“I will NEVER give you back to that monster. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Master. This slave . . .”
“Stop.”
She shut her mouth, her eyes filled with a terror he was sorry he had to put there.
“No more third person talk. You are a person, not a car or a desk or a piece of paper. Yes, you’re my property, but you have an identity in there somewhere. I never want to hear you use the phrase:
This slave
or the word
she
when referring to yourself. You will use the words
I, me, my
. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Master.” She was looking away from him now, looking so fragile and breakable that he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her trembling body against him and wrapping his arms around her.
She held herself rigid for what felt like eons. Finally, something inside her seemed to uncurl and her body relaxed against him.
“Are you finished with your breakfast?”
She nodded, and he suspected she didn’t trust her voice to speak. That was okay. The main concern on his mind was taking a look at what was under those bandages to see exactly how bad Lucas’s last whipping had been. Asher took her hand and led her back up to her room.
The closer they got, the more tension seemed to crawl back inside her. He took a deep breath and looked her over when they arrived in the brightly lit room. It was a testament to how bad off she was that he was only now noticing how her erect nipples pushed against the fabric of the strappy, cotton top she’d chosen to wear.
The only reason she wouldn’t wear a bra would be if the straps against her back hurt too much. Perhaps another type of slave, who hadn’t been so utterly broken, would have gone bra-less with a different intention. But Grace didn’t seem to have the presence of mind or even the desire to seduce.
Looking at her now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her. And why should he? He’d paid good money for her. She had no rights except those he chose to give her. If circumstances had been different and he’d been the one to meet her online instead of Lucas, she’d be horny and willing. He knew he wasn’t an unattractive man. But Grace was too scared to want him, and he didn’t know how to move her out of that frightened place and into one where he wouldn’t feel like a monster for taking what was his to take.
He hadn’t thought he’d have a mental war between law and ethics on his hands. It had seemed like a simple enough transaction at the time. He didn’t regret the choice, yet it wasn’t as simple as the fantasy of rescue.
Asher stood back, assessing, trying to figure out how to do this without freaking her out more. Her arms were crossed defensively over her chest, and she was looking at the floor. So quiet. What had she been like before coming to Eleu? How much of her identity had Lucas destroyed forever, and how much could Asher bring back?
“How long did you talk to Lucas online before he convinced you to come here?” he asked. As he’d watched her, he’d become aware of the fact that while he knew how long Lucas had her, he wasn’t aware of the time frame leading up to it.
“A year and six days.” Her voice came out so soft, like a whisper carried by wind. At first he wasn’t sure he’d heard her. It was only after the phrase was fully uttered that his mind was able to process it and feed it back to him as something coherent.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath.
Of course she jumped again. Everything he did made her jump. He wondered if he shouldn’t just give her a few days in the house free from his presence, let William bring her meals and see how that went. But somehow he knew such an action would only heighten her uncertainty. The sooner he could get her into a routine, the better.
“Turn around.”
Her eyes flew to his, questioning if she’d done or said something wrong.
“It’s okay.”
She still hesitated for a moment, but it was a quick moment. He couldn’t calculate how fast she must have flipped through the emotions of fear over what he would do to her when she complied and fear of what he would do to her if she didn’t. And there was no way to soften this or make it easier.
Her golden hair fell in thick curls that ended right above the curve of her hips. He moved behind her and swept it over her shoulder.
“Did he tell you pretty lies online for that year about how your life would be?”
“Yes, Master.”
He could hear the tears in her voice as she forced the words out of her mouth. Of course she must think he was toying with her, but he had to know how bad this was.
“He made you believe you’d have lovely things and live kinkily ever after, didn’t he?”
She hesitated a moment and then said, “Yes, Master.”
Why the hesitation there? At that particular question? “But . . . ?” he said, leading her, hoping she’d reveal the impulse that had made her pause in her answer.
“He said he wouldn’t be an easy master.”
