Sold

by Renard, Loki

  I stare at him ferociously, baring my teeth so they all know this fight is not over. Their lies mean nothing to me. They came to buy a girl today. They are not the heroes. There are no heroes.

  “Let me go,” I repeat in a snarl as I look around at their faces. They have very little in common, any of them. They seem to have been drawn from all over the world. We are all a mixture of genetics, survivors of the global pandemic.

  There is a tall Nordic-looking man, then a darker skinned man with elegant features who reminds me of a pharaoh. He is holding my left leg down, and if I could, I’d kick him right in his gorgeous face. Tattoo Face has the heavyset build of a warrior or a wrestler. I can see the influence of the Southern Isles in him. Then there is another one, whose deep-set eyes and Roman nose put me fully in mind of a gladiator. His hair is thick and dark and curls ever so slightly. Put a robe and a wreath on his head and he could be Julius Caesar. Next to him is a man with brownish gold stubble, a square jaw, steely narrow eyes. Cowboy. The word pops into my head. He looks exactly like the pictures of cowboys I saw on the old novels my father used to read.

  I am starting to calm down now, only because there is no option but to calm down. I don’t know these men. I definitely don’t trust them, but my body only has so much adrenaline. It has been coursing through my veins since I lifted the blade, and now it is seeping away, leaving me weak and tingling.

  The fear is still there, but it’s impotent. And there’s a new feeling, one I know I shouldn’t allow myself to have for a second: guilt.

  I took a life, and that is wrong, I know that. But what was done to me was wrong, and what will still happen to me is just as wrong. I will not feel guilty for this. I will not. I will not be sorry. I will not apologize. No matter what they do to me.

  “What is this?”

  A shout from the room we just left announces the onset of more chaos. The sheriff’s guard has found what remains of the sheriff and is about to raise the alarm. In an instant, five of the seven men holding me rush from my side and make their way to the guard. I am left with Silver Eyes and Cowboy, who swiftly prove that they can hold me down on their own just as easily as seven men can.

  “Will you lose your life for a dead man?” I hear strong, definite tones. Is that Tattoo Face talking? It’s hard to tell, but I recognize the way he is speaking. It is the authoritative speech of a leader, and it is what calmed me down somewhat. Maybe it will calm the guard as well.

  “Murderers!” The guard’s voice quivers.

  “No, this seat is decided by blood. His is already shed. Will yours be too?”

  I hear stammering, but no words. I bet there’s not one soldier in the sheriff’s employ who ever expected to find him dead like this. He was too much of an asshole. Truly evil men never really seem to die.

  “We have taken control of Dallas,” Tattoo Face says. “Call your captains and have them report here. And do it now. Any attempt to overcome us will end badly, I promise you that.”

  I don’t hear what happens next. A few seconds later, the five men return. This time, I am not the center of attention.

  “Alright. This is an opportunity.”

  Nordic Man speaks. He has bright blue eyes and the kind of blond hair that only men seem to ever have, the thick, shaggy kind that has to be cut into submission.

  He isn’t talking to me. He’s talking to the others.

  They don’t say much in return, but I can see agreement in their eyes.

  “Zen?” The Nordic man addresses the man who has been holding onto my right arm. He is an intense-looking man, not as old as some of the others, or as large, but his olive musculature ripples with every motion he makes. He has green eyes and brown hair, and unlike the rest of the group, he is the only one I can’t see visible tattoos on.

  “Tie her up,” Tattoo Face says. “Before we talk about this.”

  “No!”

  “And gag her. We’ll calm her down later, but for now we need her secure.”

  The Nordic-looking man produces plastic ties from a pocket. Fuck this. Fuck them. Fuck everything that is happening. I start to fight again for all I am worth, biting and twisting and screaming for help I know won’t come. The last man who saved me from anything just bled out on the floor.

  They pin me back down, all those hands making movement impossible again.

  “She’s trouble,” Silver Eyes smirks down at me. I get the impression he doesn’t mind that so much.

