take a sip of water.
A strong hand stops mine. “Look at me. Stop thinking about yourself as some thing. As some commodity to be bartered and sold. Rented by the hour.” His hand slides up, and he cups my face. “You are a beautiful, strong woman. What’ll it take to make you believe it?”
“I don’t know,” I said, mesmerized by this change, this new, almost raw, Harris.
For several long minutes, we sit still. I am acutely aware of him. His presence almost overwhelms me, and I realize with a shock I’m not flinching at his touch. The fingers on my face are gentle and spark something inside me. I tremble at this new feeling.
“I’m sorry.” He drops his hand, and though he probably thinks I didn’t like his touch, I don’t correct him. It’s much easier that way, to pretend I didn’t like it when in actuality, I wanted more.
“I should probably go get dinner started. You’re welcome to stay out here if you’d like.”
I find it rather lonely without Harris. His backyard is nice and fenced in. I can easily picture a dog running around with Harris playing catch. I hear something from inside the house and I realize Harris is humming.
Fascinated, I go back into the house. He’s in the kitchen making some sort of pasta. When was the last time I heard someone hum? He looks up, catching me watching him, and gives me a wink. I hastily glance away, and then I chide myself for being childish.
To stop myself from doing it again, I take a tour of his living room. Plus, I want to see if I can find out any more information about him. The only personal touch I can find is a set of photos on an end table. They all have the same young girl in them. She looks maybe twelve or so, and the resemblance between her and Harris is striking.
“Is this your daughter?” I ask.
“What?” He pops his head out of the kitchen and sees what’s in my hand. “No, that’s my sister.”
Of course, that makes sense. “Does she live around here?”
A peculiar look of sadness transforms his expression, and I’m sorry I said anything because I really enjoyed his humming.
“She died when she was fourteen.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry...I didn’t....” It’s one of those awkward conversations I never learned how to handle. I add socially inept to my list of faults.
“No need to apologize. I keep her picture out because it helps me remember.”
I nod. Of course he’d want to remember his sister, but it sounded like there was more to it than just that. “What do the pictures help you remember?”
“Who I am.”
And who are you, Caden Harris? I want to say. The more I get to know, the more I see he has so many layers to him. Seeing him in his house, humming and making dinner, there’s no way I can also see him as Mike’s main henchman. The two aren’t compatible.
And yet, he’s worked for Mike for over two years.
“Why would you forget?” I ask.
It’s not the question he’s expecting. I get the impression he wants to tell me something badly, but instead he shakes his head and smiles. “No time for twenty questions if you want to eat tonight. Pasta’s not going to cook itself.”
He goes back into the kitchen, but I can’t help but notice he’s not humming anymore.
***
My first few days with Harris are easy. We don’t discuss his sister or my past anymore. Instead, our conversations are light. It’s altogether unsettling how quickly I forget who he is when I’m in his presence. I’m sure he must be keeping in contact with Mike somehow, but he never does so in front of me.
A few days after my arrival, he sheepishly hands me new clothes, assuring me they aren’t the ones from the trunk. I thank him and carry them to my room. I hang them up carefully, stopping only when I get to the green sundress I never went back to pick up. I decide to wear that one first, and I put it on before heading downstairs.
Harris is working on his laptop in the living room, but he looks up and gives a nod of satisfaction when I enter. “Green does look good on you.”
“How did you know?”
“I had to keep an eye on you.”
I put my hands on my hips. “So you could report back to Mike?”
He stops typing completely and looks up, holding my attention for several long seconds before answering. “To keep you safe.”
It’s the same thing he always says, and I wonder how many times I’ll have to hear it before I believe it. Is there even a number that high?
He’s so easy to believe here in his house, but all I have to do is picture him next to Mike and all my trust in him disappears.
“I want to,” I tell him. “I want so badly to believe you.”
“I know.”
From anyone else, it would have sounded conceited, but it doesn’t when he says it.
“I know because I want as well,” he says.
“What do you want?”
He shakes his head. “I have to get back to work. Did the rest of the clothes fit?”
