by Charlie Hart
Not that I am thinking any of these men would do anything to hurt me. But I have been wrong about people before.
Lawson seemed nice at first too.
I had to run.
Fallon reaches over and takes my hand in his. It engulfs mine. There’s a hint of a smile that teases at his mouth as he squeezes it ever so softly.
My breath catches at his touch, not expecting a man like him to make my body melt. I swallow. He inhales sharply. I feel what he feels. And it scares me in the best possible way.
And hope stirs inside me. With the slightest gesture on his part, my nerves are washed away.
“I’m okay. Just feeling a little overwhelmed.”
“It’s a lot. For all of us.” He cocks his head back toward the crew of men.
My men.
My husbands.
Before the lottery when an Alaskan government employee sat Kate, Lilah and me down, explaining the situation.
1.We could not leave Alaska. Ever. If we did, we would no longer be under its protection.
2.Divorce was illegal.
3.Alaska’s personal stake in us was solely connected to our reproductive ability.
4.Our family would be given bonuses with each healthy child born.
I had asked the worker what sorts of bonuses, and he lifted his eyebrows. “Money.”
It hadn’t sat well. But I understood the rules. Knew the importance of trying to conceive, even at risk to my own health, which it would be. But that was the cost of freedom. And unlike in the lower forty-eight, here I wouldn’t be pumped full of fertility drugs and poked and prodded on a regular basis.
If, and that was a big if, I ever became pregnant, it would happen naturally.
“And if that child is a girl,” he continued. “Freedom.”
“Freedom?” My eyes had narrowed. I thought I came here risking everything, with freedom already mine for the taking.
But then this man tells me it wouldn't be truly granted unless I had a daughter.
“It isn’t our law,” he’d said, frowning. “It’s a new global statute. Any female bearing a girl child is untouchable by any governing system.”
I’d realized only in that moment how dire the situation had become worldwide if all governments had agreed to such a ruling. In a way, it gave me hope. That women might just win back the freedom that had been stolen from us.
Fine, I had thought defiantly. I will have a daughter. Somehow.
Or I’ll die trying.
The lure of freedom is now a noose around my neck.
Because getting pregnant is too often a death sentence, especially with a female child. My own mother died bringing me into this world. My life for hers. Something my father never failed to mention whenever I’d complained about my lot in life.
“Turn right, up ahead,” Banks directs from the backseat, after going through another set of gates, these ones just as heavily guarded as the military building. “We’re the fourth house on the right.”
We’ve turned into a massive development. One that could almost be called a neighborhood. There are a few dozen homes just in our area alone, and in the darkness, I can see lights from several other sectioned off communities in the distance.
We drive past a park, with swings and slides, and I wonder how many children had been born here already.
Hope. There it is again. The spark that wants to ignite and believe everything will be all right. It’s a dangerous thought. I can’t let my guard down. Not yet.
The houses are large, each surrounded by another set of gates, more security systems, and cameras. Another reminder of the danger women faces every day.
For years women were taken in the night, kidnapped from their homes, sold before they even reached puberty. Men took what they wanted, and women were the only prize they were interested in.
“Shit, these places are huge,” Emerson says with a low whistle.
The men start talking amongst themselves, their voices different, and unique.
I turn slightly to listen, suddenly more interested in the conversation than I am with the houses outside.
“You’ve never seen the compounds?” Banks asks, a slight accent that I can’t place, but would put a small bet that he’s from the east coast, maybe New York, originally.
“Never.” Emerson grins, shaking his head as he glances outside. His mane of hair has come loose from the bun he’d originally had it in, and hangs heavily across his shoulders. “I grew up on Annette Island. By boat it’s about two away hours.”
“Your family still there?” Giles asks from the far back of the vehicle, his voice deep and smooth, sending little sparks of heat in my core.
“Yeah. My parents and brothers. Everyone saved to send me to the lottery.” Emerson chuckles, another sound that affects me in ways I’m not used to. “They’re going to be thrilled.”
But then I realize what he’s said. His family saved for him to have a chance to be married. A chance to have a wife. My chest tightens at the thought. His entire family dreaming that he would end up here, with me. The reality hits me all at once.
To these men, I am their only chance at a legacy.
