Who bought me?
Who would purchase a person?
Fingering the rough cotton, I aired out the largest piece. The clothing was nondescript and meant to fit any body type. A large grey jumper with long sleeves and heavy hem, a pair of white knickers, and two long black socks that reached my knees.
No shoes.
No bra.
No skirt or trousers.
But at least it was protection.
Pulling on the clothes, I tugged my hair from the collar, fanning it out as best I could so the length didn’t drench the back of my new wardrobe. I’d always had long hair. As a child, I’d screamed when Mum took me to the hairdresser. I’d gotten in trouble at school if I wore it loose because it was too long. It was more nuisance than privilege, but it was my favourite feature about myself, and I willingly paid the cost.
The American watched me dress. His quiet study erupted goosebumps that refused to obey me and vanish. A shudder also escaped my control as he cocked his head with appreciation. “I can see why he asked for a girl of your description.”
I froze.
I did my best not to reveal my curdling panic.
The tattoo on my wrist itched with warning.
“Where are you from, my dear?” He rubbed his jaw as if he couldn’t figure it out. “You have English rose skin, yet an American accent. Your hair is dark but not black. Your eyes are light but not coloured. I’m guessing a generous B or small C cup. Your body is lean, so you’re aware of the merits of healthy eating and exercise.” Without waiting for any confirmation from me, he continued, “How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-two? Definitely no older than late twenties.” He smiled. “At least, your body says you’re young, yet…your eyes say you’re old. That you’re already jaded and turned inward. That you think as long as you stay in your mind, you’re untouchable.”
Stalking across the room, he cupped my cheek, injecting poison into my skin. “You should know that you are touchable. Very much so. In every way possible.” His hand slid from my cheek to my breast. “Your new owner will make sure of that.”
I sucked in a breath as he let me go.
I allowed a moment of weakness as he turned his back, heading to sit behind his desk.
I collapsed into myself, trembling until my bones rattled.
But, by the time he faced me again, my nostrils flared once with air and my proud shoulders smoothed the shivers from debilitating fear.
Pulling out a file, he tapped it importantly. “Inside here are travel documents to fly you to your new master. We know everything we need to know to provide an adequate delivery to him. However…” He smiled as if he had every right to ask a tiny favour. “I would very much like to know your name. Other girls scream at me, some beg at my feet. Many cry. A few bargain. Yet you…you stare at me as if you’re above me, even while I hold your bill of sale.” His eyes narrowed with barely restrained monstrosity.
He had a talent like mine.
He could hide his true nature behind his gentile conversation, but beneath that lurked a man who got off on the capture and conquest of trading women.
I stepped toward him, steeling myself against his truth. “Why do you think I would share anything that belongs to me?” My voice resembled a tabby cat with unsheathed claws. “My name is mine.”
“That’s why I asked politely.”
I balled my hands, unable to stop myself. “Will you let me go if I ask politely?”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re smarter than that, and we’ve already covered that scenario.” Sighing with an undercurrent of respect, he said, “I’ll tell you what. Give me your name, and I’ll give you a tiny trifle in return.”
“What trifle?”
“What do you want?”
“My freedom.”
“Yes, but that’s already been purchased, my dear. You’ll have to ask your new owner about your fate. Maybe he’ll give you your freedom if you please him. Maybe he’ll kill you and grant your freedom that way. Or maybe you’ll grow old in service until the end of your sexual days. Either way…tonight you will be delivered to him. This is your one chance to ask for something before all those choices are taken away.”
“Will you hurt my family if you tell you who am I?”
He grinned. “Do you have a little sister who looks like you? Because I have another interested party who would look after her very well indeed.”
I ignored the desire to vomit at the thought. “I’m an only child.”
“Ah, that’s disappointing.” He smirked. “You have my word then. Your mother is too old. Your father is of no interest. I promise they are safe if you tell me who you are.”
“Send them a letter. Tell them what happened to me. Give them the name of the man who bought me. Give them a chance to rescue me.”
The man lurking in shadow let out a guffaw. The American snickered, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “You have balls, girl. I’ll give you that.”
“His name for my name.”
He cocked his head, studying me deeper than he ever had. The moment stretched uncomfortably before he murmured, “I’ll send them a letter and tell them what happened to you. There will be no chance of rescue or details destined to set you free, but at least they will have closure over your disappearance. They will know they will never see you again.”
Tears pricked from nowhere, undermining my self-control.
The thought of my mother opening such a letter. The idea of my father learning his daughter was traded into sexual servitude.
No.
It would kill them.
But…if this was my last chance to say goodbye, then at least I could give them some resemblance of peace.
Even if I won’t earn any myself.
Bracing myself, I closed the distance between us and held out my hand over his desk. “Send them a letter saying I’ve eloped and found endless happiness. Tell them I’m happy and safe, and they never have to worry about me again. Tell them I’m selfish and cruel to disappear but I love them. For always.”
His stood and slipped his hand into mine. “Done.”
We shook.
