Branded Possession (The Machinery of Desire Book 3)

by Cari Silverwood

  Most days he reflected on this at least once. That didn’t mean he changed back to what he once was. He didn’t even know how to turn that switch on again.

  This was who he was.

  She was a slave. His actions were justified. Slaves had no rights in any situation.

  He didn’t let himself feel empathy for clients. It wasn’t ever a good idea.

  Chapter 6

  Gio awoke, found herself lying on a thin mattress on the floor. Rolling to the side brought her up to date with her reality. She was still with this Ryke. The bars a foot from her face meant she was in the cell. The chair she’d been strapped to was outside the bars in the room she’d been well acquainted with.

  She stretched and found manacles on her wrists and ankles. The old collar...she touched her neck, yes it was still there. At least the manacles weren’t linked to one another. She propped herself on her elbow and groaned, head low, hair shielding her from whatever was out there. More muscles ached than her body had any right to possess. With gravity slipping the manacle down to her hand, a circle of bruises was revealed above the edge of the metal. More were on her upper thighs and breasts.

  She pulled the dress higher to cover herself. Though stained, it was all she had.

  Plucking at the dress triggered a memory of her screaming, her spine bowing, the straps taut and ungiving, then the obliteration of an orgasm.

  “Awake?”

  Startled, she whipped up her head; tendrils of hair curtained her eyes. Ryke walked into view. His stance was casual. His dark pants and chocolate brown shirt were neat. You’d never guess at his fetishes from his appearance. Well, except for the scars. They suggested deviance, though he’d gained them in war.

  Warily, she nodded.

  “How do you feel? You were worrying me.”

  Gio snorted, bracing her elbow as weakness momentarily flooded her. “Still don’t want me dead?”

  “No.”

  A hard smile played on her lips. Partly bravado. Partly she was pissed off. After the voyeuristic display of her he’d engineered, if it weren’t for the drawbacks of being dead, she’d kill herself just to annoy him. If she had that much courage. It came and went. Wasn’t her natural state at all.

  She just wanted to go home, like every human she’d spoken to here. Veg out in front of a TV. Visit the Bahamas, be normal. Spend her money on useless consumeristic crap. Her eyes stung and she sniffed.

  Fuck.

  “Hungry? I have some food for you. Be good and you can have it.”

  Her stomach growled at the very thought of anything, anything at all, and her mouth felt suddenly dry. He walked to the left and returned carrying something, approached the bars and squatted before her, placing a steaming bowl and a cup on the floor.

  The bars had a small hinged opening a plate could be passed through. What did be good mean?

  Clearly he was going to wait until she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your dress is filthy. So are you. Take off your clothes. Push the mattress out here through the bars.”

  “And?” Nothing, just that speculative stare. “How does this get me clean clothes?”

  “You aren’t a well-trained slave, now are you? I thought so. Drette’s diary made it plain.”

  Defiance won out over merely sulking. She sat up and folded her arms.

  He tsked. “We can fix this. You know I will make you do this with force if I have to. I will win in the end. Training is a matter of time and patience, with occasional punishment.”

  Staring at him lasted all of a few seconds. Resistance is futile. What movie was that from?

  He was right – Drette hadn’t really trained her to do anything except help him with his portal science...magic, whatever it was.

  She set her face into resigned mode and stood, fumbled for the dress and gathered a handful each side. “You could’ve done this already.” While she was laid out unconscious. Which reminded her of all the things he might’ve done that she wouldn’t know of.

  “I wanted to make you do it.”

  Gio grunted. Of course he did.

  Despite the tightness in her chest, as she drew the dress over her head and the cloth slipped over thighs, stomach and breasts, she reminded herself why this was the best answer. This only meant he was stronger and had the upper hand, and she was smart enough to see the future. There seemed little advantage in prolonged resistance.

  He folded his arms, watching while she passed the dress through the bars and dropped it. As it floated to the floor, she noticed anomalies in the room beyond.

  Always, her brain did this. Spotted things, fitted facts together. It was how she’d fine-tuned the portal science.

  A shiny steel tray lay on the bench top with the plunger of what seemed a syringe showing at the edge. She’d woken clear-headed, though tired. Her dress felt wet. Her ass was sore in a specific area.

  How long would it take to dry? It was likely not much time had passed since he’d placed her in the cell.

  When she craned her neck, she found a red spot on her butt.

  She pushed the mattress through the bars, noting how the deviant fed his lecherous self on her jiggling breasts. This scared her more than undressing before him had. She’d avoided his gaze before – that’d made it less personal, less invasive.

  He’d just made her fuck a giant dildo. Emotions were stupid. Fear was.

  “You gave me a reversal agent.”

  He blinked several times before answering. “Why do you think that?”

  “Hole in my ass. Syringe over there. How I feel. I remember being...” Utterly devastated. She twisted her mouth. “Different.”

  “Clever girl. You make me wonder what our children would like look like, if we fucked and I got you pregnant.”

  What? “You said you didn’t...fuck clients.”