“What’s it like there?” I ask, having never been anywhere other than the mansion dormitory of Saint Augustine’s, where I grew up, in Seattle, Washington.
Even with the night sky casting shadows across his features, I see the warmth in his face at the memory. “Right now, it’s snow and ice. But in the summer, it’s all hay fields and cottages and horse drawn carriages.”
“I’ve never seen a horse,” I admit. “I mean, I’ve seen them in books and movies, but never in the flesh.”
Fallon looks over at me. “Where have you been hiding your whole life?”
I tense at the playful words, and I immediately regret my reaction because it sends Fallon back to a stony face, two hands on the wheel, turning right into our compound. I turn, glancing forward, listening to the men talk as my new home comes into view.
“I hear that place is nice,” Huxley tells Emerson. “I’ve never heard of a single kidnapping happen there.”
“Because there are no women to kidnap. Not anymore,” Emerson tells him, then lets out a heavy sigh. “A few my mother’s age, or older. But no one who could…” His words trail off.
We all know the way his sentence ends. His hometown had no women who could bear children.
A sad silence falls over the car.
No matter how exciting winning the lottery may be for these men, there’s a cold reality that is twisted in each of our stories. All of us have different reasons for taking this chance with one another. Most likely, none of them are very happy.
“We’re here,” Fallon says.
The car stops, and he punches in a code. The heavy gate opens, and he pulls the car from park, driving us to the front of our compound.
We get out of the vehicle, and Giles takes my arm, helping me up the slippery driveway so I don’t fall.
It’s frigid out, and the gown I wear is ridiculously impractical.
We make our way up the concrete steps towards the steel fortified front door. Salinger is the first to pull out his keycard from the package they received after the ceremony, and he uses it to unlock it. There’s a high pitch beep, and the light turns from red to green, then the door clicks open.
I still think it’s odd that I didn’t receive an envelope myself. Which means no key card to let me in, or possibly out, of the house.
There’s a moment of awkward silence and no one moves.
Then Huxley lets out a small chuckle and surprises me, by lifting me up in his arms, and kicking the door wider with his feet. He winks at me. “I guess it’s my job to carry you over the threshold.”
Despite the glares he gets, I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips as he carries me into the house.
Lights flicker on automatically around us, and Huxley sets my feet back on the floor.
The place is massive. Unlike the outside of the building t
hat looks more like a fortified prison, it’s been painted in warm colors, and the furniture--colorful pillows and throws on soft leather couches in the living area. A huge, twelve seat wood dining table in a room off to the side--looks like something from one of the movies I’d seen from the early twenty-first century.
There’s a huge kitchen with another large table in the center, and an island with stools. Two washrooms, a laundry room, another room that leads to the garage, and a large study make up the rest of the first level. Stairs lead to the second level, with a series of doors that I assume open to the many bedrooms.
Everything about the place is inviting.
I’d heard from Kate that part of the money the men paid into the lottery was used to build the homes we would live in. It made me feel a bit better. Like they hadn’t bought me. Instead, they’d bought a future.
Maybe I’m fooling myself, holding onto so much hope, but it’s better than the alternative.
As I explore each of the rooms, finally finding the bedroom that had been decorated specifically for me, the tension in my shoulders lift for the first time in weeks.
I nearly died travelling here.
But now I am home.
Chapter 4
Fallon
One week vacation. That’s all the honeymoon time the government gave us, which isn’t enough. Not unless it was a week with me buried between Tia’s thighs for the majority of it. Even then, I know I’d want more.
Every second I’m around her, I realize what a greedy bastard I am.
But I need to have patience. We have a lifetime together. And as I watch her with the other men, I see the innocence in her eyes. She has a strong personality, not holding back on expressing herself like some of the women I’ve met, but there’s a purity about her, and I don’t doubt she’s probably a virgin. Which changes the game slightly.
The other men see it too. I note their expressions, their weariness to come across too strong or push themselves on her. Even Huxley seems to back off slightly. For that I give him an ounce of credit.
She is fucking gorgeous, and it takes all my strength not to follow her up to her bedroom and claim her.
But I give her space the first night, and demand that the others do as well. There were a few grumbles by the men, but they respected my orders. I made sure of it by checking her room early this morning. Finding her fast asleep and alone in her bed, I left to explore the property.
