Insurmountable (Serpentine #1)

by Skye Callahan

  “The doctor said she’s fine.”

  A frigid hand lifted my bruised jaw. I let him tilt my head up, but my eyes didn’t follow.

  “Really,” Miles said. “Look at her. Who’s going to pay for a bruised and beaten girl?”

  He didn’t know the men I knew. This had to be a trick.

  “I trust you got to the bottom of the situation before you decided to bring her up here and pamper her?”

  “I watched the tapes. There was no time for her to do anything before he started hitting her. He’s a piece of shit with a temper. I pulled up his records. He’s been arrested twice for disorderly conduct and investigated for domestic violence. He should’ve never been let through the front door.”

  “And whose fault is that? Last I checked, you were head of security. That’s your damn job, but you sent him to me to clean up the mess—interrupting a perfectly good dinner with three of the new girls.”

  “Yeah, I order around a bunch of assholes who are more worried about which new girl they’re going to fuck first. Every time we bring in new girls we have trouble.”

  “Then, I suggest you crack down.”

  Miles groaned and stood. With one of them on either side of me, I felt like I was a baby lamb about to be ripped apart by two wolves. “How about I just replace them?”

  “New employees are more trouble than new girls. You know that. Fix the problem before I have to. Makeup will cover the bruises. If nothing is broken, she can return to work tonight. We’ll put her to work in the overlook where we can keep an eye on her.”

  Work. Overlook. I didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t like the sound of it. The higher the man, the more sadistic he usually was. If the boss intended to keep his eye on me, that probably meant I was to be his for the night.

  I hoped they couldn’t see my hands quivering against my legs.

  Fear would only feed their demented desires.

  Miles stood, and Ross proceeded toward the door, leaving me on the floor in the center of the living room.

  “Little Dove,” Miles whispered kneeling next to me.

  Don’t talk. I’m not ready.

  The man had been right about me. I was useless.

  I didn’t even have enough in me to pretend anymore. The hope for escape had faded long ago.

  “Alley,” he squeezed my arm.

  “Yes, Sir.” Focus. Stay alive. The only thing that terrified me more than another endless day in this place—another endless month, year—was what they might do to me if I didn’t listen. Death. A million possibilities worse than death. They wouldn’t kill me unless it was their last resort.

  But I was perilously close to that.

  “I have a meeting in town. Will you be okay alone?”

  Alone? I almost jerked my head up to see if I’d heard him right. “Here?”

  “Yes, I intended to leave you here so you can rest. Unless you’d like to return to the Commons.”

  “No, Sir. I’d very much like to stay here.” What will I owe him for this?

  Brushing back my hair, he lifted me from the floor, carried me to the bedroom, and tucked me back in bed. This had to be a dream. An illusion of some kind. Maybe the concussion was worse than I thought.

  “Do you need anything,” he asked before leaving my side.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. How could I ask for anything?

  * * *

  Alone in an apartment. I had the whole place to myself. It was too good to be true. Too torturous to be true. The quiet was even more unnerving than the constant state of chatter and movement in the Commons. I shoved the blankets off of me and stared down at the bruises covering my sides and arms. It seemed like there were more than I remembered.

  Miles hadn’t said anything about how long he’d be gone, but the light outside the windows was already beginning to dim. It was only a matter of time before someone came to get me. Before I went back to work.

  I slid my legs off the side of the bed, bracing myself against the mattress as I stood. My legs felt like stretched out springs, unable to hold their shape, and I put my hand against the wall to keep my balance as I left the bedroom and headed for the bathroom.

  I turned on the water in the over-sized whirlpool tub, letting it run hot and steamy. Such a luxurious apartment. I wished I could let my mind go, float away just long enough to believe that it was mine. To pretend. Pretend I was a normal girl again. To pretend I had a future.

  If someone walked in now, I could say I was getting ready. I could pretend to be the dedicated “worker.” I’d put on the facade perfectly until last night.

