“Would you like a drink?” his voice was low and nervous, and I watched the tic of his hand, fluttering against his coat pocket, as if unsure whether to go in or out of the space.
“No thank you, Master.” I could be good. I could behave. Maybe we could go back to Phase One, this time with my cooperation. My life, in Phase One, had been a bearable one.
I felt the stiffening before I saw it, the switch that flipped and knew, even before the shoes came into view, that we were being approached. A single set of men’s dark brown dress shoes. A buyer.
“She looks American.” I searched for a hint in the man’s voice, an accent, an inflection, but got nothing from those words.
“She is. And well-trained.”
“Fully broken?”
“Yes.”
“She looks rough, like she’s been punished recently.”
There was a pause before he spoke, a moment where I felt a ridiculous moment of hurt, the criticism stinging. I had never been described as ‘rough.’ Never considered, in the hours leading up to this, the possibility that I might not be wanted.
He finally spoke. “Not a punishment. Just my form of sex.” He laughed, an awkward bark, and the man stepped back.
“Not my thing. Good luck.”
Not my thing. I wanted to call out, Wait! It’s not my thing either! We’d be perfect together! Instead, I watched his shoes move a few steps over, heard his greet of another couple. Cheated a bit and lifted my eyes to the right. Saw shoes and slacks and bare legs displayed on heels. People everywhere.
“Keep your eyes down,” he hissed. “And try to look fucking pleasant.”
Pleasant? I weighed, for a brief moment, the downfalls associated with a swift pivot left and a strong knee to the balls. The thought brought a small smile. Then a strange hand, one that curved around my waist and pinched my skin, so hard and sharp that I wheezed in a breath of protest, stopped that smile.
“Nice... very nice.” The stranger hissed when he spoke, his body a stench of alcohol and cologne, my nose getting a front seat to the party when he pulled me closer, against his chest, his thick features rolling into place as he smacked thick lips together and squinted at me from inches away. I dropped my eyes, said nothing, did nothing, even as his hand traveled down my back and possessively squeezed my ass.
“How much?”
Not this man, not this man. I’d take a thousand clipboard questions and beg for my keeper’s touch before I served this man.
“Fifteen thousand.”
Fifteen thousand? I almost lifted my head, almost broke character and stared at my keeper. That is all I was worth? That is what the training and hell was for? To increase my value to the point to where my skin fetched the price of a used fucking Camry?
“That’s too much,” the man drawled, his fingers moving across my ass cheeks and digging into the crack. I bit the inside of my cheek and struggled not to speak.
“Twelve.” My Master spoke too quickly and I wanted to scream. Twelve thousand??! I had twelve thousand in my savings account at home. Was fairly certain that Brett would pay a hundred times that amount without hesitation. This could not be my ending. I wouldn’t let it happen.
I raised my head and stared into the man’s eyes, the action unexpected, his eyes narrowing in response. Then I licked my Revlon Super Lustrous #680 Temptress lips and spoke.
“Get your fucking hands off of me or so help me God I will break every one of your fingers.”
Beside me, my keeper jerked into action, his hand clamping down on my arm harder than I’d ever felt it, the punishment in the bite of every single finger. I fought it, stared into the man’s eyes and let him see every ounce of hatred in my heart.
Behind us, a voice, so low and deep that it stopped us all, the casual authority a hundred levels above the three of us.
“Is there a problem here?”
Five words that gripped my heart and smashed it into place.
Five words spoken in a manner I’d never heard yet instantly recognized.
Five words that caused both men to turn but I stayed in place, a tremble starting from my feet and rocketing up, till I thought I’d drop, till I thought, right there on that floor, that I would burst into a hundred pieces.
Brett had found me. I pressed my lips together and fought the breakage of my soul, my eyes squeezing together, a lump in my throat fighting to burst through every opening in my soul.
I had been saved.
The trio of black SUVs were ahead of us, my app verifying Brett’s location in the car.
