Ariane was surprised that Kelly was handling it so well. Ariane knew there was no way she could have witnessed a loved one tortured and remained so calm-especially back when she was a teenager.
“How about your cousins? Have you talked to them?”
“Not really, but I can tell Susan’s on the edge. She’s real close to losing it.”
“Which one is Susan?”
“She’s a year younger than me. She’s petite, blond hair. Very pretty.”
Ariane tried to place the girl in her mind but couldn’t. Too many faces, too little time.
“She was abused on the same night as my dad. Master Jackson cut off all of her clothes in front of everybody. I think that rattled her something good.”
“He cut off her clothes? What did he do that for?”
Kelly shrugged. “She was wearing a bikini, so she kind of stood out.”
“And you think she’s in bad shape?”
She nodded. “I don’t think she’s gonna make it.”
DESPITE
her best effort, it took Ariane over an hour to cross the field-her basket of weeds and the guards’ careful scrutiny made her movement difficult-but in time she eventually made her way to Susan Ross.
As she approached the teen, the first thing she noticed were her eyes. They were striking, the color of the perfect summertime sky. But it was more than their light blue hue that made them stand out. It was also the tears.
Apparently, Kelly Metz was right. Her cousin was close to losing it.
Ariane inched closer, hoping to comfort the girl with a word or two, but the move backfired. Susan sensed Ariane’s approach and tensed with fear.
“Get away from me!” she shrieked. “Just leave me alone!”
The outburst stopped Ariane in her tracks. She assumed the plea was loud enough to be heard by the guards, and the last thing in the world she wanted to do was attract their attention. She had seen how rough they were with the other slaves and desperately wanted to avoid that.
“Calm down,” Ariane whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine!” she screeched, not giving a damn if the guards heard her or not. “Are you happy? Now get away from me!”
Ariane was flabbergasted by Susan’s behavior, but under the circumstances she was willing to cut the kid some slack. “You’ve got to be quiet.”
She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting a stampede of guards to be headed her way, and felt a great sense of relief when she realized their attention was still focused on the men.
“I realize you don’t know me and probably don’t trust me, but your cousin Kelly sent me over here to check on you.”
The frightened girl stared at Ariane coldly. Her body language and icy glare suggested that trust was no longer in her vocabulary.
“You know, I saw you and Scooter at the ceremony this morning. He sure is a cutie.”
Susan blinked a few times but didn’t respond.
“How old is he?”
She licked her parched lips, giving the question some thought. “Eight.”
Ariane grinned, relieved that the girl was willing to talk. “Well, he’s just about the cutest eight-year-old I’ve ever seen. He looks like a little athlete.”
Susan nodded, but refused to comment.
“How’s he holding up? He seems like he’s doing pretty well considering the circumstances.”
She shrugged, never shifting her eyes from Ariane’s face.
“And you? What about you? How are you doing?”
Susan breathed deeply, sucking in the air through her dry mouth. “What do you want? There has to be some reason you’re talking to me. You don’t even know me.”
Ariane smiled warmly. “Like I said, your cousin wanted me to check on you.”
The answer didn’t sit well with Susan. “Then why didn’t Kelly come over here herself? Why’d she send you?”
Ariane moved closer, hoping her proximity would lower the volume of Susan’s voice. “No reason. I’m trying to talk to as many people as possible, and when I talked to your cousin, she mentioned that she was worried about you.”
“She’s worried about
me
? That would be a first from my family.”
“Come on! Don’t be silly. Your family’s worried about you. They’ve got to be.”
The statement brought a new batch of tears to the teen’s eyes. “You don’t know my family very well, do you? None of them have even asked how I’m doing. Not one of them.”
“Well, I’m asking you. How are you doing, Susan?”
“How the hell do you think I’m doing? Every time I turn around one of the guards is touching me. Last night I saw my dad’s ear get cut off. And when I do get to see my family, all my parents care about are my younger brothers. I mean, would it kill them to ask how I am?”
Ariane couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Despite the gravity of their situation, Susan was showing signs of sibling jealousy. How petty could someone be? “Don’t take it personally. I’m sure your parents are paying them more attention because they feel they need it. You’re older. They probably figure you can handle things by yourself.”
Susan wiped the moisture from her face. “Great! You’re on their side, too.”
“It’s not about sides. It’s about-”
“Just get away from me! I don’t want to hear it.”
“Susan.”
“Get away from me!” she repeated louder. “I don’t want to talk to you!”
Ariane pleaded for her to calm down, but the teen refused to listen. “Susan, if you keep making noise, the guards are going to come over and punish us.”
“Good! At least that’ll get you away from me!”
“Susan, I’m just trying to help.”
“I told you. I don’t want your help.” Susan picked up her wicker basket and began walking away. “And if you follow me, I’ll scream for the guards. I swear to God. I’ll scream.”
Despite the threat, Ariane was tempted to run after her. In her mind, she figured Susan wasn’t a bad kid. She was just a traumatized teen, one who was looking for someone to cling to. And if Ariane could be that person, she’d love to be able to help.