  What gave?

  I reached for the medicine cabinet and pulled it open. How stupid was he to leave me here all alone?

  A razor. That was all I needed. Anything sharp.

  If all else failed. I’d take a knife from the kitchen. But I found just what I was looking for. I pulled the blade out of its holder. It all came so effortlessly. For once my mind was quiet, content. An exit. An escape. In the only way I’d ever get out of this. A better alternative than leaving my manner of death up to them.

  I pressed the blade to my arm and a red dot of blood rose up around the tip. So beautiful. So freeing.

  “Alley.”

  I jumped, pressing the blade to my palm. I must not have heard him enter because of the running water in the tub. How much had he seen?

  Miles came toward me, but I arched my back, trying to hide my cut arm behind me. It was only a small cut. A nick. But now I was caught.

  Whatever came next would be far more painful.

  “Alley, give me your hand.” Miles held out his own hand waiting for mine.

  My breaths came so quickly that I bumped into the sink when a wave of dizziness hit me out of nowhere. And then I heard it. I felt it. A drop of something on the floor.

  I followed the sound. Blood dripped from the hand holding the razor. No way of hiding it now.

  Miles came at me and grabbed my arm, holding it out in front of me, palm side up. “Open your hand, Little Dove.”

  Why did he have to call me that? I relaxed my fingers, letting them fall open to reveal the tiny blade. He gently pulled it out of my blood-soaked palm and dropped it in the sink. Then he wadded up a wash rag and pressed it to my hand.

  “Sir,” I whispered, nodding to the tub. I didn’t need more trouble.

  He quickly turned the knobs, without releasing my hand. I stared down at the bloody razor. Almost. So close.

  “Alley.” Every time he said my name it was like someone jerking at a chain around my neck. It pulled me back for just an instant and then sent me reeling even deeper. He took my other arm, turning it over to reveal the small trail of blood from the tiny gash in my arm. Without another word, he reached into a cabinet under the sink and pulled out a first aid kit.

  No. No. This isn’t how it goes.

  He dabbed an alcohol pad over the wound, then pressed a band-aid over it. The other cut wouldn’t be fixed so easily, but he took my hand with the same calm persistence.

  I fisted my hand and pulled it away.

  I didn’t want to be fixed.

  I sure as hell didn’t want useless band aids covering the wounds.

  Without warning, the tears fell and my knees buckled.

  Miles caught me, pinning me against the sink so I couldn’t fall. “What’s wrong?” he asked, brushing his fingers against my face.

  “What’s wrong?” I repeated. What isn’t wrong?

  I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t say it. “Please, just kill me and get it over with,” I whispered.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “He was right. I’m worthless. Bad business. It’s what happens.” It all came out. All I wanted was a quick end.

  “Not here.”

  I shook my head, rattled with the sobs that built up in my throat and took my breath. “I can’t. He was right. I can’t do it anymore.”

  “Where were you before you came here?” Miles asked.


  What did it matter? Who cared? “Milwaukee.”

  “How long?” His voice was so deep with an almost hypnotizing quality. It made me want to silence all of my thoughts just to listen, especially when he managed to stay so calm.

  “Two years.”

  “Before that?”

  Why? “Here. There. Everywhere.” I’d traveled so much during the years before that, it was hard to tell where I’d ended up. “The last thing I really remember is Paris. Four fucking years of Paris.

  “With Milo.”

  Out of nowhere, a bittersweet laugh rose out of my chest. Milo. That damn bastard. “If you don’t kill me, he will.” I finally lifted my eyes to his face. “Or your boss, one of the others. No point in keeping around a worthless girl.”

  “The guy last night had no right to say that or to lay a hand on you.”

  “No, he just has a right to fuck me.” The overwhelming hopelessness had turned off my filter. “Just like the hundreds of other men. Only difference is he managed to see through me before he had the chance to take off his pants.”

  “Do you want to die?”