  “Listen to me, girl,” Tattoo Face says very, very seriously. His voice comes in a gravelly growl that makes my stomach quiver, and his expression is so completely serious I suddenly feel the full effect of how much trouble I am in. “We are going to keep you safe, but if you act out, I’ll have you thrashed. I have no time for an undisciplined female.”

  “You call this keeping me safe? Tying me up, dragging me around?”

  While Tattoo Face speaks, Nordic Man is drawing my arms behind my back and securing them in place with the plastic straps. I scream my hatred and my fear and anger at them, but they all ignore me.

  Tattoo Face starts telling the others what to do.

  Silver Eyes and Pharaoh are stationed by the door. Gladiator picks me up over his shoulder and moves me to the corner of the room, then starts stacking furniture around me. I’m being barricaded in, and not a moment too soon, because the sheriff’s guard have come to the aid of a corpse, and are apparently not going to heed Tattoo Face’s wise advice.

  There is chaos in the next room over. I can’t see it, but I can hear it. The sounds of battle are much worse than the sounds of normal death. The kills are not as clean. There is screaming and gurgling and nastiness I wish I could close my ears to, but my hands are behind my back and I am forced to lie there and listen to men unleashing their brutality on other men until in the end there is silence.

  Total silence.

  I hear nothing.

  There is a ringing in my ears, a panic that threatens to overwhelm me. I don’t know who won that exchange. If it was the mercenaries, then they will be back for me. And if it was the sheriff’s guard, then they will find me eventually and my fate will be worse.

  I try to wriggle out of the bindings on my wrists, but they’re impenetrable. It’s going to take something sharp to snap them off. They left my legs untied, so I push up to my feet and start trying to climb over the barricade without my arms. It is awkward and ultimately, impossible.

  “Stay there, girl!” It’s Tattoo Face. He’s back. The others are behind him. Nordic Man, Zen, Gladiator, Pharaoh, Cowboy, Mattias, and Elias return to me and pull the barricades away.

  I face them, nine men, covered in blood. Nine men who just forged their fates together in battle. Mattias and Elias must have been part of the fray. There is blood all over their once pristine robes. Though they wore no armor, they seem not to have been damaged at all. It is a relief to see them. Nine men... no, eight. There is one missing.

  “Where is Silver Eyes?” The question slips out before I can bite it back. I don’t want them thinking I care. There is no reason for me to care. I don’t know them. They are nothing but more brutes in a long line of brutes who have sought to take advantage of me.

  The question is followed by a chuckle as the man I asked after walks into the room behind them. He has washed his hands of blood, but it doesn’t make him look clean, because it only means that the blood is gone from his hands. He wears sanguine gauntlets up his arms.

  “Worried for me?” He flickers a wink, which makes me quiver.

  I have no reason to worry for any of them. I am sure now they have killed the sheriff’s guard, they will take me as they always intended to. But I am relieved to see him alive. There is some little spark of hope in me that dares believe this might be a rescue—but I know it can’t be. These men lined up to buy me. That is not the action of good men.

  “She calls him silver eyes,” Gladiator smiles. “Have you named us all, little one?”

  “...maybe.”

  �
�Tell us what they are.”

  “Untie me first.”

  “You killed a man today. You’ll be lucky to ever be untied,” Cowboy drawls. I knew it. He’s from around here. Native to these parts. He speaks the way I do, while the rest of them have various accents. They must have come a very, very long way to claim me.

  “You all just killed a lot more men than I did! Nobody tied you up!”

  “She’s got a point,” Zen says. “And if the nine of us can’t handle one frightened girl, I think we have a problem.”

  He comes over to me, walks behind me, and I feel the plastic being snapped free from my wrists. Free at last to use my hands, I draw them up around myself, protecting my body from these big, brutal men.

  “Now,” Gladiator says. “The names. I need amusement after battle.”

