds.

  “She bled.”

  “Yes, I’ve already received several emails asking me to do it again, and in other ways.” Anthony wondered if she would scream as he took her ass. There was a good chance no one had ever fucked her there — such a treat to be the first.

  “We don’t make them bleed,” Marcus stated it like there was some book of rules to which they were both held. As if every rule he made Marcus follow was not written by his own hand.

  Even the rules on the wall were his.

  Everything was, but Marcus forgot that sometimes.

  “Sometimes we do. You have become overzealous in the past and done the same.”

  “Is that what you were? Overzealous?” His brother tried to mock his tone, mimic him, but there was too much emotion in Marcus to ever succeed in that.

  “That is ridiculous and you know it. Did you want to have a conversation or were you simply calling to replay the events of last night for me?” Bored already with Marcus’ antics, Anthony smiled when he saw the artisan cheese counter was open. At least there was one benefit to shopping on a Saturday morning when people crowded the store.

  “I want to talk to you about not fucking up this slave! This is why it takes you almost three fucking months to get anywhere with—” Marcus continued to rant as Anthony held the phone down to his side and approached the counter.

  “Hello, sir. Are you interested in trying one of our aged Goudas?” The smiling woman was wearing a black apron, her auburn hair pulled into a high ponytail at the back of her head. Her nametag read: Amanda.

  “Yes. Where is it from?” Anthony watched as the woman looked him over with a quick glance before cutting off a slice from the wedge of cheese in front of her.

  “Beemster, it’s a Dutch brand. Quite good, aged eighteen months, and it has a sweet finish.” Amanda rattled off her knowledge before handing him the tiny slice on a petite napkin.

  “Thank you, just a moment.” Lifting the phone back to his ear, he could hear Marcus muttering curses and insults. “Are you done, Marcus?”

  “Where the fuck did you go? Are you at the fucking grocery store?” He was angry, that was an easy emotion to identify, but before he answered he leaned the cell phone against his shoulder so he could break off a bite of the cheese. It was as delightful as the woman had described.

  “This is good,” he acknowledged, and the woman beamed.

  “Are you ignoring me, Anthony? What the fuck! Did you leave the girl already?” His shouting was loud enough that Amanda’s eyebrows pulled together slightly, her eyes flicking to the cell phone.

  “I’m here, and yes, I needed to get groceries so I am at the grocery store. Currently, I’m sampling an aged gouda from Beemster, it—”

  “I don’t give a FUCK about cheese, Anthony!” Marcus interrupted him, shouting, and Anthony simply sighed as he savored the last bite.

  “That is quite clear. One moment.” Holding the phone away from his ear, he turned his attention back to the woman in front of him. “My brother is emotional, I apologize for the interruption. What other cheeses would you recommend?”

  “Oh!” For a moment she was flustered, a delicate blush of color coming to her cheeks, and then she leaned down and opened the sliding back of the case. An instant later she lifted out a Comté that he already knew he enjoyed. “This is a French cheese called Comté from Saint Antoine. If you like Gruyère then I’m sure you’ll enjoy this, it’s one of my absolute favorites. They actually skim it and heat it in copper vats, and when it’s aged it just takes on the best flavor, and I really think you’ll like it if you try it. I mean, if you like cheese.”

  The woman was babbling, nervous, he could tell by the slight shaking of her hands as she unwrapped the cellophane from around the wedge. Her knowledge of the cheese was impressive, even more so that she knew the process of making it.

  Why on earth was she wasting her skills standing under the abysmal lighting of this grocery store? She should be at an artisan shop directing people who would appreciate it.

  “It sounds delightful,” Anthony replied when she stared at him, her blush now a bright pink across her nose and cheeks. It brought out the red in her hair. She handed over a fresh napkin and he took it as he placed the phone back to his ear.

  “—asshole. There’s a fucking slave waiting, and this bitch is talking about cheese.”

  “Language, Marcus,” he chastised, feeling a frisson of irritation as his brother insulted her. “I’m shopping, she is answering my questions. If you’re done losing your temper we can hang up.”

  “Where the fuck is the girl, Anthony?”

  A smile curled his mouth as he bit down on the Comté and the quiet nuttiness of brown butter coated his tongue. If Marcus was asking that question, it meant he had not continued to watch the feed. “Why don’t you check the video?”

  Pulling the phone away, he nodded at her, crumpling the empty napkin in his fist. “I’ll take some of the Beemster, the Comté, and one other that you recommend.”

  “What would you like?” she asked, so eager to serve.

  “Surprise me.” His response made her bounce on her toes, a broad smile on her face as she crouched behind the counter to seek out something that could surprise him. As if that were possible… but at least it would be something delicious. The girl had a good palate.