Unfortunately, the Plantation wasn’t the best place to make friends, so Ariane’s act of kindness would have to wait for another day. That is, if both of them could last that long.
CHAPTER 38
AFTER
waking from his nap in the plantation house, Master Jackson strolled into the field to check on the current group of slaves. As leader of the guards, he had many important duties at the Plantation, but most of them occurred before guests were even brought to the island. Jackson was in charge of training the guards, a task he shared with Ndjai since several of the men were straight off the boat from Africa. If it hadn’t been for the language barrier, Jackson would’ve preferred training the guards by himself, but as it was he didn’t really have a choice. He was forced to work with Ndjai, even though the African gave him the creeps.
Ironically, Jackson often elicited the same reaction from women, sending off a dangerous vibe that females instinctively disliked. It hadn’t always been like that. The bad vibe was more of a recent thing for Jackson. As a youngster, he’d been very effective with the fairer sex. He was suave, polite, and romantic. But all of that changed in a heartbeat, one misstep that altered Jackson’s life and his attitude toward women-and white people-forever.
He’d been a young associate at one of New Orleans’s top law firms, and as his friends used to say, he had the world by its balls. He was handsome, intelligent, and personable. People often confused him with Wesley Snipes, but he was quick to point out their mistake. No, he used to tell them, my name is Harris Jackson, and before long, people will say
he
looks like
me
. And he believed it, too. Jackson was on the fast track to success, and he knew in his hear
t that he was ultimately destined for greatness.
Until he met her.
A month before that fateful day, Jackson left his law firm to start his own business. The Harris Jackson Sports Agency. He figured that with his legal mind, quick wit, and black skin, he would be able to land professional athletes by the dozen. And he was right. Within two weeks, he had signed Levon Greene, a friend of his from college, and soon after several other stars in the world of sports started using his services.
As a token of his appreciation, Jackson invited his newest clients to New Orleans for a gala celebration and arranged everything that he needed to have a successful party: food, alcohol, strippers, and rap stars. Unfortunately, when he made the party arrangements, he didn’t count on the presence of a she-devil. Sure, she looked like a harmless exotic dancer-shoulder-length blond hair, great face, see-through dress-but underneath that beautiful exterior lived the heart of the Antichrist.
At the end of the evening, she begged Jackson for a ride home, and before he could say no, she was riding him in his limo. At the time, he figured it was just a one-night stand, a meaningless night of sex with a drunken vixen, but it turned into something more. It became the event that ended his career. Unbeknownst to Jackson, the girl was young. Too young. An uninvited sixteen-year-old who had snuck into the party to meet some of the celebrities. After sobering up, she regretted her actions and quickly told the cops everything that had occurred. The liquor, the nudity, the sex, everything. In a flash, Jackson was arrested, convicted, and disbarred. Before he knew it, his legal career was over, and all because of some white bitch.
After his release from prison, Jackson realized that he needed to experience the sweet taste of revenge if he was ever going to put the past behind him, and he figured the Plantation was the perfect way to do that. One white whore had taken everything that he’d ever worked for, and in his mind, this was his opportunity to get even with her and everyone like her.
Theo Webster had academic reasons for the Plantation.
Octavian Holmes had a childhood trauma to overcome.
But Harris Jackson had something different. He was in it for personal revenge.
As he scrutinized the female slaves in the dying sunlight, he tried to choose the one he wanted to play with the most. But it was a tough process, a lot tougher than the last group that had been brought to the Plantation. In order to prepare for Webster’s special group of slaves, the Plantation Posse abducted twenty-five homeless people for a trial run back in May. After practicing their kidnapping and transportation techniques on the vagrants, the Posse ironed out the kinks in the slaves’ housing setup. They perfected the guards’ work schedules and corrected any glaring errors in management strategy, guaranteeing that the real group of slaves would be handled as efficiently as possible.
Unfortunately for Jackson, the homeless group had only one good-looking female, a down-on-her-luck runaway, so he didn’t have many playmates to choose from. But the current crop of slaves was different. As far as he could tell, there were five females in the bunch that would please him immensely. They were young, pretty, and white-just how he liked them. It was just a matter of time before he chose the one that he wanted to break first.
After figuring out the girls’ names, Jackson spoke to one of the guards and told him to round up the following slaves: Kelly Metz, Jennifer Potter, Sarah Potter, Susan Ross, and Ariane Walker. As far as he was concerned, the other females were too old or too pregnant to mess with.
“Ladies,” he said to the five, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve pulled you away from your work. Well, I’ll explain that in good time. First of all, a question: How have you enjoyed working in this wicked heat?”
Not surprisingly, the women were too scared to speak.
“Ah,” he sighed. “It seems that you have forgotten the policy that was established on day one. When I ask a question, you respond, or you will pay the price.”
He looked at Susan, who trembled at his presence. She remembered how he had treated her on that first night: the sharp edge of his stiletto as it slid against her flesh, his erect penis as he rubbed it against the small of her back, his threatening words. The memory of it all made her wince in agony.
