by Penelope Sky
My decanter of brandy sat beside me on the table, and I poured another glass, putting myself into a deeper stupor with every drink. The brandy was aged and fine, the best I’d ever tasted. Each bottle cost a fortune, but I refused to drink anything else.
Brandy was my only friend.
I stared at the paintings on the wall, the originals that were made just for me. They showed the lush countryside, the hills of grapevines that led to the sun peering over the horizon. Houses made of cobblestones appeared in the distance, ancient as time itself.
The paintings used to make me happy.
Now they just made me miserable.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
“Yes?” My servants never opened the door without my permission.
“Cane is here to see you.” Patricia’s quiet voice echoed through the door.
I didn’t want to see my brother. I didn’t want to see anyone. The last few times he came by, I dismissed him, refusing to look at him. Pain was better enjoyed alone.
All I wanted was to be alone.
“Tell him I’m busy.”
She remained at the door, pausing.
“What is it, Patricia?”
“He said you would say that...and he also said he’s not leaving until you see him.”
Cane tried my patience just as he did when we were children. “Fine. Send him in.”
“Yes, sir.” Her departure was announced by her fading footsteps.
I poured another glass and returned my eyes to the flames. I sat in the luxurious armchair, my favorite space to occupy when the depression swallowed me. No one ever sat in the other chair. I wasn’t sure why there were two at all.
Cane walked in a few moments later. His beard was thick from not shaving, and his eyes still burned with rage that would never die. He spotted the brandy on the table and helped himself to a glass—the same way he helped himself to all of my things.
He sat in the other armchair and faced the fire.
For a while, comfortable silence filled the room. Our brotherly camaraderie battled the pain we both felt. But then reality sank in. Our family started with five then went down to four. And then it went down to three.
We were the only two left.
He broke the silence. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yeah. I haven’t seen you either.”
“I’d be surprised if you had since you’re avoiding everyone.”
“I’m not avoiding anyone.” I stirred my glass. “I just don’t want to see anyone. I don’t like anyone. There’s a difference.”
“But you didn’t go to Vanessa’s funeral.”
“What’s the point?” I asked coldly. “I said good-bye to her when her brains splattered all over my fucking jacket. I said good-bye to her when her eyes locked with mine just before she slipped away. Cane, I said my good-byes.” I brought the glass to my lips, taking comfort in the liquid that lit me on fire.
“Mom wouldn’t have been happy.”
“Well, she’s dead too. We’ll never know how she would have felt about it.”
“I just think it was cold.”
“I’m a cold person. Shouldn’t be so surprising.”
His eyes moved to the pictures on the wall, the original artwork that covered most of the walls in my house. They were displayed proudly, magnificent pieces that represented the beauty of the world. “Whatever you say, man.” He turned back to the flames, his fingers constantly tapping on his glass. “I think we’ve taken enough time to grieve.”
I never grieved to begin with. “I’ve been ready for revenge since the night she died. I’ve just been waiting for you.”
“Do you have a plan?”
I spent most of my time conjuring possibilities. I didn’t just take my revenge on the people who crossed me. I mutilated them, humiliated them for the whole world to see. I prepared these things quite delicately, biding my time until the perfect opportunity arrived. “I want to do exactly what he did to us—but to him.”
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
“I want to take someone he loves and torment them mercilessly. I want him to try to sleep every night, knowing we have them. That they are being strangled, raped, and beaten into oblivion. And then, when he thinks he’s going to get them back, that’s when we pull the trigger.”
“Sounds fair. But there’s one problem.”
I already knew what that problem was.
“He doesn’t have anyone. No family. No friends. No wife. No kids.”
“Everyone has someone.” Even I had someone at one point.
He shook his head. “He’s ruthless for a reason. He doesn’t love anyone or anything—except power.”
“It’ll happen. We just have to wait for it.”
“Wait how long?” he asked.
My entire lifetime, if I must. Revenge was a marathon, not a sprint. It took time and planning. It took unyielding patience. It had to be just right. It had to be perfect. “As long as it takes.”
Chapter Eight
Pearl
I couldn’t move.
Everything hurt. Some things were broken. There was a lot of blood.
Agony.
I passed out a few times, and they injected a stimulator into my system, forcing me to wake up with a jolt. My heart palpitated so hard I almost went into cardiac arrest.
They were far worse than Bones ever was. They took turns tormenting me, beating my head against the wall before they shoved their hairy cocks into my mouth.
It was the worst night of my life.
It made every other day with Bones actually seem tame.
I couldn’t handle any more of it. I thought I was strong. I thought I was unbreakable. But I quickly realized just how weak I was. I was folding under the pressure, caving. My dreams were full of nightmares, and I couldn’t even find escape in my sleep. Every minute of being alive was torture.
Suicide was my only option.
