by Nikki Rae
Leaning over me, he fixed the pillows under my head before covering me back up with the comforter. “I didn’t want you to become like me,” he finally whispered.
My eyebrows drew together in confusion.
“Bitter, hateful, no frame of what affection could be.” He gulped. “I wanted to give you something to remember while you’re with that sick fuck.”
Only part of his explanation made sense. “You beat me, paraded me around for that asshole, locked me up,” I said. “What memories could I look on fondly while he fed me dog food or kept me in a cage for weeks on end?”
His eyes softened as he moved closer, smoothing some hair out of my face. “I had to—have to—train you to protect you,” he said softly. “To make sure he doesn’t have a reason to mistreat you.” His hand lightly traveled to my chest, where just the edge of the bandage peeked out. “I obviously haven’t been doing a good job.”
Then he rolled his shoulders, grimacing a moment at his bitten arm as if he’d forgotten about it. He began unbuttoning his shirt and it slipped off his shoulders so he was only wearing a sleeveless black undershirt. The mark I’d left already began to bruise, and I was a little disappointed he wasn’t bleeding anymore.
He picked up the ice from the floor, zipping it and holding the plastic against the bruise as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Gregor is a high up Member and part of Wolf House,” he said. “I had to make it look like I was having my fun with you before I gave you up.”
This was all too much. Had everything he’d done been to benefit his mission to rescue his wife? Was none of it real? Had he not cared about me at all?
My thoughts must have showed on my face because his eyes locked onto mine. He placed the bag of ice back on my aching collarbone, carefully letting whatever hard cubes were left settle so their slight weight wouldn’t cause me more pain. The place where I’d bitten him was still bruising up, now bright pink from the cold.
He was close now, and my breath caught in my throat. Despite everything, the space between my legs began to warm, wishing he was closer. I was more fucked up than I thought, wishing he’d touch m in such a way even now.
“Was none of it real then?” It came out as a strangled whisper and I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Unbidden, my face crumpled silently and tears flowed with a force I was unable to stop.
Master Lyon leaned away slightly, eyes darting all around my face. “Let me ask you something first,” he finally said. “Last night, after I’d made you come so hard you couldn’t move, after we’d fallen asleep and you wouldn’t let go of me, was it always in the back of your mind that this was how you would escape?” His eyes were hardened now but it was a genuine question. “Had you tried to seduce me to run away?”
I shook my head immediately, the movement making me see stars and gasp.
He held my head still. “Look at me.” My eyes trained themselves on him automatically. “When did you stop plotting your escape?” he asked. “When did you realize that it was easier to be safe with me than dealing with the uncertainty of trying to run and find a Safehouse?”
His tone was soothing but it only made me cry harder. How? How had he gotten so deeply into my head that he was voicing the exact questions I’d asked myself just last night?
Using his thumbs, he wiped away some of my tears and then sweetly, slowly, he kissed my dry lips. “When someone forces themselves upon you,” he barely said, “I want you to remember that you had a choice. You had control. You had—”
“You,” I whispered.
He nodded, kissing me once more before he pulled away. “I…” He exhaled as he turned away, folding his hands in his lap. “I care far deeper for you than I expected I would,” he said. “I was not meant to feel this way, but this is what you’ve done to me.” He shrugged as if he couldn’t think of any other way to explain his thoughts.
So it wasn’t all false. I relaxed the tiniest bit knowing that my feelings for him weren’t a product of him manipulating my mind and body—not all of it. Everything was beginning to make sense. Why he was so lonely, why he thought my every move couldn’t be trusted—like when he’d kissed my neck and made all the horrible thoughts disappear.
“Were you forced, Elliot?” I asked in a small voice.
His head lowered a fraction; I’d figured out something crucial he was meant to hide.
“Yes.” His voice was raspy, torn. “Many times, but nothing as bad as the first.” My Owner blinked a few times before he turned to me again. “I…” He considered his words carefully. “I wanted to do everything I could to make it so you wouldn’t suffer as I had. It was all I could think to do.”
“To show me kindness where you found none.”
His eyes traveled to my face. “Yes.”
I couldn’t hold his gaze. It simply hurt too much. It was strange, but the way he had taken care to guard my mind for the future—even if it was in his own skewed way—made me feel…loved.
Or at the very least cared for. Love was something with which I wasn’t familiar. Still, I couldn’t see how a few orgasms would be enough to help me survive whatever lay ahead.
“It doesn’t make much difference,” I whispered, trying for whatever reason to be gentle. Odd, but when I watched him now, all I saw was that little boy who had experienced all the things I had and more; all the things I couldn’t begin to imagine. “I almost killed this man because I didn’t want him to rape me.”
That key word got his attention. He probably thought I couldn’t see or maybe he hadn’t noticed he’d done so, but his expression changed the smallest amount. His gaze was farther away than before, hands balling up the blanket beneath them.
“He’s going to rape me,” I said, trying not to dwell on the reality myself. “And then when he’s done, he’ll torture me. You say you want to get me back when you can, but if by some chance he doesn’t end up killing me, I won’t be me anymore. Either way, he gets me.” The last sentence was whispered: “Either way, we both lose.”