We sealed the agreement.
I shivered.
I couldn’t help it.
The coolant in my bloodstream turned into ice crystals. The cage I’d placed around my heart webbed with thicker wire.
I was bartering with Lucifer…not for my own protection, but for those I would never see again.
His fingers squeezed mine, his eyes flickered to the man who’d moved from his spot in the shadows and loomed behind me.
I felt him there.
I heard him waiting.
My skin prickled.
My instincts cried.
But I completed my end of the bargain.
“My name is Eleanor Grace. And I will—”
A rag smashed over my mouth, stopping my oath. Preventing me from promising that I would win. That I would find a way to murder whatever monster who’d bought me and survive.
Fumes entered my nose, attacking my ability to stand.
My knees gave out as the world turned dizzy.
Bulky arms caught me, and the last thing I heard before everything went black was the American murmuring, “Goodbye, Eleanor Grace. Graceful to the end and elegant to a fault. Mr. Sinclair will enjoy destroying you.”
Chapter Four
“SIR, SHE’S ARRIVED IN Java. The crew are ready to collect.”
“Send the doctor first. Remove that damn tracker they insist on putting into their stock.”
“Yes, sir.” My second in command, Calvin Moor, nodded. He wore his typical suit even though the tropical heat made thick fabric unbearable. The humidity level, even at dawn, didn’t give any reprieve. “I’ll arrange the removal, and then you’re happy for final transportation?”
“Yes.” I looked back at my laptop and the latest test results from my scientists. Cal got the message that I was done with him and discreetly let himself out.
Onl
y five a.m. and I’d already been for a swim around the island and met with yet another early bird arrival. Instead of sending this latest guest away, he was allowed to stay.
An older gentleman from Texas. Oil flowed in his veins as surely as blue blood from an American founding family. He was ruthless in business and had special perversions, but he could be trusted to play by my rules.
I tried to keep my mind on business, but it kept trickling back to my latest acquisition.
Had they found someone fitting my requirements?
Was she in good repair or damaged while in captivity and transit?
Could I put her to work straight away or would she require a gentler welcome than some of the more experienced employees I’d ‘hired’.
Reclining in the expensive ergonomic desk chair that caused back pain rather than cured it, I raked a hand through my sleek, dark hair. Saltwater and sunshine did its best to bleach the ebony, but it never quite managed. The best it could do was decorate the tips with an island bronze that pretended I had a heart somewhere beneath my ruthlessness.
I’d bought enough from this current dealer to know the stock came from all areas of the globe. Their favourite hunting grounds were backpackers and run-down restaurants in Mexico, but they also travelled abroad, taking their prey back to some secret facility where they held them until the noise of media and outrage of loved ones either became too hot to be a viable transaction or proved their selection wouldn’t be hugely missed.
Those who ended up on every media channel and lit a fire under police’s asses were released. Those who faded into obscurity were devoured by men like me.
Men with cash to purchase such things.
Things like souls.
I didn’t mind the ethics behind trafficking as long as the merchandise was humanely treated. In my opinion, the human race couldn’t have it both ways.
We couldn’t torture, eat, and abuse animals and think ourselves immune.
We couldn’t artificially and forcibly breed animals for consummation and not expect us to be above such treatment. A cow was raped, and its calf torn away and most likely slaughtered before it even had proper hide on its foetal body—all for the dairy industry to pump milk to a population who didn’t realise it was slowly murdering them with disease. Lambs were butchered when barely weaned for Sunday roasts. And chickens…shit, billions of those unfortunate feathered fiends were locked in cages, had their necks cut off and their carcasses filled with carcinogens to extend shelf life, only to be bought and tossed out after their expiration date without ever being eaten.
Wasteful.
Distasteful.
Gross.
If society allowed such barbarity to other sentient beings, why couldn’t I benefit from trading in fellow humans? After all, I provided them with a free-range existence—to a degree. I fed them the best food money could buy. They had medical treatment, pleasure time, freedom within my laws. All they had to do was provide a service.
We all had to provide a service.
From the newly born to the elderly. We were all slaves, ensuring the economy stayed afloat and not crumble into dust at our feet.
I was no different.
My goddesses were no different.
Traffickers and slavers and people captured and bound were no different.
The only difference between my girls and the girls working for some hotshot Wall Street exec was I offered free living, food, and healthcare. The poor girls on a pittance of a salary were one medical disaster away from destitution and bankruptcy.
In reality, my islands of temptation were fucking heaven compared to the rest of the fucked-up cesspit of a globe.
My goddesses should be thanking me.
And they did.
Once they get to know me.
Shoving away the anticipation of my latest purchase’s arrival, I returned to the facts and findings on a revised elixir my scientists had been working on. All those years I’d slogged in high-tech labs, the connections I’d cultivated, and persistence I’d nursed—it had all been worth it.
The numbers didn’t lie.
The potency was stronger than ever.
I hadn’t just founded utopia; I’d created ambrosia.