Unless I could persuade Bones to care for me. If I could get him to appreciate me, even love me, he would grow so jealous he would never let another man touch me. He would feel terrible for hurting me. Maybe he could see me as an equal. Maybe he could pet me instead of slap me.
Maybe everything could be different.
Bones gave me five days to recover. He didn’t stop by my bedroom and demand sex. He didn’t shove his big dick into my mouth and demand me to suck him. He gave me peace.
For the first time.
I knew I had to take advantage of his mercy and push it as far as it would go. I had to make my move, to manipulate him into thinking I was something worth protecting, not hurting. But what did a man like that want?
He loved my feistiness. He loved my defiance. I had to keep those in order to make him happy. But I had to change something. I had to approach him differently. I had to prove I cared about him—even if I loathed him.
***
I came down to dinner one night in a nice dress I found in the closet. Someone took care of my laundry, placing all my clean stuff where it belonged. Every night, they came for my hamper, and every morning, they returned my clothes.
The dress was burgundy, looking good on my skin as well as pairing nicely with my hair. I did my own makeup and hair, trying to make myself look as beautiful as Francine made me look.
I hoped it was enough.
Bones sat at the table with his phone in his hand. He read off the screen, scrolling through it like it was an email.
I took the seat beside him, purposely letting my knee touch his.
He looked up when he noticed me. He eyed me up and down, unable to hide the surprise on his face. “You seem to be feeling better.”
“I just needed a few days to recover.” A plate was set in front of me, and I ate with the manners of a queen.
He kept watching me. “The guys told me they had fun.”
“I suspect they did. But I didn’t.”
He chuckled. “Not surprised.”
“I didn’t
have fun because they weren’t you.” I tried to sound as convincing as possible.
“Oh, really?” he asked. “You’re just as repulsed by me.”
“Yes.” I had to keep this story believable. Otherwise, it would never work. “But they didn’t do things the right way. They didn’t take me the way you do. They were boys with no idea what to do when their dicks got hard.” I kept up the act by eating, pretending everything was perfectly normal.
When he fell quiet, I knew he was entertaining the idea.
“When you hurt me, I don’t like it. In fact, I hate it. But sometimes...” I brought the glass of wine to my lips. “Never mind.” I took a long drink, needing the alcohol to steel my nerves.
“No,” he whispered. “What?”
“Sometimes...it feels good.” I only managed to say that by my determination to survive. I had to do this in order to protect myself. I had to do this if I wanted any kind of future where I wasn’t being whipped.
His eyes darkened with lust.
I cut into my meat and ate quietly. “They aren’t real men. They aren’t what I’m used to.”
His hand moved to my thigh under the table.
I turned to him, a glare in my eyes. “You aren’t going to let me finish eating? Are you that barbaric?”
He smiled before he pulled his hand away.
He actually pulled his hand away.
“Tell me about yourself.”
“About me?” He never asked me questions before. The only time he did was when he asked for my name. Other than that, he had no interest in me as a person.
“Yes.”
“There’s not much to say. Ever since I became a slave, my extracurricular activities have gone downhill.”
He chuckled, amused. “What about your life in America?”
“I worked as a mechanical engineer for the state of New York. I helped with building schematics and bridges. I graduated from NYU and lived with my boyfriend for the past year. I don’t have any family because I was taken from my parents and put into protective services when I was ten. I grew up in a foster home until I became an adult.”
“What an interesting life.”
“I guess. Or some might think it’s pathetic.”
“Pathetic?” he asked.
I looked around the dining room. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, made of pure crystal. The wine glasses we drank out of were lined with gold. The silverware and plates were fit for a king. “I’ve never known luxury like this. I’ve never known wealthy people or pretty things. My life must be dull in comparison to yours.”
“Probably,” he said in agreement.
Asshole.
“But I think you’re interesting.”
“Because I have tits and an ass,” I said harshly.
He smiled. “Yes. But for other reasons too.”
“Like what?” I kept eating and tried to hide my excitement. This plan was working. He was forming a bond with me, an affection. I could feel it.
“You’re the first slave I’ve ever had that fights back. All the others give up the second they walk in the door. You have a fire inside you that keeps me warm. You have an intelligence in your eyes that makes you special. You definitely wouldn’t have been trafficked unless you were tricked.”
Unless I was tricked? What did that mean? I held my question back because I didn’t want to go on a tangent. This conversation was going so well, and I didn’t want to hinder it. It wasn’t worth it. “Do you believe in fate?”
“I believe we make our own fate.” He drank his scotch.
“Sometimes I think I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time. But would that have happened unless it was meant to happen?”
“Under that assumption, that would mean you were meant to be a slave. And I know how much you hate it. It doesn’t seem like your belief in fate served you very well.”
“But what if I get something out of it?”
“Like what?” he asked incredulously.
“I know you do something illegal.” I looked him square in the eye. “I know you make your living doing dishonorable things. What dishonorable things do you do?”
He leaned forward, intrigued. “Why do you ask?”