“So, let me ask you again. How have you enjoyed the heat?”
“We haven’t liked it,” Ariane admitted. “Not one bit.”
The comment made Jackson grin. “Thank you! Even though no one else had the courage to speak, I’m sure each of you agrees with Miss Walker’s statement.”
The women nodded their heads.
“Finally, a sign of life!”
Jackson moved forward, glancing at the bodies and the faces of the slaves, looking for the tiniest of imperfections. Sarah and Ariane were older than he usually preferred, but they did have the nicest figures of the five. Full breasts, great legs, firm bodies. And Ariane definitely had the prettiest face. Shit, she could be a model if she wanted to be. Unfortunately, he knew that neither of them was a virgin. Good-looking women don’t reach their age without screwing someone. And for Jackson, that was a turnoff. He preferred his victims innocent and pure, like the other three girls in front of him.
He wanted the opportunity to ruin them for the rest of the world.
He wanted a chance to destroy a piece of their life, just like that whore had done with him.
“What I’m about to offer to you might sound too good to be true, but it’s an opportunity that is steeped in tradition. Plantations used to have house slaves, people that assisted inside the house instead of in the field. They cooked and cleaned and provided indoor services that were requested. As payment they were given a bed to sleep in and a bath to soak in.”
Jackson studied the faces of the women, trying to predict which one would jump at the chance. “Now, keeping in mind that this house has air-conditioning, I need one of you to volunteer for the position.”
The females glanced at each other. Each of them had a feeling what the job was really about. Everyone, that is, but Susan Ross. After a momentary delay, she stepped forward.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Take me.”
“Splendid!” he remarked. In his mind, he figured that she would be the one to volunteer. Of all the females, she was the one who had struggled the most in the field. The tears in her eyes were another sign that she was looking for a way out. “Guards, take her inside so she can get cleaned up. I’ll be in shortly to give her further instructions.”
But as the guards moved toward the sixteen-year-old, Ariane did as well.
“Susan,” she pleaded, “don’t do it! This is about sex!”
Jackson jumped forward, viciously slapping Ariane in the mouth. “Get back in line, bitch, before I have you whipped.”
“She’s just a kid. If you need someone to abuse, take me. At least I can handle it.”
“Oh, sure,” Susan complained, not absorbing the extent of Jackson’s ulterior motives. “Use my age against me to take my spot inside. First you talk to me in the field, and now this. That’s just great!”
The moment the words sank in, Ariane took a step backward. She knew that Jackson was going to strike her again. He didn’t have a choice. She had broken one of his major rules, and he would have to punish her. And he didn’t let her down.
Jackson closed his fist into a ball and swung viciously, connecting with Ariane’s face just above her jawline. It was a savage blow, one that knocked her unconscious before she even hit the ground. Then, as she lay there, he kicked her once in the stomach just to prove to the other women that he was still in control.
“Guards, while you’re at it, take her in the house, too. Now that she’s broken one of my commandments, we’re gonna have to dispose of her. But before we do, I think she can provide all of us with some entertainment.”
CHAPTER 39
THEO
Webster answered the phone, smiling. If there was one thing in the world he could count on, it was Hannibal Kotto’s punctuality. “Hannibal, it’s nic
e to hear from you again. How are things in Nigeria?”
“They would be much better if America finally wised up and set its clocks to Nigerian time. It would make my sleeping habits much more routine.”
Webster laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, tell me about the auction.”
“As I hoped, the winning bid exceeds your minimum price.”
“By how much?”
Kotto smiled and told him the number.
“Holy shit,” Webster mumbled as he did some calculations in his head. He had twenty-three units of snow on the Plantation. Throw in some extra cash for Tonya Edwards, the pregnant one, and they were going to make a lot more money than he had ever expected.
“How soon can you make the shipment?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Excellent,” Kotto said. “I’ll notify the buyers at once.”
Webster hung up the phone, stunned. The dollar amount that Kotto had quoted was beyond Webster’s wildest dreams. Actually, in the very beginning, the concept of cash had never even entered his thoughts. He wanted to establish the Plantation for revenge, not money. He planned to smuggle people onto his island and treat them the way his ancestors had been treated. In his mind it would teach white people about the horrors of slavery while striking a blow for the black culture. Of course, since he’d never been an athletic person, he knew he needed help to make his plan a reality. He could control the bureaucracy by himself, but he needed someone to handle the brutality, someone who had been trained for it. But who?
While looking for assistance, Webster solicited the advice of Harris Jackson, his ex-roommate from college. Jackson wasn’t very supportive of the idea at the time-this was before his legal problems had occurred-but he suggested the name of a client who might be willing to help. And it was the perfect recommendation.
Until that point, Octavian Holmes had made a good living as a mercenary, offering his military expertise to the highest foreign bidder, but he’d reached the point in his life where he was looking for a change of pace-guerrilla warfare in South America and jungle tactics in Africa were quickly losing their appeal. He was thinking about running a training camp for militia types or opening his own shooting range, but he’d never gotten around to it.
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