There it was.
“So you believe all this is your fault? Everything he’s done to you? Because he warned you, and you still got on the plane?”
She nodded.
He wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault but it seemed wasted verbiage at this point. She wasn’t going to believe anything he said right now.
He sighed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he did what he’d made her turn around for. He took the edges of the top and lifted and pulled it over her head, tossing the fabric to the floor.
Asher cursed under his breath. Her back was a mess. So many scars that would never go away to erase the memory of Lucas from her. And the new marks. They’d closed but they were still very red, probably quite tender. He winced, thinking of how he’d held her in the kitchen and how part of the reason she’d tensed might have been pain, not just fear.
He was so morbidly transfixed by the awful sight in front of him that he didn’t notice the change in her breathing, the signals that her anxiety had peaked and they were moments away from a scene of epic proportions.
“Please, Master, this slave is sorry . . .”
There had been more she seemed prepared to say in her bid for mercy, but he cut her off. “Grace––what did we say about third person?”
“I . . . I’m sorry,” she corrected.
“Sorry for what?” He had his suspicions over what her litany of apologies was about, but he needed to hear it from her. The more he could get her to tell him directly, the less he had to play mind reader.
“The . . . the scars. You paid money for . . . this sl . . . for me, and I’m marked.” It was a real struggle for her to shed the speech patterns Lucas had no doubt beaten into her. Asher wondered which scars had taught her the lesson he most wanted to undo.
“Then isn’t that my fault? If I wanted you perfect and unmarked, should I not have inspected my potential property before acquiring it?”
She was quiet for a long moment.
“Answer.”
“No, Master.”
“I shouldn’t have?”
“Yes! This sl . . . I don’t know what you want from me. Please don’t hurt her . . . me.” Clearly unable to take the close proximity of the threat, she moved away from him until she was cowering in a corner.
Oh no. He wasn’t having that. “Come here.”
The tick of the wall clock seemed to be the only sound left in the world as she slowly moved back to him. With her top on the floor and no bra underneath, she was bare to his gaze, her hair having slipped behind her during her retreat. If she weren’t so broken, there were a million other things he could think to do with her right now, but he resisted, knowing how important it was to lay this groundwork now.
When she reached him, he stroked the side of her face, trying to calm her and hoping Lucas hadn’t used a similar gesture when playing fake trust-building games with her. “I expect honesty from you. Never a lie. I will never harm you for telling me the truth, no matter how awful you think it is. Do you understand, kitten?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good girl.” He helped her back into the top and could see the confusion on her face because he wasn’t touching her. He was pretty confused about it, too. And maybe he should touch her. He certainly was within his rights to. And he’d have to very soon, but not right now.
“I’m going to ease you slowly in, but I am going to train you. And I will be firm. What I won’t be is abusive. Lucas sold you because he couldn’t really own you. He could break you, yes. But you never gave every piece of yourself to him. There are parts of you he could never touch. He said as much when I came for you and was standing out in the hallway. But you will give
me
everything. You won’t give it because you’re afraid of me. You’ll give it because you’re grateful and because you trust me. I don’t care how long it takes us to get to that point. But we will get there.”
***
Grace was still processing everything he’d said. Part of her wanted to trust every word, but every time one part of her mind tried to let her, another part chastised her for being so stupid and falling into what must be a trap. What would happen to her when she couldn’t give him everything like he’d just said she would?
She’d gone back to looking at the floor because it felt safer than trying to figure out what was going on behind those stormy blue eyes of his. She knew he was watching her, assessing, cataloging, trying to figure something out. She could feel his stare on her.
“Is there someone you’d like to call?”
Her eyes snapped up. “Call?”
He took a cell phone out of his pocket. “Surely you have family or friends back home you’d like to speak to. Someone you miss?”
Why was he doing this? Why was he dangling these carrots? “Please don’t do this . . .” She just wanted him to be however he was going to be. No games. No pretending. If she let herself believe in this and then he took it away . . .