  Looking down at his phone, he moved out of the call and brought up the control panel for the video controls in the house. Keeping the phone close to his chest he looked down at her pale form against the concrete. It was shiny from the thin layer of water he’d left her in after her wake up call, her collar chained to the floor with less than two feet of lead. Not enough for her to sit up all the way, which he had done on purpose.

  Knowing that by now Marcus was looking at the video, he tapped the remote activation button and watched her scream, body jerking, water splashing. Then he turned off the electric jolt, and moved back to the phone screen so he could rest it against his shoulder. “Do you see?” he asked Marcus.

  “She’s going to get sick, and you’re not even there if something went wrong. What if she’d reacted badly to the shock?”

  “Are you questioning me, Marcus?” The edge to his tone had made the smile fade from Amanda’s face, and he sighed, offering what he hoped would pass for an authentic, human smile. “What did you choose for the third one?”

  “Um…” Her blue eyes flicked to the phone in his hand, and then as if she remembered her customer service training she plastered the smile back on her face. “I, um,
I hope you like it. It’s more subtle, but very good. A Pyrénées Sheep cheese from Abbaye de Belloc. We only just got some this month, so I really hope more people buy some so they keep it in stock.”

  “Well, if I enjoy it I’ll make sure to come back and buy more.”

  “If you like her so much, why not just fucking take her? She can talk to you about cheese while you electrocute her.”

  “No,” he replied, abrupt, and then he took the packages from Amanda, watching her reaction as her fingers touched his. The flush was back, and he wondered if she was aroused or afraid of him.

  Human emotions were so needlessly complicated.

  “I really do hope you like them.”

  “Thank you, Amanda.” He set the cheeses in the basket and then pushed the cart away, pressing the phone to his ear.

  “Amanda.” Marcus huffed. “Maybe I’ll take her and bring her up here. See what she can teach me about cheese while I—”

  “The answer is no.”

  “What the fuck, Anthony? Are you really protecting that cunt?” He laughed. “She sounded young, was she pretty? Is that the deal, you want her for yourself after you’re done with Beth?”

  “I want her to be here so that this hovel of a store continues to carry decent cheeses. If you do something without my permission, there will be consequences.” He kept his voice hushed as he paused near the bagged lettuce, but his brother knew he did not make idle threats and Marcus’ laughter wound down to a growl.

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of the slaves.”

  “Then don’t act out like one.” Anthony got in line, ready to be out of the presence of so many squalling children and chattering people. “Have you made progress on your house?”

  “I just woke up an hour ago.”

  “Well, then perhaps you should get to work instead of interfering with mine. I was doing this before you were even aware.”

  “I know, asshole. You don’t have to keep pointing it out, I think I’ve more than proven I’ve got my own set of skills.” Marcus mumbled under his breath, and Anthony decided he was done with this coddling session.

  “We’ll see how you handle this new enterprise before we make any real judgments on your skills.”

  “You’re just afraid I’m better at this than you.” Marcus was angry. Throwing a temper tantrum like he had when they were children and he’d lost an unknown number of games of checkers.

  All emotion, no strategy.

  “We will see,” was Anthony’s only reply before he ended the call. Stacking the various items on the automatic belt, he reminded himself to stop at the pharmacy to get the girl’s pills, and then he would return to see if her attitude had improved.

  7

  Her teeth were chattering, and even curled into a ball on the floor Beth couldn’t manage to concentrate her body heat enough to stop shivering. The thin layer of water atop the concrete seemed to sap the warmth from the air as well as her skin, and just the existence of this horrible room confirmed how screwed she was.

  Normal people didn’t have rooms set several inches into the floor so water could pool half an inch deep. They didn’t have hoses installed inside, or steel brackets embedded in the floor for chaining girls by leather collars. Collars locked closed with a tiny version of the padlock that kept the chain fixed in place.

  Another set of shivers shook her, making her curl up tighter, as far away from the bracket in the floor as the chain allowed. It didn’t make it easier. Beth still couldn’t believe she was in this place. This room. This house. Couldn’t understand what she’d done wrong, what misstep she’d made that had brought her to him. She couldn’t even remember him taking her. There was a hole in her memory even after the drugs had completely left her system.

  She remembered leaving work, walking down the same sidewalk she always did. Heading towards the public lot they shared with several other companies, and then — nothing. Absolutely nothing until she’d woken up on that bed.

  But at least the bed had been soft, and warmer than this nightmare room.

  Trying to sleep on concrete all night had been almost impossible, and she was sure it was only the physical exhaustion, her body wrung out by pain and fear, that had eventually made her pass out.

  And then the motherfucker had woken her up with the fucking hose. Cold water blasting her at full pressure.