“Very James Bond,” the driver called out cheerfully, lifting his chin and meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Uh-huh.” I gripped the front passenger headrest and stared at the cars. Watched as we wound through downtown. Brett’s ‘friends’, the men from the house, now here, with two extra SUVs, headed into the heart of the city. Not going on a boat sales call, that was for certain. They must work for him, be part of the drug operation. I wondered at his house, at all of the rooms that we had passed through, made love in. How many of those rooms had closets full of drugs? Or guns? Or both? How many nights had I sat in a hotel room while he had destroyed lives? Broken a hundred laws? Empowered terrorist and drug organizations?
I had seen enough. I should go back to the hotel. Book a flight home and be halfway to the airport by the time Brett returned.
“You getting out now?”
I raised my head, looked around, scrambling into action when I realized that the brigade before us had stopped, doors opening on all three vehicles, two men I didn’t recognize joining Brett’s foursome. I glanced at the meter and pulled out a twenty, holding it out. “Keep the change. What is this place?”
He twisted in his seat, taking the cash with an appreciative nod. “A salsa club. Real popular with the tourists. But it’s early, won’t be too crazy right now. It’ll heat up in an hour or so, be really crazy then. Want me to wait for you?”
I glanced around, Brett’s entourage entering through the front, the street quiet and relatively clean. “No, I think I’m okay. Taxis come through here often?”
“Oh yes, every few minutes. But here’s my card. If you can’t find one, just give me a call.” He smiled, half his grin void of teeth.
I took the card. “Thanks.”
I was slow to exit, a group of girls approaching the club, and I waited for them to pass before stepping out. I followed them closely, an attempt to hide, a barrage of Spanish bouncing between them as they pulled open the doors and shouted a chorus of welcomes to the doorman.
They were my shield, camouflaging my entrance, and my eyes darted around the dim interior quickly, worried that I would turn around and bump into Brett’s chest.
I had nothing and everything to worry about. The group of men wasn’t there.
I paid the doorman, and hugged the shadows, checking the room once, twice, three times. I visited the restrooms, put my ear to the men’s room door, wandered behind the bandstand and out to the patio. The cabby was right, the place wasn’t busy, nothing like the moshpit of the Jamaican club.
“Looking for someone?” The man’s voice made me jump, my nerves fried, and I spun around, gripping my elbow with a wince when it connected solidly with the edge of a table.
“No, not really.” I tried to smile, shook out the arm.
“You just look lost.” He stepped back, giving me space, and I relaxed a bit. Took in his dark polo and khakis.
“You work here?”
He shrugged. “You could call it that. I own the club. My name’s Mitchell.” He extended a hand.
“Riley.” I smiled. “Is there more to it? It seems bigger from the outside.”
He glanced left, in the direction of a door marked Private. “There’s an upstairs, but it’s closed to a private party.”
Closed to a private party. I rubbed my elbow, my arm tingling from the hit. “You know what kind of party it is?” I should give up. Take a seat in the corner and wait for
them to leave, or get out of here.
He grinned. “I could get you in if you are interested.”
Am I interested? No. Probably not. Chances are he’ll open the door and it’ll be a flashback to my experience at Brett’s home office, staring blankly at a group of men with no logical purpose for my presence. “No. I was just curious.”
“Why don’t you come up to VIP? It has a view of the upstairs, plus one of the city.”
VIP? I hadn’t seen a VIP in my cruise of the club. Then again, I hadn’t seen the stairway upstairs but Brett and his cronies had gone somewhere. “Are there other people in VIP?”
He laughed. “Where do you think everyone is? There’s a reason it’s a ghost town down here.”
I watched him laugh, the easy tilt of his head, the relaxed sag of his shoulders, the nod he gave to a waitress when she passed.
He was nice. Helpful. A little flirtatious, but that was fine. Trustworthy. Connected. And he could give me a glimpse of the upstairs party.
I smiled. “Sounds good.”