Then we were silent. Without so much as looking at me, he stood.
“I had Marius send for a Compound doctor,” he said, almost back to his normal commanding self, but I could see the slight tremor in his fingers before he slipped his hands into his pockets. Was he that angry, or could it be that he just might be as terrified of what could happen as I was? He walked to the dresser across the room and picked up a glass vial and syringe.
I struggled weakly against the restraints. “I don’t want it.”
He uncapped the syringe and filled it from the vial as if he hadn’t heard me. As he came closer, he said, “Trust me, the pain will be much worse without it.” He sat back down and held out my left arm as if it was necessary with it tied to the bed. It took me a moment to realize he was feeling for a vein. “I know it’s hard for you to believe,” he said, “but not everything I do is to hurt you.”
“Please don’t.” More than anything, especially now, with all this new information, I didn’t wasn’t to be drugged. I needed a clear head to sort through it all and I didn’t want to be out of it when one of the doctor from a Compound arrived. Who knew what kind of man would show up and what he would do to a drugged, tied up girl. “I’ll be quiet, I promise,” I pleaded.
Master Lyon ignored me and I felt the sting of the needle as it entered my skin. It occurred to me that it might be stronger this time, since he’d gone to the trouble of finding a vein instead of some other fleshy part of my body, but I wasn’t prepared for how thoroughly and quickly it knocked me on my ass.
“That’s good,” he soothed, smoothing the covers over my shoulders. I felt his lips against my forehead but it was like he was kissing exposed flesh; too sensitive and too raw. “You can fight to stay awake all you like.” His tone was back to teasing now, and I didn’t completely hate it. It meant he was back to normal, composed and focused. He was much like me in that way, only my solace was always sarcasm—and when pushed far enough, violence. My muddled
mind wondered what else we could have in common borne of the life we had no choice of playing a part in.
“You’re like me,” I whispered, the words flowing so easily.
“Yes, Doe,” he said as he stood, pausing briefly to touch my hand. “Almost identical.”
NINETEEN
My eyes closed but I didn’t fall asleep. No matter how much the drugs relaxed my body, my mind would never follow right now. I felt light, yet I was sinking, melting into the pillows and blankets as I heard him move about the room. It felt like my eyes had been closed a long time as I lay there, submerged in the nothingness, but when I opened them I knew it couldn’t have been more than a minute.
He was just walking into the room, and he looked mildly surprised when he found me still awake.
After a moment, as he came closer. I realized what he had in his hands: the glistening silver of an Owner’s collar. I had the presence of mind—or maybe my mind was just too sluggish to react right away—not to panic until he was once again sitting on the bed and I heard the click of the clasp opening. I stared up at him as he moved closer and all of my movements and speech were delayed.
“Please,” I begged as I felt the first kiss of cold metal against the back of my neck and he gently lifted my head off the pillow. “Please,” I repeated, louder this time. “You don’t have to, sir.” I thought that maybe adding his title at the end would help prove that I knew my place now.
“Shhh.” He set my head back down and his fingers worked the closure. “It’s only for a little while, Doe,” he whispered. The metal snapped shut and I heard him lock it. Even if my hands weren’t tied to the bed, I wouldn’t be able to take it off unless I entered a code or a key—I couldn’t tell what type of collar it was from this angle.
So far, I thought I’d been lucky enough to have a new Owner who didn’t believe in the collar system. However, in just a few short hours he had shown me that he possessed many. Perhaps he’d been saving them for special occasions.
Finally, he let the full weight of the collar rest against my throat. “Heavy?”
I couldn’t escape the small flicker of a gleam in his eye as he took it all in: me immobilized and collared. He was enjoying this—and it was for different reasons other than a man in his position might.
“Y-yes, sir,” I answered, not a question as to how I should address him. Strange, but I felt a pang in my chest that traveled all the way to my stomach at the thought. I wanted to call him sir because he was my Owner, my master, my protector. Tears leaked out at the realization that it was only a matter of time before that changed and I went from “Doe” to “dog” or “bitch”. He would be gone and I would be as good as dead.
Master Lyon wiped away the few tears that had run down my temple before they soaked into my hair. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “I’ll take it off as soon as he doctor leaves, all right?”
Part of me was thankful he’d mistaken my emotions for something so simple as not liking wearing the collar. Nodding, I sniffled up the remainder of my tears and he wiped away whatever was left on my face.
“I want you to be quiet while he’s here, okay?”
I nodded again. “No speaking at all, sir?” I asked. “Like last time?”
He seemed to know what I meant and a sad smile formed on his lips. “Yes, Doe. Just like last time.” His fingers lingered near my temple and he stared just a little too long. “Is the pain better?” It was so soft I almost missed the question.
I nodded, though I knew he was no longer testing that I knew the rules or that the hierarchy had been reestablished.
Finally, he backed away from me, his hand leaving my skin. He took the mostly melted bag of ice from my shoulder before he left the room.
I stared at the ceiling, concentrating as much as I could on not falling asleep, but my eyelids were weighted just as much as the rest of me, and before long I had closed my eyes for longer than I’d intended. I only opened them again when I heard two pairs of footsteps on the stairs.
