Insurmountable (Serpentine #1)

by Skye Callahan

  “Yes, Master.” Her voice shook and she refused to relax against me.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  She took a deep breath and leaned her head back against my shoulder. A small gesture, but at least she tried. “I wish I did. I wish everything didn’t….”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t make the thoughts in my head connect. Did you ever make those stupid paper houses as a kid—fold slot A into hole B? It’s like that inside my head, except I’m missing the instructions to put it together.”

  “I think I get the idea, but no, we didn’t really have toys where I grew up.”

  “Where was that?” she asked quietly.

  “As far as I can remember, the Commons room at Boudoir Fetiche de Paris.”

  “You lived with…?” she turned to me with her mouth hanging open. “You…? But you’re not—”

  “I’m not a slave, no, but I lived there with my mother until she died. I don’t remember much—seeing her with different men. Seeing all the women with different men. When I was ten, my mother killed herself. I found her.”

  “Is that why you decided to keep me?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “All I know is that I don’t intend to let you go.”

  She let out a long sigh. “Then, I guess I need to figure out how to deal with the other slaves. I don’t want to.” She sank down into the water, finally relaxing against my chest. “I’m tired of it all.”

  “I can’t take you off of laundry without making things worse.” The girls did all the laundry anyway—they were each assigned a day in the laundry room to keep them busy.

  “I know. And if you track them down and punish them, they’ll blame me for tattling. Whatever happens, I lose.”

  “Not anymore.” I pushed aside her hair and nudged the side of her neck. “But for now, maybe we should address your hair. The hairdresser won’t be back until Monday.”

  “Don’t remind me.” She groaned. “At least I have plenty of new makeup to draw on some eyebrows with. I think I can fix my hair—not like I can make it any worse.”

  I felt her take a deep breath, then tense. She turned and looked up at me with a strained expression.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor.

  She looked away just as quickly. “I forgot,” she whispered, still so tense her body shook slightly. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “What did you forget?” Judging from her reaction, I expected it to be something dire.

  “My place, M—”

  “Your place is where I tell you it is.” I pulled her back against my chest, nibbling at the tip of her earlobe, then kissing her neck, while my hand explored her flat stomach.

  “Your place is with me,” I whispered against her neck. “And when we’re here”—I squeezed her breasts, rubbing her nipples between my fingers until she arched her back— “like this. Alone. I don’t expect you to hold your tongue or adhere to formal protocol. Understood?”

  “Yes, Master,” she said on a breathy exhale.

  “Then, get dried off and see what you can do with that hair.” I kissed her again. I’d find who was responsible and make them pay in kind, but I was useless in helping to fix hair, and if we didn’t show up to dinner yet again, Ross would be the one handing down insane ultimatums.

  “Are you going to pick out my outfit for the night, Master?”

  “Would you like that?”

  ‘Yes, Please.”

  “We’re getting a bit formal again.”

  She gave me a faint smile but kept her head down.

  Maybe I kept her because I wanted someone to talk. I wanted someone to take my mind off everything else—white noise in the background of my life. Someone as fucked up as me.

  * * *

  I laid out a lacy, black baby doll top with a black bow just below the bust and the matching boy shorts with an attached garter belt on the bed and pulled out my own suit for the evening. I didn’t even want to imagine what Ross had in mind for the night. It was always a show with him. It had to be. After seven years of working with him in one capacity or another, I still didn’t understand how his mind worked. And I didn’t want to.

  At least I had some kind of excuse for my perversions—a weak one at best—but an excuse didn’t exist for him. He was a rich socialite who’d had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Although, maybe that was the best excuse of all. His parents were real estate moguls who made their millions making—and sometimes breaking—high-dollar deals in business real estate. Thanks to them, he had a sense of entitlement that made Texas look puny. Unfortunately, he hadn’t developed any business sense in the entire charade. He was headstrong, set in every idiotic decision he set his mind to and completely oblivious to the potential consequence, but usually, his shallow understanding of business made him easier to manipulate if I played my cards right.

  I dressed in black for the evening—slacks and a long-sleeved button down shirt—boring, but fitting for the situation. I had no desire to participate in Ross’s theatrics, but playing to his whims kept me on his good side. And I’d need that side if I wanted to convince him to let me restructure the security team. I’d had enough of their insolence, and Drake’s failure to protect Alley in the Commons was only the topping on the cake.

  Once dressed, I sat down on the edge of the bed, stretching my legs out and folding my hands behind my head to rest against the wall. I needed someone on the security team to help me crackdown—someone who cared more about security than getting his rocks off. Maybe someone who’d been castrated.

  Alley peeked through the doorway, and I dropped my legs to the floor. Her hair now fell around her face in a long asymmetrical pixie cut that fell to her jaw in front and grew shorter and more layered in the back.

  “You look beautiful,” I said.

  She paused, clutching the front of the thick black robe I’d had delivered.

  Beautiful. It’d probably been a lifetime since she’d heard that word and longer since she’d believed it.

  “I look like an eyebrow-less freak,” she muttered.