The five fingers of Him burned into my arm, the twist of his body to look at Brett causing a rug-burn effect, but I stayed in place, my back to him. I couldn’t turn, couldn’t look into Brett’s eyes because if I did... God, if I saw his face my barely controlled emotions would flood. I would sob his name, throw my arms out and fly into his chest. I would grip his shirt, smell his cologne and never let go - they’d have to cut out our chests and separate the beating of our hearts.
“No problem. Just a little negotiation over price. The slave stepped out of place.” He jerked with his hand on my arm and I stumbled around, into my keeper, my eyes glued to the floor, the wet brim of tears threatening to fall as I did everything to stop myself from looking up.
Brett’s shoes. Black dress shoes, the laces tight and neat. If I pulled up his dress pants, I’d see dark silk socks.
He watched me, a playful gleam in his eyes as he pulled his shoes, then his socks off, stretching the black fabric between his hands and standing. Walking to the foot of the bed, he grabbed my ankles and pulled me to the edge, winking at me before he pinned them together and secured them with the silk. “What are you going to do?” I breathed, testing the bind, his weight settling on the bed as he moved against me and propped my bound legs against his shoulder.
“Just wait,” he ordered, his hands busy unbuckling his belt.
“The negotiation is over.” Brett’s voice was quiet yet carried, and I counted the shoes around him. Three other pairs, all pointed this way. I wondered about the men attached to them, if they were ones I’d met before. Wondered how much of his life that I had misunderstood had revolved around this.
“Actually,” the fat man beside me spoke, stepped forward a bit. “It’s not. But you’re welcome to enter the deal. I might be persuaded to sell my option.”
In the silence that followed, I pictured Brett’s face, the way his jaw clenched when he held back anger, the way his eyes blazed with authority. When his words finally came, I heard the pent-up bite in their tones.
“Do you know who I am?”
It was an odd response and I stopped counting shoes and remembering and holding back tears, stopped everything to listen. My keeper spoke. “I’d guess, from the room’s sudden silence, that you’re Buyer 43.”
He was right, the room was quiet. The hum of masculinity, the laughs and murmurs and feminine chimes - all had stopped. There was nothing more interesting in this space than us. Buyer 43. I tried to remember what had been said.
“...I suggest you make Buyer 43’s acquaintance. He’s always looking for American girls to purchase, though he typically breaks them himself.”
“He’s here? I’ve heard his name before.”
“He rarely misses a sale.”
I shifted. Returned my gaze to Brett’s shoes. Waited for his response. Always looking for American girls... he has been looking for me.
“That is correct. This one... she’s American?”
“Yes, and well-trained.” My keeper practically chirped the response. I stared at my own feet, the cheap heels on them. The type of heels I wore when I met Brett. Not the kind he deserved. I am well-trained.
“What price are you thinking?” The fat man put a hand on my shoulder, his fingers spreading and squeezing the skin, leaving a moist print I would probably never fully scrub off. He almost bought me.
“I’m thinking that you get your hand off of her and step afuckingway before I cut off that hand myself.”
The hand left, so did the man. I could almost feel the brush of air as he found his common sense and left.
My Master’s words practically jump out, a rush of run-on syllables that melded together into a string of pathetic. “I’m a big fan of yours. Heard about you for years. I’m glad we got the chance to meet, it was really more than I expected, you being here tonight—”
“What is it that you respect?” Brett said coolly. “My purchasing habits? My stable?”
“Everything. I’d love to see your facility. Watch you train. I heard you take all types.”
“My hobby is not a theme park. You can’t come and wander around, eat fucking popcorn and watch me work the girls.”
He straightens, shifts in response, and I feel the cold possessive slide of his hand, down the back of my arm and around my waist. “It was nice to meet you. A big honor.” He pulled on my waist, moving me a step towards him, the hurt kid taking his toys and going home.
“The band on your arm indicates you’re here to buy.” Brett’s voice interrupts our exit.
“I am.”