“Living here has made me drawn to power. I hate being the victim. I hate being the slave. All I wanted to do was hurt Francine. Not because she hurt me but because she thought she was better than me. Everything has made me realize I’m not any different from you. I’m just on the wrong side.”
He studied me closely. His eyes searched my face, looking for something I couldn’t see.
I hoped he wouldn’t call me out on my grandiose lie and beat the shit out of me right there. My body was still healing from the trauma those men put me through. I couldn’t take any more torture. I would snap.
But he didn’t accuse me of anything. “You like power?”
This was going somewhere, and I had to keep pushing. Instead of answering, I just nodded.
“You want what I have?”
I nodded again.
“Why?”
I didn’t have an answer, at least not one that would make sense. “There’s no reason. Power is a state of mind. Power is the ability to control people. It’s a high you can never come down from. It’s a medal you must constantly work for. It’s a title that can be stripped. It’s just...fascinating. I know I’m stuck where I am, and there’s no way I can get out of it. But sometimes...I picture myself beating someone. Sometimes I picture myself enslaving someone. Sometimes...I get high off just the thought.”
His eyes were glued to mine, and he hardly blinked. Something happened deep inside him. His opinion of me changed, but I had no idea what it became. He downed his scotch before he placed the cup beside his resting hand. “There’s something I want to show you tomorrow.”
“What?” Was it a torture room?
“You’ll see.”
***
Bones didn’t come to me after dinner. He went into his study and did whatever the hell he did in there. I was left to my own devices, spending the evening in my room alone.
It was nice.
I think something good happened tonight. I think I said the right thing to make him look at me differently. Maybe my hunger for power and my false respect for him changed his opinion of me.
Or maybe he was even more pissed off.
Maybe he planned to take me somewhere horrible the following day. Maybe he planned to take me to work so he could screw me in front of all his employees in the center of the room.
Maybe he planned to kill me and leave my body somewhere.
And then he’d take one of my bones to keep.
Ugh. So disgusting.
The following morning, one of his many servants arrived at my door with an outfit. It was a long-sleeve black dress, heels, and a thick winter coat. “His Grace would like you to be ready to leave in one hour.”
His Grace? They actually called him that? “Okay. Thanks.”
He walked out.
I looked at the outfit Bones bought for me and tried to figure out what we were doing. It came with a coat, so that meant we were going outside.
Outside.
I had a chance to escape. If the chance became available, I was sure as hell gonna take it. Even if he put a bullet in my head, I would have no regrets. I’d rather die trying to escape than sit in this hellhole.
The dress was sleek and thick enough to keep me warm despite the winter chill. The heels weren’t appropriate for outside weather. Maybe we weren’t going outside after all. Maybe we were just going from one building to the next.
I got ready and tried to make myself as attractive as possible. I didn’t want to look sexy—but beautiful. Maybe he would come to respect me if I showed myself off in the right way. He might see me as a partner rather than a pocket pussy.
I met him downstairs near the entrance, the fur coat keeping me warm in the already heated house. He came down the staircase a moment later, wearing the exact same suit I always
saw him wear. He never deviated from his wardrobe. It was always a black suit with a black collared shirt underneath. A gray tie was the only contrast in his usual attire.
I tried to keep my face between a mixture of hatred and respect. If I blew too much smoke up his ass, he would know I was full of shit.
He came to my side then grabbed his jacket from the coat rack. He was young to be so wealthy, probably around forty. There didn’t seem to be a wife or kids in the picture. But that was a good thing. Who would want to be part of this—voluntarily? “Are you ready?”
He never asked me questions. He just told me what to do. “I am.” He suddenly grabbed me by the chin and directed my stare on his cold eyes. His fingers gripped me tightly, reminding me just how brutal he was. In the past six days, I’d been given a break from his evilness. But now I remembered it was just as paramount as ever. “If you run, I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll wish you were dead.”
The threat shivered down my spine and made my body cold. I tried not to be afraid of anything, but that statement terrified me. I understood what it was like to be fucked so hard you actually bled. I knew it all too well. I nodded, moving his fingers with my face. “No running.”
He pulled my face to his and gave me a hard kiss on the mouth. It was forceful enough to bruise me. He quickly pulled away then stepped out the front door.
He’d never kissed me before—even in a violent way. Hopefully that counted for something.
***
We sat on opposite ends of the car.
Bones didn’t wear his safety belt when he went places. It was one habit I picked up on. He either thought he was invincible or was prepared to jump out of the car at any instant.
I watched the building pass as we drove into the city. I tried to read the signs and labels I saw everywhere, in an attempt to figure out where I was. I didn’t see the harm in asking. He allowed me to leave the house so the circumstance should permit it. “Where do we live?” I worded my question carefully so I would stroke his ego rather than agitate it.
“Alessandria.” His eyes were glued to the road.
That didn’t help me. “France?”