  I give a shrug, and start going down the line, starting with Cowboy, who smirks at his name. Pharaoh seems pleased with his, as does Gladiator. Nordic Man seems a little nonplussed and tells me his name is Tore. Tattoo Face gets a laugh from all the men, including Tattoo Face himself.

  “My name is Keanau,” he rumbles. “But you will call me sir.”

  “No, I fucking won’t.”

  He lifts a brow and I reconsider that decision a little, but hold my ground.

  “She’s disrespectful,” Tore says. “Needs discipline.”

  “She just has high spirits. She’s brave,” Gladiator cuts in.

  “Oh, she needs discipline,” Keanau growls.

  “But not now. Now, she needs rest.”

  It is Mattias who speaks. His words, calm and certain, cut through the growing tension and surprise everyone.

  “Come here, Trissa,” he says, offering me his hand. “I am going to give you a bath, and some food.”

  I take his hand. He’s not a friend, but he is the most familiar.

  “Are we going to let him just take our spoils?” Pharaoh questions.

  “Those two are cut. They won’t do a thing. Let them take her,” Tore says. “We don’t need a squealing woman interfering in the conversation anyway.”

  My temper flares. They may be men, may be warriors, may just have defeated a small army of the sheriff’s most loyal men, but I am the one who drew first blood. I shoot a vicious look at Tore, thinking brutal thoughts. There has been much blood today, but maybe there should be more.

  “Oh, she doesn’t like that!” Silver Eyes smiles. He has a way about him I do like. He is calm and he has the kind of authority that doesn’t need to be yelled at people.

  “I don’t like that,” I agree. “And I don’t like you.” I’m looking at Tore, but I am speaking to the group of them. “I’m not for sale, and anyone who tries to treat me the way that leaking bag of guts did, will end up the same way.”

  The threat elicits varied reactions. Pharaoh laughs, but it is a scornful one. Gladiator and Silver Eyes seem to be genuinely amused by my statement. Zen and Cowboy and Keanau appear to be taking it more seriously. Tore gives me a piercing blue stare.

  “You’re going to be tamed,” he tells me. “There are seven of us here to do it, and don’t think you’re ever going to get away with anything like that again.”

  “Nine of us,” Mattias says, squeezing my hand.

  “You have paid nothing for her.”

  “Oh, Elias and I have paid plenty,” Mattias disagrees. “I have handled her. I have a connection to her. I...”

  “You let her bring a ceramic knife in here and slit the sheriff’s throat. For all we know, you set her up to murder the man.”

  “No, I did that all on my own,” I exclaim. “Mattias and Elias had no idea what I was doing, and neither will any of you. I will not be an owned woman. I was not made for that. If you try to turn me back into a slave, I will go through you. I will never rest. I will never sleep. I will find a way to kill every single one of you...”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Mattias says, drawing me against his body, turning me around, and wrapping me in a hug from behind. “Settle down, nobody is going to hurt you.”

  “Oh, I’m going to hurt that little ass,” Keanau growls.

  “She dares threaten us?” Pharaoh booms. “She will learn not to do that.”

  “She will,” Mattias agrees. “But she will learn better after she has been bathed, and fed, and slept.”

  “Let them take care of her,” Silver Eyes says. “We have much to discuss, and she needs to be cared for.”

  I like him. He is not threatened by me. None of them are, probably, but some seem to take my threats more personally than others. I don’t know whether it is better to be taken seriously and make a warrior angry, or be laughed at.

  It doesn’t matter. Mattias and Elias are taking me away from the warriors. They lead me through the sheriff’s rooms to a bathing chamber that must have once belonged to the sheriff, and they run a bath without hardly a word to me, cleaning themselves off with a little soap and water first to stop the water from being contaminated with the blood of their foes.

  In the end, they strip down to the waist, tying the arms of their robes around their hips, exposing the muscular plane of abdomen and torso. I try not to look, but I can’t help it. Whatever implant they have does not affect the masculinity of their bodies. They are sculpted, planes of muscle elegantly flowing from one into the other, abdominals rippling like the washboard I used to use in the river, their chests so broad and so powerful, utterly hairless and smooth.