He arched a brow. “Don’t do what? Don’t let you call someone? Don’t be decent? Tell me what you want, in plain speech. I don’t need a title this second. Just tell me exactly what it is that you most want right now.”
She took a breath. “Just be real. This sl . . . I . . . I can’t do this again. I can’t believe in something that isn’t a nightmare only to have it torn away again. Please, please, just be real. Keep me in the dungeon or beat me or whatever it is you want, but don’t pretend to be kind.”
The look he gave her was so far outside her recent experience that she didn’t know how to categorize it, at least not on any face but her own on the few occasions she’d made the mistake of looking at her reflection in Lucas’s dungeon. She shut her eyes tight, to block out the look he gave her.
Grace startled when hands closed around her arms.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She opened her eyes. His expression was fierce, but it didn’t seem angry. Not like what she’d seen that morning when he’d stepped into the dungeon. The thought came over her suddenly that maybe he hadn’t been angry at her at all. Maybe it was something else.
“I am real. This room is real. The breakfast you just ate is real. None of this is a game or a trick. I know you don’t believe that yet, but you will believe it in time. Now do you have someone you want to call?”
“No, Master.”
He let go of her and sat on the sofa. “You have no family or friends?”
“My brother is a drug addict. I worked a lot of hours, so I just had one good friend, Lainey.”
“So call her.”
“She tried to convince me not to come here. I couldn’t . . . I can’t . . .”
He nodded. “You don’t have to explain. I think I understand. How about the Internet? Could you email or instant message her?”
She thought about it. “I think so.”
Asher stood and extended a hand. She tentatively put her hand in his and allowed herself to be led across the hall. His room was opposite from hers in every way. Whereas hers was bright and colorful and inviting, his was dark and intimidating.
The walls were done in rich, dark wood paneling. Heavy drapes blocked the light from the windows. He crossed the floor and pulled the thick fabric back to let the sunlight in. A king-sized bed stood against one wall. The headboard consisted of metal bars, perfect for chaining someone down.
In another life, standing in a room with such an attractive, dominant force of a man, she would have fantasized about him chaining her to the bed and having his wicked way with her. Now the thought scared her. She’d experienced too much real pain and fear to see it as a sexual game anymore. And yet her body still perversely responded.
There was a small desk on one side of the room and a laptop. He sat in the leather, swivel chair and booted up the computer. Then he pulled up a folder. “If your messenger service isn’t one of these, you can go online and download it. I’ll give you some privacy to chat or email. Come join me when you’re finished.”
Giving her privacy didn’t mean leaving the room, only that he wasn’t going to hover over her while she typed. Instead, he propped some pillows against the headboard and turned on a flat-screen television to a sports channel.
He seemed so normal. What if she just tried to believe in him? For a little while. The worst that could happen is he’d take everything away. Maybe she should embrace whatever small kindnesses he offered, then if they ended, she wouldn’t have to berate herself for wasting it all waiting for that other shoe.
Finally, she settled in the chair and searched through the folder to find the link to her messenger service. Lainey worked in a small advertising office that didn’t monitor Internet activity as much as some of the larger firms. She usually kept her messenger on all day.
Grace entered her screen name and password, shocked she could still remember it. She hadn’t been on a full minute when Lainey messaged her.
StrawberryLaine:
Grace? Is that you? Are you okay?
She took a deep breath. This was exactly why she couldn’t do this on the phone. The second those words came out of Lainey’s mouth, Grace would have broken down in sobbing fits.
Gracie343:
It’s me. I’m fine.
StrawberryLaine:
I haven’t heard anything from you for almost a year! I went to the police, and when I told them about the island they thought I was insane. Making it up. They’d never heard of it, of course. And I didn’t know exactly where it was so I couldn’t point them in the right direction. I didn’t know if your plane crashed or you were murdered or . . .