If this doctor was anything like the ones I’d already met, I had no interest in seeing him. They were always male—at least in my case. Maybe better behaved girls got the luxury of a female physician, which probably wasn’t too much better, but at least there was a slightly less chance of getting groped. Men saw me as a challenge and it was no secret to the Compound guards. Perhaps I was somewhat lucky in that aspect of always having someone in the room while I was examined. They were told it was for their safety, but I always took the small joy in the fact that it protected me as well.
When I heard them on the landing, my eyes shot open—a male voice I didn’t recognize along with my Owner’s. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but the tone was jovial, as if they were best friends talking. It amazed me how quickly my Owner could change his masks and choose whichever suited the situation best. I thought I was good at convincing people of whatever I wanted, but I had nothing on him.
My chest constricted at the thought that his affection and kindness towards me was only another seamless transition, but if I believed that, I would shatter. Even if it was false, even if it was a lie, I needed something to hold on to. Otherwise I would sink into the abyss, unable to crawl back out.
They both entered then, laughing about something they’d already said when I couldn’t hear. It died down naturally as they approached the bed.
“This is my Doe,” I heard my Owner say with all the indifference of any other man in his position. It made my bones ache.
I saw him first, refusing to look at the doctor. Master Lyon stared down at me as if he was describing a favorite trophy in a case. The only thing that indicated the other man on the opposite side of the bed was a doctor was the white coat he wore and the stethoscope draped around his neck. He was around the same age as my Owner, only he had splotches of red around his cheeks and nose, a few deep scars on his face that I guessed were from teenage acne that had since disappeared. His hair was dark and almost too short. It showed too much of his pink scalp underneath.
When he smiled, it wasn’t for my benefit. He was glad to see me so prone and injured, so sure that he could get away with whatever disgusting fantasies rolled around in his head. Every one of the doctors who were Members were corrupt and in it for personal gain—financial or otherwise. I had yet to meet a physician who treated me as a patient and not some puppet they could play with when my handlers were distracted.
“She’s beautiful,” he commented, setting a medical bag on the nightstand beside me.
“Yes,” Master Lyon agreed, and this time his tone wasn’t just for the doctor.
He didn’t even ask permission as the blanket came away and he slipped the belt of my robe from around my waist. The fabric came away and instant goose bumps rose on my arms, torso, and legs. I kept my eyes trained on my Owner, and once he noticed me staring, he sat beside me, going so far as to place my head in his lap and stroke my hair.
To the doctor it would look as if he was asserting his Ownership in a subtle way. The same way one picks up a frightened kitten when there are too many visitors around.
“What I’m worried about most are her ribs, collarbone, and the wound on her chest.”
I didn’t want to look at the doctor, but I could hear him moving things around in his bag. “I can see why, Monsieur,” he answered. I heard the snap of rubber gloves as he put them on and then he was prodding me, not at all as gentle as my Owner had been. I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out and unshed tears clouded my vision. Master Lyon’s fingers soothed my scalp and I found myself grateful that he was there, that I wasn’t alone with this stranger posing as a doctor.
When he got to the bandage on my chest, the doctor ripped it off without ceremony or warning, eliciting a sharp gasp from my lungs. I could instantly feel the dampness as the air hit the wound. It wasn’t freely bleeding anymore; it was just raw.
“This needs to be sutured again,” the doctor said in passing. “You were telling me you only had sewing thread?”
I heard him in his bag, moving things around.
My Owner reached across me and stopped him. “If it’s all the same,” he said, “I’d prefer to do it myself if you’d be so kind as to leave the supplies.” An easy smile spread across his face. “It would be a fitting punishment, no?”
I heard the doctor laugh. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll leave you some supplies then.”
I quietly sighed with relief. He seemed to want this man gone as much as I did.
“I’ll just check for internal bleeding then be on my way.”
He squirted some type of sticky liquid onto my ribs and it made me glance at him. He held a handheld ultrasound machine; I’d seen them before when I was forced to have my yearly feminine exams. It was no bigger than a telephone, attached by a wire to another similar instrument with a rubber end that he began to smooth across my skin. He applied more pressure than necessary for the image to appear on his screen, but I tried my best to breathe evenly until he finished. When he finally put the contraption away and I opened my eyes, he was handing my Owner some tissues to wipe off the goo on my ribs and collarbone. My sight was once again trained on Master Lyon as he gently cleaned me off, his jaw working the entire time. His patience was wearing thin.
I felt the doctor’s hands on my legs next, squeezing and poking at the bruises and scrapes while pretending to check for more broken bones. If my Owner had been concerned about my legs, he would have mentioned it.
My heavy thigh shifted to the left, exposing me to this stranger’s eyes. When I tried to move it back, I felt his palm protesting my attempt, fingers digging into flesh.
“How long have you had her?” he asked, and it took my groggy mind too long to realize what he was referring to and when I did, hot tears trickled down my cheeks as I fought to remain still and keep quiet.
Master Lyon reached across me and slowly brought my legs together, causing the doctor to straighten and busy himself with putting his things away. “Only about a month,” he answered, somehow keeping his voice even. “I’m still training her.”