  Are you ready to be obedient, he’d asked. Stoic, standing several feet away so the spray bouncing off her skin wouldn’t reach him.

  Beth had told him to go to hell, and he had left, leaving the hose running on the floor to slowly fill the room. An icy puddle turned into a pool, spreading, eventually touching her skin no matter how she skittered back from it. Inching its way across the concrete until it had crept into every corner.

  She had no idea how long he was gone, but he returned in a clean button down and slacks, which did not match the tall rubber boots on his feet. When he’d finally turned off the water she had already been cold, but that wasn’t the worst part of this nightmare room.

  It was the electric shock that moved through the water whenever he touched something on his phone.

  Blinding pain, the air ripped from her lungs on a scream, unable to draw another breath until he stopped it. She’d earned two more shocks in those first hours. One for telling him to go fuck himself, and the second for staying silent when he’d told her to recite the rules.

  Whining, freezing, sore — he had towered over her, breathing evenly, while she panted and chaos tore cohesive thoughts to shreds.

  You should think over your decisions, slave. His last words before he’d walked out. Left her in this fucking concrete room, with the A/C running, soaking wet and unable to even push up onto all fours because the chain was too fucking short.

  Was this really her future?

  The idea was almost too horrible to process, but once it had appeared in her head it wouldn’t be quiet. It coiled in the center of her mind, a dangerous viper with icy blades for fangs, hissing, waiting. Waiting for her to accept this nightmare as reality. Her reality.

  She didn’t want to accept anything. Beth wanted to rage, to rip the chain from the floor — not like she hadn’t tried — but it was all so useless.

  The man was so much stronger than her, and colder than the water pooled around her.

  It had been ridiculously easy for him to push her through the house with his fingers wrapped around the back of the collar. Pulling it flush to her throat, tightening it as she prepared for his promised punishment. With the metal of the knife still fresh on her tongue, Beth hadn’t even tried to fight. She had let him haul her into this room. Let him push her to her knees. Watched like a sacrificial lamb as he’d gathered chain from a metal table and tethered her to the bracket embedded in the concrete.

  She had expected violence. Expected him to hit her, or at the very least to shout at her.

  He had done nothing.

  Turning around in his polished shoes he had walked out of the room, the heavy door shutting with a loud clap, and she’d been alone.

  The concrete had bruised her limbs, made her hips ache, and she had thought she felt cold. But last night was nothing compared to this.

  Her bones ached, each shiver making them jerk against stiff muscles and tendons, and she almost laughed at the bitter idea that cold was used to make pain stop. Cold hurt worse than any volleyball injury in high school or college, hurt worse than the time she’d been rear-ended at a stoplight — it was nothing but hurt. Pinpricks of fire as her nerves sparked in desperation, and then the deep, shuddering ache that followed every bout of shivers. The foolish, automatic response of her body trying to keep her alive.

  It would be wiser to die before he came back.

  Beth sniffled, curled tighter as the thought burrowed close to the viper that promised a future more hellish than even this. Torture, rape… or death.

  Are those really my only options?

  Being rescued, the idea of police bursting in to help her,
that seemed far away. Too impossible to hope for. The warm tracks of tears across the bridge of her nose were the only way she realized she was crying, too cold to make noise, too distracted by the weak shudders of her body to focus on her hitched breaths.

  None of it mattered a second later when the pop of the electric current turning on reminded her of just how much pain she could be in. A scream tried to escape her lips just before her head cracked against the concrete floor, vision turning white as every inch of her body went rigid, agony coursing along her nerves like they were open wounds. Salted and burning. It felt like it lasted forever, lungs trapped around too little air, and then the buzzing ended and she went limp. Water lolling back and forth around her, tiny waves on the ocean of her ruin.

  As her eyes regained focus, flickering on and off like a cheap movie reel, she saw him.

  Standing over her, head tilted to the side, upside down from her point of view. Dark hair cut so that it laid perfectly, not a strand out of place, and those cold blue eyes that held no human emotion to speak of — he was simply watching her. Gaze drifting down her body as she tried to pull air back into her lungs, too weak to even try and shield her nakedness.

  Not like any of it mattered.

  He’d seen everything.

  And he didn’t even seem interested. It wasn’t lust she saw in his face, it wasn’t hate, or rage, or hunger, or joy — it was nothing. An absolute emptiness behind a face that could have been attractive on someone with a soul.

  His silence grated like sandpaper on her frayed nerves, the cold returning as her body abandoned the memory of the shock and let the icy water creep back into her perception. A shiver shook her again, teeth clattering loudly in the quiet, broken again by the soft splash of the water as she managed to bend one leg against the other to try and block the view between her thighs.

  There were five cameras.

  One at the center of each wall, and a final straight above the bracket in the floor.