“I only tried this one on, but I’m sure the others will.” I swallow. “Thank you.”
His focus is already back on his laptop. “You’re welcome.”
It’s not much later when he comes looking for me. I’m in the kitchen, looking through his cabinets, trying to find something to fix for lunch.
“Athena.”
There’s a catch in his voice, and I suspect I’m not going to like what he has to say. My knees wobble, but I force myself to be calm. He’d told me he’d keep me safe, and I’d told him I’d trust him. This is a test. I have to believe in something, it might as well be him.
“Yes.” My voice doesn’t convey the fear I feel.
“It’s happening sooner than I anticipated. Mike wants to have a video conference tomorrow.”
We hadn’t even discussed what those would encompass, but just the words Mike and video conference have me feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut.
“What exactly will I have to do?” I ask.
He sighs and sinks into a nearby chair at the kitchen table. “It’s up to me, basically. But I know he’ll want to ensure you’re in some sort of subservient role. That you’re obeying. That I handle it when you don’t.”
I grit my teeth. “And you can do that in a video chat?”
“We can do that in a video chat.”
“I’m a good actress.”
“Good will sign your death certificate. You have to be fucking brilliant.”
Chapter Seventeen
I’m being brilliant. I’m being brilliant. I’m being brilliant.
Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself the next day as I stand in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing but skimpy lingerie. Harris has been in a foul mood all day and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s dreading this as much I did. We’ve gone over and over our plan for the call, and each time we run through it, he grows more and more distant.
I slip a sheer nightgown over my head, and I’m ready. Harris waits for me in the living room. He’s still frowning. He hasn’t smiled all day and not even attempted to hum.
The computer is set up beside him, but something’s out of place. That’s when I notice the pictures of his sister are gone. I wonder why, but I’m not about to bring it up. If talking about his sister a few nights ago killed his good mood, I don’t even want to know what talking about her today will do.
Besides, there isn’t time.
“You need to get into position,” he says, and somehow with just those six words, all traces of the man I’ve observed over the last day disappear. What is most surprising, though, is my reaction.
Almost instantaneously, I find myself slipping into the role I played for so many years. The role I donned almost without thought. It feels wrong now, like a shoe that’s too small or perhaps one that almost fits, but rubs the skin in such a way you know there will be blisters left behind. I will not get out of this call unmarked.
I bend my knees in order to kneel beside Harris and happ
en to glance his way. His eyes are shut in what looks like pain. He will not get out unmarked either.
“Two minutes,” he says, and I nod, unable to speak.
I jump when his hand lightly strokes the back of my neck.
“I wish there was another way,” he whispers.
That’s all he has time to say, and he clears his throat right as the call comes in.
I don’t plan to look at the computer at all. Harris agreed with me yesterday that there shouldn’t be a need. I’m afraid to look at Mike. I’m afraid if I do, everything I feel and think will be reflected in my eyes and it will not do anyone any good for Mike to see the amount of hate within me.
“Harris.”
My stomach threatens to heave at the sound of his voice. Harris moves his foot ever so slightly toward me to where it grazes my knee. I slide my hand to brush the top of his shoe and somehow it’s enough. I know I can get through this.
“Sir,” Harris replies.
“I don’t have long. Give me an update.”
I don’t have long might be the best words ever to be spoken, and I give silent thanks that perhaps this won’t be as bad as I feared.
“It’s going the way we thought it would. She’s a bit taciturn and hesitant, but with the proper incentive, she performs better.”
Performs. It’s a little hint that what we’re doing is an act. That he is still who I glimpsed yesterday and soon this will be over. I just had to play my part.
Be fucking brilliant.
“Where is she now?”
“Kneeling here beside me.”
“Let me see.”
Be fucking brilliant.
“Stand up, slut,” Harris says.
I stand to my feet, keeping my head down.
“Why does she have so many clothes on?” Mike asks.
“So you can watch her do this.” Harris is adjusting the camera to give Mike an eyeful. “Strip.”