  “And humans can’t reproduce here. Probably.” He tilted his head. “Put your head on the bars. Lean in, put your feet back, hold the bars, wait.”

  Again that moral and logical struggle with her own wits. Sensible won. She did as he asked, though she didn’t lean too heavily on the bars.

  Ryke produced a leather-like leash from his pocket, clicked it to her collar, then wrapped it around and around her head, tying her to the bars, knotting the end to itself.

  Though her forehead ached from being pushed into the metal, she didn’t care to say. He might do worse.

  “Open mouth.”

  He held up the dress, rolled into a thin rope of material. She opened her mouth and he stuffed the foul thing between her teeth and used it to tie her head even more securely to the bars. He kept threading it around and around, tighter...scarier. By the time he was done, her eyes were covered and she couldn’t move her head.

  “Don’t fall. Don’t move your hands. I’m going to hose you. Breathe through your nose.”

  Luckily she could, though panic hammered her.

  Shit was her best word here, if she could’ve spoken. She garbled a few curses, knew he couldn’t tell what she’d said.

  From the sounds, he went away then came back unwinding something that slithered and bumped on the floor.

  A hose.

  “Brace yourself.”

  She was soaked instantly. Spluttering she sucked in air.

  The water was warm and the torrent wasn’t forceful enough to be uncomfortable. It was just...just every so often water covered her nose and she fucking lost it and tried to scream-gargle through the cloth.

  Air. One of those things you didn’t understand was vital until it was all that stood between you and dying. Every bit of air she inhaled, dragged at her nostrils. They closed, expanded, closed.

  If they weren’t open, no air would get in.

  She shouldn’t think this.

  Nothing she could do, nothing, except bear it and hang on. He hosed her stomach, between her legs, her torso, down her legs, paused, adjusted something then did everywhere again. The first dose had seemed slippery, the se
cond pure water. Her feet slipped twice but she recovered, shuddering.

  “Done,” he murmured from inches away, unrolling the sodden dress cloth to below her mouth. “There’s a drain behind you and I have great air flow in here. Great for drying wet slaves anyway. So, I’m going to feed you while you drip dry.”

  Something rustled on the bars then his hands slipped over her breasts. Gio gasped. He cupped them, fondled, brushed at her nipples with what must be his thumbs.

  It was the surprise, only that, she told herself.

  “You’re to do something for me before I feed you. Put your hand between your legs, your fingers in your cunt.

  “Fuck no,” left her mouth before she reined herself in, her hands nearly strangling the bars.

  “Are you sure? I can leave you here, hungry. Let you down hungry. Water, yes. Food, no.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Louder, please.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.”

  He scoffed. “Better. I’m waiting.”

  Glad she couldn’t see him apart from a murky figure through the veil of the dress, she reached down and wriggled her fingers into her pussy, wincing as torn tissues were stretched, feeling the thick glide of her moisture.

  He was going to make her eat this, and she grimaced but steeled herself.

  “Let me see, girl.”

  Blindly, she directed her arm between the bars, the manacle clinking as it encountered the metal, and left her hand in mid-air at about head level. His fist wrapped about her forearm.

  “Water, a little blood, but not enough to be concerned over, and you’re dripping with girl juices – which also isn’t something I’m concerned about.

  The soft heat of his mouth engulfing her fingers shocked a gasp from her again, then his tongue swirled over them, between them, licking, sucking, savoring.

  She wanted to pull away but couldn’t, held in the vice of his grip, his fingers digging into her flesh, until he was done and released her. She snatched back her hand.

  Violated. Somehow, he’d managed to make her feel more violated than before.

  “You’re going to open your mouth and I will feed you, let you drink. Say yes so I can begin.”

  What else could she do? That question was becoming old and tattered. Perhaps that was his purpose – to wear her down until she behaved and obeyed? Of course it was.

  Of course.

  She would keep herself intact and true inside. At the bottom of her soul, her heart, whatever, she would still be Gio. Had others tried this if this was a technique of his? Likely. None of them had her determination.

  Keep saying that and she’d believe it. Her lip trembled a second or two.

  She was done with being a meek target. Given half a chance, this new Gio, this person resurrected from the fire of Drette’s death and weeks of torture, was ready to grind Ryke’s bones to dust. She was going to eat him for breakfast.

  One day. But for now... She swallowed.

  “Yes.”

  He fed her and talked. Fed her not gruel, not some disgusting liquid, unpalatable thing. No, this was meat in sauce, vegetables, bread, and wine.

  All she could see was a moving darkness against black. Had he turned out the lights?

  Dizzy from the lack of a reference frame, from hunger, fatigue, and whatever residue of drugs her blood still carried, she found it easier to tell him the truth about her past. Not always, but mostly.

  “Where you come from, is it like this?”

  “No.”

  Tell me about your Earth.”

  And she did. About her family, her work, about the streets of her city, even about how great were the armies of her world, because she soon remembered what Mekkers would do if they had more portals, if they thought of going to Earth.

  “What did Drette have you do? How did you help him make portals in a predictable way?”