  I dropped my head, shaking it subtly. “But I’m too tired to pretend.”

  He took my hand again and pulled away the bloodied rag. Most of the bleeding had stopped. And to be honest, the pain didn’t even register. I’d endured more on a daily basis in some cases.

  Miles took another alcohol pad and started at my fingers, wiping away all the dried blood, working closer and closer to the cut. “This will sting.” He reached for a new pad and dabbed it over the cut.

  “It doesn’t look like it needs stitches.” He pressed a gauze pad over it, then wrapped my hand with gauze, and secured it with tape.

  “Why are you fixing me?” I whispered. If my eyes closed for more than an instant, I feared I’d pass out. My body had surpassed exhausted and this time, it wasn’t letting me fight back, even if it meant life or death.

  “Because I want to,” Miles said. When he was done with my hand, he lifted my chin again. His hands were so large, enormous, and warm. “What if I keep you here?”

  I shrugged, not really sure what he meant.

  “What if I protect you?”

  Protect? Against my better judgment, I lifted my gaze and stared into his eyes. I had too many questions to know where to start, and too many fears to risk it anyway.

  “I’ll keep you here,” he continued, “In my apartment. You’ll be mine.”

  “Why?” New tears burned at my eyes. I couldn’t understand. I didn’t trust him. What if he was far worse than any of the others?

  If that was the case, why wasn’t he punishing me now?

  “Like I said, I want to.” He lifted my arms up over his shoulders, then wrapped his large muscular arms around me. We were complete juxtapositions. His skin and hair so dark, and mine so pale. His large muscular body and my tiny, skin and bones figure. His strength, my weakness. His confidence, my fear. “I like you, Little Dove. It’d be a pity to let you slip away and go to waste.”

  Empty promises and lies. “He won’t let you.”

  “I can make a damn good argument when I want to.”

  “He wants me to work tonight.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Unable to fight it anymore, I dropped my cheek against his chest. So warm. Just like that bath I was currently missing.

  Monster You Made

  Miles

  I didn’t want to leave Alley alone again, but I had to make an appearance at dinner. I also had to figure out a way to explain her new injuries. Unless I could somehow manage to keep her hidden until she healed. Damn it.

  As I buttoned my shirt, memories flooded in that I left long buried. I had been ten years old when I found my own mother dead in the tub. This was too close. Much too close of a call and much too close to history repeating itself.

  Every day we saw the toll this place took on the girls. We had girls slip through the cracks or fall to pieces. I tried to make sure it didn’t happen—it was the main reason I stayed—but with everything we demanded of them, sometimes the psyche just doesn’t hold up. Too many others didn’t care. If they did, we wouldn’t stay in business.

  It was a shitty logic, but the only way I had to explain my existence.

  Alley’s eyes were closed by the time I finished dressing, but I couldn’t leave without one more thing.

  “Alley,” I traced my finger along her jawline.

  It took her a moment to wrestle with her heavy eyelids.

  “I need you to promise that if I let you stay here, you won’t try to hurt yourself again.”

  She nodded.

  “Say it.”

  “I promise,” she whispered. “I won’t hurt myself.”

  I kissed her delicate forehead, and when I stepped away, she looked on the verge of tears again.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I said, patting her foot through the blanket.

  * * *

  “Miles, where is she?” Ross growled, taking me by the collar as soon as I entered the Overlook. He was smaller than me. Shorter, less muscular. With only a bit of effort, I could physically out throw him in an instant. But he was my boss.

  My superior in title alone.

  The thought made me laugh every time. As if I walked some moral high ground simply because I kept the girls fed and healthy.

  “She isn’t ready.”

  “That’s not your decision. I gave you an order.”

  “And you gave me the job of looking out for the girls. She’s hurt. You fuck with her tonight, and she’ll be useless tomorrow.”

  “Fucking is what they’re here for.” He poked me in the chest as if it made his point more valid. “Don’t go soft because one little girl actually gives you a boner.”