I’ve never been naked in front of Harris. When we practiced, he didn’t have me undress completely. I now see that was a mistake. I’m clumsy and uncoordinated.
“Excellent work, Harris. I can see her tremble from here.”
“Thank you, sir. She didn’t do it quickly enough the first time. I had to punish her.”
“How?”
“She didn’t eat last night.”
“Hmm, that’s well and good, but I found with her, something corporal works best.”
“Thank you for the advice. I’ll use that next time.”
I’ve removed the nightgown, and now I’m fumbling with the bra. I don’t want to be naked in front of Harris and I’m not sure why it bothers me so much.
“Faster,” Harris says in a rough voice. “You have two seconds to get completely nude. As it is now, you don’t get clothes for the next 48 hours.”
“That’s cruel, Harris,” Mike says, but he’s laughing.
“No need for them anyway. It’ll save time when I want to fuck.”
I’m naked now, but still not looking at either man. Be fucking brilliant.
I’m trying.
“Now that is always a sight to behold,” Mike says. “She has a body made to take dick.”
“That she does. I’m so hard, I could bust something wide open.” There’s the sound of unzipping and I freeze. Harris is taking his pants off. This isn’t part of the script.
“I’ll start with her ass. Bend over the arm of the couch, slut.”
I’m really trembling now. What the hell is he doing? and Please don’t fuck me in front of Mike, battle each other in my mind, but I do what I’m told and position myself over the couch.
“I think I’ll take her ass dry as punishment for being slow,” Harris says. “Is that corporal enough?”
“That’ll definitely take care of your need to bust something wide open.”
“True, and she won’t be slow again.”
“She won’t be sitting down, either.”
Harris moves into position behind me, and I’m about to throw up, yell, pass out, or maybe do all three when his foot nudges mines. It doesn’t bring me the same level of comfort as it did earlier.
“I’d like to stay and watch,” Mike says. “If for no other reason then to hear her scream. But I do have to go, so maybe next time.”
“Sounds good. Talk later.”
“Make it hurt,” Mike commands, and then he clicks off.
I hold my breath, half expecting Harris to push his way into me.
There’s a few seconds of silence, and then Harris grumbles, “Mother fucking hell,” and drops a blanket around me. I exhale in pent-up relief, but I’m still shaking as I pull the blanket tightly around me and sit on the couch.
Harris stomps into the kitchen and takes a bottle of what looks like scotch and pours a good amount. He takes two sips and then throws the glass against a far wall.
He bends over with his hands on his knees. “I’m too damn old for this shit.”
I watch in total silence, not wanting to disturb him, or maybe I’m afraid to. It’s yet another side of Harris, and I wonder how many there are and if I’ll ever feel completely comfortable around him.
He finally stands up and gathers two bottles of water from the refrigerator before coming back to the living room and sitting down next to me.
“I’m sorry.” He passes me a water. “I didn’t plan on changing what we’d planned, but he wasn’t buying it. I had to.”
“S’okay,” I say, still waiting for the shaking to stop.
“It’s not. There’s nothing about any of it that’s okay.” He runs a hand through his hair. “And I don’t have damn clue what to do the next time he wants to call.”
I press my lips together. I had plenty of clues. Unfortunately, none of them were remotely appealing. I try to open my water bottle, but I can’t seem to get my fingers to work.
“Are you okay?” He takes the bottle and opens it for me.
I bring the bottle to my lips as I nod and somehow manage to pour it all over my lap.
“You’re shaking like crazy. Are you cold?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I scared you, didn’t I?”
“A bit,” I admit.
“Scared myself, too.”
I wisely decide not to ask him what that means.
***
I wake up that night around three in the morning. My sleep schedule is all screwed up, and knowing I won’t be able to go back to sleep anytime soon, I tiptoe down the stairs and head outside. I sit in one of the chairs I sat in days earlier when I first arrived at Harris’s house.
He was quiet all throughout dinner, only speaking when I asked him a direct question. After we finished eating, I shoved him out of the kitchen, promising to clean up everything myself. He stayed