“You know I have hundreds. Tell me what you are interested in. Or, since you have such an interest in my dealings, come and pick one out.”
A slight release, the turn of Him back to Brett. “And what about her?” He tips his head toward me. “You like American girls. Do you want to do a trade?”
“I’ll give you twenty for the girl now. You can use it to rebuy tonight, or save it for your trip to my ranch.”
I was so close to freedom. I wish I could pin my eyes in place, the danger of them lifting so strong. Brett sounded so calm, so smooth. Was playing the game better than I ever would have been able to.
“Twenty-five?” I may faint if this negotiation lasts much longer.
“No.” Brett’s voice was cold. “Take the deal or get the fuck out of my sight.”
The man beside me laughed, high and awkwardly, his step passing in front of my line of vision, my gaze lifting slightly to see their hands shake. “We have a deal. Enjoy her.”
I feel the push of my keeper’s *ex-keeper’s* hand and step forward. I can’t lift my eyes or I will break, am stepping over the edge to freedom, cannot lose this now.
“Come here.” It is not Brett who speaks, it’s the man on his left, who holds out his hand, and I step towards him, my hands clasped, daring to raise my head and I meet his gaze. It is strong and steady, a hard jaw, kind eyes — I know this man. Met him at Brett’s house, the full introduction made in the outdoor kitchen, him setting down tongs long enough to shake my hand and give me his name. I can’t remember it, but know that he had two kids, one who played soccer.
He smiled at me but I was too scared to respond. Wanted to be out of this party as soon as possible. Wanted to scrub my skin until I removed every layer of him. Wanted to be alone with Brett and burrow into his chest. Look into his face and rediscover every detail I’d struggled to memorize. Never let go of him.
I heard the slap of a handshake behind me, money exchanged, a string of subservient words pouring at Brett from the man who had demanded obedience from me. Heard, or imagined, the click of his shoe as he stepped away. Felt the close of a hand, Brett’s hand, around my arm as he gently pushed me forward, steering me toward the door, his voice low and urgent when he turned to the others. “Make sure we get to the car safely, then stay here and deal with the other girls. I’ll meet you back at the house.”
It took a thousand steps to reach the s
treet, his hand firmly wrapped around my bare bicep, every bit of my skin obsessed with the warm grip of him. A thousand steps where, at one moment, turning a corner, he leaned down and pressed a kiss on the top of my shoulder. Inhaled a deep breath and smelled me. Moved the thumb of his hand gently and caressed the underside of my arm for one moment before we rounded the edge and he was, again, pure business.
When we stepped past Polished Shoes, I took in a shuddering breath. When a hand pushed on the door and it opened, a burst of free air greeting us, the night outside quiet, an SUV ahead of us waiting, the back door opened by a faceless man, I exhaled. Stepped up, into the warm vehicle, the driver turned in his seat, his face flinching in surprise when our eyes connected, recognition hitting us both at the same time. Another meeting. Another time. Another friend.
The door shut behind Brett, the truck accelerated away from the house, and I felt the crush of his arms around me.
He gripped me as if he was drowning, his arms wrapping around me, his head in my neck, breath gasping as if he was broken, a quivering sob of wracking inhalations, the action paused only by his kisses, quick and soft against my shoulder, collarbone, neck. He moved a shaky hand to either side of my face and held it, still, his lips pressing to mine before he pulled away and I looked fully into his face for the first time in the rest of my life. Saw heartbreak there that rivaled my own. Need and stress, a man aged in my time away, his fingers trembling as he ran the pads of digits across my lips.
“I thought…” he shuddered out a breath. “I thought you were gone. Oh my god…” he sobbed, a wet shaky inhale, his hands sliding into my curls and gripping them, pulling me closer.
I dug my hands into his hair and pulled him toward me, our lips meeting and knew in that moment that nothing between us - not with the time, or the separation, or my servitude - had changed. He didn’t see me as ruined or used, he gripped me like I was priceless, kissed me like he’d never let go. He was still mine. We were still us.