  It’s not lust I feel right now. I am too tired, too disturbed for that. Right now, it’s awe and appreciation at just how handsome they are. Two perfect works of art drawing a bath for me, the murderess.

  That is what I am now. I have taken life. I will never be able to take that back. It will stain whichever part of my soul used to be clear. But I will not regret it, and I will never apologize for it.

  “Get in,” Mattias says when the bath is ready.

  I am surprised by their lack of comment as to the events of the day.

  “Are you angry at me?”

  Mattias and Elias exchange looks.

  “Angry? No,” Mattias says. “Worried, yes.”

  “Why? I thought you, of all people, would be happy at what I did today. I got vengeance. For me, and for all of us. You’re free now!”

  “We are no more free than we were, and nor are you,” Mattias says. “Get in the bath before it goes cold.”

  I find myself pouting. What I did to the sheriff was shocking, even to myself. It was monumental. People have been wanting that asshole dead for more than a decade, and I did it. But nobody around me seems to be impressed, much less appreciative. A monster is dead. It has to be a good thing.

  For once, I don’t argue with them. I do want a bath. More than that, I want to be cared for. I want to feel... I don’t know. What is it I want? Approval, forgiveness, praise?

  I shed the red dress now crimson with drying blood and I step into the bath. Mattias and Elias kneel on either side and wash me, saying calm little words and soothing phrases.

  “There there, raise your arms, that’s right...”

  “Good girl, lie back...”

  “Close your eyes, I don’t want to get water in them...”

  Totally pedestrian phrases uttered in low masculine tones settle my nerves. The warm water washes away the blood, and slowly helps the aches and tightness in my muscles fade away too. I lie back, naked and let Mattias and Elias rub me down, their big hands soothing my stress.

  What have I done? What have I become? And what will become of me? There are so many questions, each larger than the last, but for the moment, I don’t need to answer any of them.

  I let my eyes close. I let them take care of me. I sleep.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Mattias and Elias get me ready to be brought before my new owners. I wake to their faces over me, the two of them working closely together with me, never leaving me alone even for a moment.

  It occurs to me, as I rub the sleep from my eyes, that I
am under guard. I keep feeling sorry for and soft toward these men, but they have been my captors from the beginning. They were tools of the sheriff, and now they are tools of the seven men who came to purchase my flesh.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “You’re not getting clothes,” Mattias says as I eat the fruit he brought me for breakfast, entirely nude except for the napkin in my lap. He is sitting across from me while behind me Elias braids my hair.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you hide knives in them,” Elias reminds me.

  “I mean, okay, but I was being held by a psycho.” I drop the fruit. “Are you really not happy about what I did? He fucking neutered you!”

  “That’s enough.” Mattias clips out the words. I can see I’ve hit a sore spot with him. They don’t like their cut status being referenced, and I guess I can understand why. To an uneducated observer, or at least, to my inexperienced eyes, I couldn’t tell that they were any different from other men but now, I am starting to see the differences. They don’t grow facial hair. They don’t seem to grow any hair aside from their eyebrows. And there is something more beautiful about them than there is about most men. They don’t smell the same as the mercenaries. They are missing the musk of maleness.

  So I am more confused than ever. The sheriff did this to them. The sheriff is gone by my hand, and still they are not happy.

  “I killed the bad guy,” I say, not stopping even though he wants me to. I’m not going to silence myself. I’m not going to submit to their desire for me to be calm and easy to handle. I was born wild and will always be wild in deed and in speech.

  “It is not that simple,” Mattias says. “You took life.”

  “So?”

  They exchange looks I don’t understand.

  I cannot puzzle these men out. The sheriff took everything from them. Their freedom. Their manhood. Who cares if I took the man’s life? He was putting it to evil use. He was oppressing them. He was hurting me, and probably hundreds, if not thousands of people.