  This too was mostly a safe topic. Drette had lectured to others about what he did, just not so much about her input. How much was in the diary though, that was unknown. She told a lot of truth, fudged it when it came to her, told Ryke she had gut feelings. This was mostly not a lie.

  He couldn’t possibly know more. Even Drette hadn’t known exactly how she puzzled out things.

  “So, you did what you did on Earth. You used your mind to figure out solutions.”

  The man was thinking hard. He was right.

  That wouldn’t help him though.

  “Yes. I did.”

  He fed her another forkful of meat. “Good. The variables are odd. As in the things he had to do. Hum a tune. Arrange objects. Yet no one has been able to do it again?”

  “No.”

  “Uh huh. Not even you?”

  That was a guess. A shocking one but he was smart. Yes, she’d tried.

  “No.”

  “You tried, didn’t you?”

  She halted, thinking, felt the collar squeeze on her neck. He rolled the dress into her mouth again, pinched her nose, shut off her air.

  Power. This was power. He could smother her easily. Though she thought he wouldn’t, she tensed, wanted to worm from his hold, except it wasn’t just his hands, she was damn near fused to the bars.

  What if he accidentally choked her? She tried frantically to back away in spite of how stupid it was to try, jerking, hurting her neck, shoving with her hands, her feet.

  “Did you? Gio. Gio. Shh. Calm. Did you?”

  She calmed, slowly, with her heartbeats telling her she was dumb, dumb, dumb, then she nodded and he released her, cleared her mouth.

  Her first inhalations were also sobs, but she wound her fear down to almost normality.

  “You’re intelligent. Don’t do stupid things. Say you won’t.”

  “I won’t.” Her tears would be invisible.

  “Thank you. So. You tried to make a portal?”

  Gio licked her lips, blinking into the cloth, before replying as steadily as she could, “Yes.”

  “Why do you want to help your people?” When she said nothing, he prompted her. “Humans. Why?”

  Luckily he gave her leeway, time. She’d gone blank. He’d figured out her people were important to her.

  “I did something bad.”

  “The portals?”

  Shit. Was it bad to tell him or not? Then she heard his hand coming through the bars. “Yes! Those.”

  “Hmmm. You gave Drette, and us, something that hurt others and for that you want to atone. I understand that concept – wanting to help your people.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s me. So yes.”

  It was him...except for him he meant Mekkers. They were on opposing sides. What a shocker. Her curiosity about him spiked. “Why is one of your eyes black?”

  Would he answer?

  “It’s not the scarring, if you thought that. I was born with this.”

  “Oh.”

  “You don’t like that?”

  Don’t like was so ridiculous she giggled. Here she was, bound to his cell door and he was worried his appearance spooked her. Bound to his door, naked, set up so he could smother her at will.

  Priorities, man. Your eyes mean zilch to me. Creepy, but nothing important.

  “I have more questions for you.”

  And so he went on asking her things, even when he finished feeding her. This was part of his way, his method. He was breaking her, or so he thought.

  Superwoman, she was superwoman, down deep, if she squinted.

  And he was an asshole. She needed to keep reminding herself of that too.

  Then he stopped asking questions and she felt the metal shake, heard the door open, and he stepped into the cell.

  “Don’t let go of those bars, Gio.”

  He was behind her.

  She flexed her hands. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking at you. Spread your legs.”

  She wasn’t an animal to be inspected, yet this was what most slaves suffered. She moved her feet apart, spreading her legs, then
waited, shivering. Her nipples tightened. Goose bumps feathered into being up and down her body.

  “Cold?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll have a blanket. A towel. I won’t have you get pneumonia. I’m going to release you. Keep your eyes down and wait until I leave this room before you move. You’re to go to hands and knees and crawl to the bed at the back wall. If you don’t obey, I’ll chain you where you are until you obey. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  This wasn’t the time for rebellion. Everything happened how he’d described.

  The water he’d used on her had mostly drained away, down a shiny square grille in the middle of the cell.

  She crawled then dried herself, curled up on the low bed, and stared out at the man on the other side of the bars.

  “Ryke.” The first time she’d said his name? A milestone, a bad one. “There’s one big difference between how I care for my people and you care for yours.”

  “Oh?” He put his hands high on the bars.

  “I’d never torture to gain something.”

  “Really?”

  She pulled the light sheet over herself, up to her chin, and peered out.

  “And you’re mistaken. This isn’t torture. If I ever torture you, you’ll know.”

  “I thought we weren’t lying to each other?”

  “Was I lying?” He walked to the right and out of sight. The lights dimmed.

  “Suck my auntie’s dick,” she muttered. Not that she had an auntie with a dick.

  He couldn’t have heard her. It was pure frustration edging out.

  What could she do? She couldn’t kill herself. Though doing so would possibly set the Mekkers search for a portal scientist back by many years. Maybe forever.

  If he twisted her until she gave in, if he could do that – disaster.

  What if, though...what if she found a way to make a portal, found a new person, and somehow made them make one to let humans return home? And hide this from Ryke?

  Impossible. No, improbable.

  That was a what if she could run with. Pretend to help him but search for her own reasons.