I fed my immortal goddesses the nectar of the gods, all so they could serve to their highest power.
What sort of monster would do that?
What sort of beast would ensure his conquests wanted to serve him?
Begged to serve him?
Who pleaded to stay…even when he set them free?
Chapter Five
THE HELICOPTER SWOOPED FROM azure sky to aquamarine ocean.
My stomach flipped at the sudden weightlessness, the sensation of skipping across air and gliding through invisible gravity.
The islands below scattered like coins spilled from a billionaire’s pocket. Some were smaller than a one-bedroom apartment. Others were large enough for a burst of palm trees to stand tall, dusted with rainbow-winged parrots.
Glittering golden, almost crystal sand winked from the bays of the larger atolls, while the tiny dots of land fought with the overwhelming turquoise-ness of the ocean to be seen.
The traveller’s blood inside me fizzed with amazement. The wanderer’s need to explore unseen places and walk untouched shores where others hadn’t gone before made me forget, just for a second, that I’d been brought here against my will.
A buffet of air punched the helicopter, wrenching it to the side as we hovered and continued to descend toward the capital H painted on a bamboo floating dock. Whitecaps appeared on the otherwise deathly calm sea, ferns frolicked in the updraft of the rotor blades and three men in white shorts and polo shirts waited with their hands clasped behind their backs, looking up at us.
Looking up at me.
I sat in the back of the helicopter on my own.
No ropes, no cuffs, no method of imprisonment.
The pilots paid no attention to me, concentrating entirely on delivering me and not falling out of the sky.
After the long journey I’d had—shoved in a coffin-shaped box with basic air holes, a packet of stale crackers, out-of-date fat-riddled salami, two bottles of water, and a bucket for calls of nature, this was an incomparable method of transportation.
I didn’t know how long I’d flown in that wooden coffin, but the ringing of my ears and the ice on my skin said it wasn’t with a commercial airline. I’d been cargo. Smuggled. Hidden.
I’d faded in and out of consciousness, thanks to whatever drugs they’d given me, and I’d resorted to using the bucket and nibbling on stale crackers, doing my best to stay warm in the useless wardrobe they’d dressed me in. I’d left the salami, despite the hunger pangs growing more and more insistent.
Giving up meat hadn’t been a conscious decision, more like a fundamental barrier I could no longer cross. I’d never liked the taste of cooked animal flesh, and one day, just like that, my moral compass and taste buds revolted.
That’d been four years ago.
What would happen to that personal choice now none of my choices belonged to me? Would I be fed a diet of carcass and animal products? Given the option of inedible food or starvation? Or would I be allowed to maintain my regimen?
The questions added to the thousands of others I’d had since I’d woken to the swoop of a Boeing shooting me from earth to sky and taking me to who the hell knew where.
In my wooden box, I’d had nothing to waste the time away with, so I’d latched onto questions instead of regrets. I couldn’t think about Scott or the blossoming relationship we’d shared. I couldn’t think about my friends I’d left behind or the fact I hadn’t called my parents in weeks because international roaming was so expensive.
I tried to stop thinking that my Facebook page would become one of the countless ghost accounts of people who’d died and no one had removed their profiles. I would be there, but gone. Alive, but missing. I would become an unsolved mystery, only causing heartbreak until time obscured even
that and my family moved on.
That won’t happen.
You’ll escape before then.
Escape?
I hugged myself as the helicopter hummed above the bay of the largest island in the sprawling vista we’d flown over. The shores wrapped into the distance, north and south, the sand held deck chairs and beached kayaks, the palm trees hid the thatched roofs of accommodation, and the idyllic paradise that should’ve graced any glossy travel magazine as an exclusive, expensive vacation, hinted that nestled within the pretty purple orchids and manicured sandy pathways hid people.
One person in particular.
Someone who’d reduced me to a possession he thought he could own.
He’s wrong.
But…escaping?
Despite my best intentions and regardless of my resolution not to give up, I didn’t see a way free. Wherever we were, gallons and gallons of water stood between me and safety. I could swim, but I wasn’t the strongest. I could try to call for help, but would an island this far out to sea have internet and phone lines?
I didn’t have a clue where I was.
After the plane had touched down and my coffin with its many tiny holes was unloaded, I’d been driven into an aviation hangar. There, the nails had been pried off and my lid opened, only for two men with black hair and exotic eyes to hoist me unceremoniously from my little nest.
My muscles were stiff.
My body covered in bruises.
My legs useless after being bent for so long.
I’d tripped but forced feeling and fight to course through my blood as they dragged me forward.
I hadn’t spoken to them, and they hadn’t spoken to me, merely guiding me into a small office inside the hangar where the whiffs of fuel and jet planes were replaced with paper and technology.
No one occupied the space, and the desk was uncluttered from work.
They’d shoved me into a plastic chair, given me another bottle of water and a small muesli bar, allowed me to use the bathroom, then waited for something.
Once a Myth (Goddess Isles Book 1) Page 4