  “You want me to protect the bottom line or not? We have plenty of girls to go around—more than that. Protecting the long-term is more important than proving whatever point you’re shooting for.”

  Ross huffed, whispered something to one of the girls serving drinks, then returned to his seat at the head of the table.

  It worked for tonight, but I’d have to think of something much better to get him to agree to my long-term plan. Not that I’d be the first to claim one of the girls as my own personal slave, but Ross liked to keep them all in rotation. A concession that wouldn’t be viable at the moment—if ever.

  For all I knew she might be beyond saving.

  I took my seat opposite Ross at the large glass table in the center of the room. The Overlook is where Ross liked to gather with all of his influential friends, clients, and sometimes key staff—usually me. With glass walls overlooking the rest of the twelfth-floor club layout and glass tiles in the floor that revealed specialized “play rooms” on the floor below, it was the only place to be if you wanted to watch every show—and every girl—in the house.

  I truly wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if one day he came up with the idea to add monitors to the ceilings connected with the guest rooms on the lower floors.

  Nothing here was hidden, sacred, or truly safe.

  Gabe sat at my left side with Kat, the new spunky red-head at his feet. Kat had the opposite problem of Alley—she couldn’t keep her mouth shut and she enjoyed it all far too much.

  Ross chatted away with the other two men who were seated at my right—each with a pair of slaves of their own for the evening—while two girls in pigtails and schoolgirl outfits served our dinner. Ross’s VIP guests for the night were both rich real-estate tycoons like Ross’s parents. I wondered if they knew what their only son had used their wealth and influence for, but as far as I knew, they were perfectly happy once Ross’s wife popped out a couple of kids. A boy and a girl. On the outside, they seemed like the perfect family, but I only hoped that neither of his kids ever found out why he was never home.

  Another of the slaves, Gabby, an olive-skinned girl with curly dark-brown hair, entered the room, circled the table, then dropped at my feet.

  Bl
oody hell. I realize what Ross had been whispering about.

  He raised his glass to me and winked, so I gave him a tight smile in return.

  Perfect. Sometimes I had to perform as much as the girls.

  Gabby nuzzled at the inside of my thigh and I picked up my fork. Whoever decided to combine sex and dinner was the true sadist of history. I cut off a piece of steak and fed it to her under the table. I didn’t have an appetite. What I did have was too much Alley on my mind and a crabby mood to boot.

  I could never stand having a problem that I couldn’t fix immediately—looking it square in the eye and then walking away to let it set until I had time to return to it. Alley was that problem on steroids, multiplied by a thousand.

  “I heard you had an incident here last night,” Zeke said. He was the older of the two VIPs, probably by about ten years, and although he never wore his wedding ring at the Retreat, the tan line was quite obvious during the summer months.

  I glared across the table at Ross. These were his friends and no doubt he was the one who’d brought it up. He didn’t like problems, but he loved mentioning when he thought someone else screwed up.

  “They were at my private party last night,” Ross said. “I’m sure my hurried departure was hard to miss.”

  I raised an eyebrow. If only that situation had been as twisted and perverted as what I imagined. “Sorry about that. As you can imagine, folks around here get rather excited when we bring in new girls.”

  Ross was one of the biggest offenders.

  Zeke gave me a sly smile and nodded his head. As he cleared the last bites off his plate, he adjusted in his seat pushing a girl’s head between his legs.

  During those moments, I wished the table wasn’t glass.

  Gabby nudged at me again, and with my plate nearly empty as well, my excuses to ignore her would run dry shortly.

  I didn’t usually have this problem, but with every clack of a fork against a plate, and every grunt and moan around me, my crabby mood grew even more. All I could think of were the increasing number of screw-ups and breeches. The tighter I pulled the reigns, the more belligerent the security team grew, and if I even considered cutting them some slack, they were even worse than corralling a group of Kindergartners.