  I waved my hand toward the dressing table. “You work more magic like you did on your hair, and no one will be the wiser.”

  “My mom was a hair stylist, not a magician. I loved watching her cut hair.” She sighed and sat down at the table, tracing her finger along the engraved wood that trimmed the surface.

  When I thought of this place in terms of mothers, daughters, or sisters, I felt sick to my stomach. It didn’t matter how long I’d been doing it. Or that I’d continued. I wasn’t a complete heartless monster, but sometimes, I wished I could be.

  Like I almost had been. The years I’d let the rage dominate. The slaves I took it out on. Every night I’d see my mother’s face. She haunted me. Fueled the hatred. Until one day I realized that I was having exactly the reaction she would have hated. And then, I faced down two options—get the fuck out of the life and disappear, or use my new found position within the organization to do as much as I could to protect the slaves.

  I didn’t even give a serious thought to the grandiose idea of setting them all free. That pie in the sky thinking didn’t bode well with my overinflated sense of reality. Between all of Milo’s clubs, retreats, whatever they might be called, he owned thousands of slaves in more than a hundred locations. He had more power and influence than the pope and more friends in low places than a cockroach. We’d never be free. None of us. Not his employees and sure as hell not the slaves. Following that line of thought merely became an exercise in futility and a path to depression.

  I stood and popped my back, then walked over to stand behind Alley at the table. She’d already drawn on a couple of fairly believable eyebrows and had begun filling in the rest of her makeup. I pulled the collar of the robe down slightly to reveal her neck and pressed my lips against her warm skin.

  “You’re making this difficult,” she said, wiggling a
way.

  “That’s the plan.” I pulled her back and kissed her again.

  “Oh, I thought the plan was for me to get ready for work.”

  The bench creaked when I sat down next to her, still toying with the edge of her robe. “Yes, but I currently need a distraction.”

  “Ah, so my purpose here is revealed.” I could feel her trying to maintain the distance, so I pushed harder.

  I brushed my fingers through her soft hair, watching it fall back into place. “What do you need?”

  “To finish my makeup so I don’t look like crap.” She slammed her hand against the table.

  “Impossible.” I plucked the brush from her hand.

  “Master, please.”

  She was flustered. So much so that the tips of her ears flushed. It made me want to nibble on her even more. “Tell me what you need.”

  Staring at our reflection in the mirror, she blinked repeatedly. “I need to not do this right now.”

  Seeing the tears well up in her eyes, I relented and rubbed her lower back, hoping that would calm her down. Then, I handed the eye shadow brush back.

  “You’re going to ruin me,” she said, relaxing again and leaning over the table.

  “Well then, just tell me one thing.” I scooted closer, pulling her against me. “Is it worth it?”

  “Being ruined?”

  I squeezed the base of her neck and she dropped her head, moaning as I rubbed the tense muscles. “Yes, Master.”

  Poison & Wine

  Alley

  The ruining was more than okay if he could make me forget reality for even a second. And I’ll be damned if he didn’t manage to do it with the slightest movements or the fewest words. How? I could never understand, but it comforted me and at the same time worried me.

  His arms came around me, holding me against his chest. Exactly what I needed—and feared. I wanted to relax. To enjoy every second of a warm embrace, but my anxiety never rested. Hounding me like a hyperactive kid on a trampoline banging a pair of cymbals over his head.

  I needed something to take it away. Just a momentary respite. God, I just wanted to get rid of the perpetual crawling sensation beneath my skin. The voices in my head that told me how dirty, useless, and hopeless I really was. The knowledge that I had no future. The fear that all of this would end as quickly as it began.

  I took a deep breath and clenched my hands. “I need to finish getting ready.”

  I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t afford to mess up my makeup. It’d only set about a chain of mood swings that I’d never get under control.

  I wanted to lose it. To scream and shout and tear through the apartment breaking everything in sight until the negativity was purged from my soul.

  What if it had gone too deep?

  What if the infection that brewed in me would never die?

  “Look at me, Little Dove.”

  I opened my eyes—I hadn’t even realized that I’d squeezed them tightly closed.

  “Whatever happens, remember you’re mine. You’ll come home with me, and I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  And just like that, everything broke and the world went blurry. “Why? I’m nothing. I can’t do this.”

  “Alley I—.”

  “You’re just like all the others.” I stood, pushing him away and stumbling across the room. “Why should I believe you?”

  He didn’t respond in anger, instead, he took my hands and pulled me to the bed, where he took a seat in front of me. “I don’t have an answer for that.”

  “What’d you tell all the other girls?” I was certain there’d been others. That he’d done all of this before. I refused to let go of my suspicions, if I did I’d fall too hard, too fast.

  “All the other girls? What other girls?”

  “Don’t tell me I’m the first you’ve brought back here.”

  “Okay, you’re not. I’ve easily fucked more women than you have men, but you are the first girl I’ve moved in here.”

  “Aren’t you a Casanova?” Stop, Alley. He’s going to explode eventually and you’ll regret it. But I couldn’t stop the words. I couldn’t stop the hate or the tears.

  “How old were you when they brought you in?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to answer that. I didn’t want to remember and I sure as this was hell didn’t want to talk about it. I looked away. “Sixteen.”

  “Auctioned off?”

  I wanted to double over and scream as the tears fell faster. I nodded.

  “A virgin—”

  “Please,” I barely squeaked out the word, pulling away. Off the bed. Away from him. Away from the pain. Was he determined to break me?

  “Milo took you.”

  “Please.” I shook my head. “Please, Miles.”

  God, I used his name. My knees buckled, but he caught me and pulled me to the bed.

  “How did you end up at the auction?”

  My chest shook so violently I could barely inhale. “This guy, Aaron. I met him at a party. My friends had dragged me there because we all had a crush on the guy who threw the party. They ended up taking off with him, and I met Aaron. We… started hanging out after that. Getting high,” I scoffed at my own stupidity. The tears had stopped with all of my emotion drained. “I must’ve passed out. I woke up in this tiny room. They kept me drugged until the auction.”

  “Milo’s an asshole.”

  He said it so suddenly I had to laugh, even though it sounded more like a sob. “It’s been eight years. I don’t have anything left,” I said.

  “If I count back to the day one of the guards trapped me in the bathroom of the Commons during a big party, I still have thirteen years up on you.”

  Does he mean? I froze, unsure of what to say.

  “Milo lost his shit when he finally found out, but I eventually got back at all them.”

  “How?”

  “By being smarter. I listened. Learned the languages, whatever I had to do until I had something to offer. It wasn’t pretty and certainly never pleasant, but I eventually had enough to make Milo see I was more valuable as an employee than a slave.”

  “Noble.” I scoffed. Deep down, I knew there was more to it, but I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to feel for him.

  “No.” He lifted my chin. Still gentle with every motion. How was it that he wasn’t beyond pissed at me? Beyond tired of my falling apart? “It’s Survival.”

  “I’m tired of surviving.”

  “I’m offering you something more,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to mine.

  But I still didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. “Why me and not one of the hundreds of others who’ve passed through your bed?”

  “You’re not one of the hundreds of others.”

  “So, what? Save me and earn redemption?”

  “No,” he said, squeezing my hands. “I’m not deluded enough. I’m not long past redemption. In this case, I don’t have all the answers. I was drawn to you from the moment I saw you. Then, I happened to walk into the empty security room and saw that man beating you. I carried you to the infirmary. I saw that distant look in your eyes and it struck something in me. I can’t promise you the world. No sandy beaches, white gowns, or happily ever after’s. But I’ll give you my bed and my protection, and I’ll try my damnedest to make you forget everything else.”

  When he laid it all out like that, I felt my walls tumble so suddenly that my head spun. I closed my eyes and fell against his chest, letting his broad arms come around me and lift me to his lap. “How’s my makeup?” I asked with a sniffle as I wiped away a fresh set of tears.

  “Well,” he looked me over, “I think the eyebrows are salvageable.”

  I laughed. “Great.”

  Even if he could just make me laugh every once in a while, I thought it might be worth it.

  He wiped the smeared makeup and tears from under my eyes. “Luckily, we do still have about twenty minutes.”

  I sighed. I wasn’t ready for the Overlook. Fo
r Ross, the other girls and whoever the hell else might be there.

  “I’d try to get us out of it, but I need on Ross’s good side.”

  “What will I have to do?”

  “Likely, sit at my feet and look pretty.” He kissed my temple.

  “It cannot be that simple.” I knew it, and when I thought of the possibilities, I wanted to vomit.

  “Okay, then, while you’re sitting there, come up with a plan to get the other slaves off your back while you’re at it.”

  “Yes, Master,” I mumbled, sliding off his lap. I rolled my eyes as soon as he couldn’t see my face. He’d added yet another impossibility for me to worry about.

  * * *

  If only I could have imagined how right Miles had been. I followed him up to the Overlook, trying to keep my head down as we walked through the club-like atmosphere of the surrounding twelfth floor. Music pounded, colorful lights decorated the walls and floor, and crowds of men walked with drinks in hand and women at their sides or feet.

  This was a place where almost anything went. No inhibitions and very few rules.

  The Overlook stood at the center, a daunting structure of glass that, just as the name suggested, looked out over the entire club. The perfect place for a boss to spend his evening.

  Miles didn’t stop or even hesitate once as we navigated the floor and entered the glass room. He took the seat at the end of a long glass table, and I obediently knelt at his feet and kept my head down as the room filled behind me. Chairs scraped the floor, feet shuffled, and high heels clicked until the door closed and the room quieted.

  I raised my eyes, hoping no one else saw my movement except Miles. He reached down and traced my jaw with his thumb, assuring me without words that he’d keep his word.

  “Good of you to finally grace us with Alley’s presence, Miles,” Ross said.

  And it begins.

  Miles will protect you. I kept repeating to myself. I knew I could get through it. I’d done it before, but with emotions running so high the last few weeks, I found it more difficult than ever to compose myself.