The security appears solid. The gates are secure. I wave to a man who comes out of the neighboring house carrying a toddler in his arms.
Kids.
Fuck. I never thought I’d have them. There’s still a possibility that I won’t. But the hope is there. And the fear.
By the time I come back in, the kitchen is a buzz of activity, but there’s no sign of Tia.
Emerson is at the stove, frying bacon and eggs. Huxley is on his phone talking low enough that I can’t here. He turns his back when he sees me watching him, then moves into another room.
Brown eyes bloodshot, like he got into the extensive liquor cabinet last night, Salinger tosses back a glass of orange juice, then pours himself another glass, before sitting down at the table and resting his head in his hands.
Giles stands with his back against the counter, arms crossed, expression unreadable, but his gaze keeps darting between Banks and Salinger, and I have no doubt he has the same misgivings I feel about the men.
We know practically nothing about each other, and yet we’ve been pledged to defend each other’s lives.
I grunt, causing Banks to look up at me, his face cleanly shaven, black hair slicked back like he spent an hour in front of the mirror. I give a small nod, which he returns, before returning his gaze to the papers in front of him.
“What are you reading?” I ask, taking the seat across from him.
“The contract.” He doesn’t look up.
“You know what it says. Protect Tia at all costs.”
He snorts, then looks up at me like I have an IQ of a chimpanzee.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. Banks is big. But I’m bigger. Still, it’s not too early to make it clear who’ll be in charge around here. “What exactly do you do?”
“I work in the lab.”
Figures. I knew the man didn’t look like he could last a day out in the wilderness.
“So, you’re a whitecoat.” It’s hard not to have a distaste in my mouth for people like him, considering it was the damn scientists that got us in this mess to begin with.
At least that’s what we’d been told. In all fairness, no one really knows what caused the fertility crisis. Just that it happened. All the best and brightest minds in the world, working day and night, and they still couldn’t come to a consensus.
Banks straightens and meets my gaze, dark eyes boring into me, but his voice is calm when he says, "I have two PhDs, one in molecular genetics from Harvard, the other in biostatistics, as well as a medical degree from Yale.”
“Impressive,” I say, blandly.
“You were on the mainland?” Giles asks.
Banks nods. “For a time. New York mostly.”
Giles and I exchange a look.
I’m about to ask him more questions when a flash of color draws my attention to the kitchen entrance.
Dark hair hanging in soft, chestnut waves across her shoulder, face clean of makeup, Tia stands there in the soft pink robe that must have been provided. It’s a light fabric, one that hugs her curves, and it’s hard not to let my gaze roam across each one of them.
She chews on her bottom lip. “I don’t have anything else to wear.”
The thought crosses my mind that I wouldn’t have to many qualms about keeping it that way, but I realize she must be freezing.
I stand. “I’ll turn the thermostat up. Our things should arrive later today.”
“Our things?” She frowns at me.
“Clothes. Any personal items you brought with you.”
“Oh.” She glances down, and I realize that when I’d found her in that boat, unlike the other women, she had no luggage with her. Only the clothes on her back.
God. What kind of courage that must have taken.
Huxley who came back into the room a few seconds before, takes her hand and says, “I can get you anything you need. Just make a list and I’ll have it to you by tomorrow.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up, and I hate the way she looks at him, like he’s her goddamn savior. The only reason he can get that shit is because he deals with crooks and thieves.
And then there’s Emerson, giving her one of his easy-going grins and telling her to sit down, that he has breakfast for her.
Fucking men are clamoring all over themselves to win her attention. And hell, if I’m not doing the same.
“You must be freezing,” I say, seeing the way the other guys’ eyes roam down her body, and the way her hard nipples poke against the thin material.
I’m still wearing a heavy hoodie from my walk outside, and I pull it off and hand it to her.
“Put it on.” It comes out more of a command than a request, and she gives a small frown before accepting it and tugging it over her head.
I get a few raised eyebrows from the men, and Giles shakes his head, but at least they’re not ogling her anymore.
“Hey Sal,” Emerson says, making the man jump slightly, “Make yourself useful and set the table.”
Dirty blonde hair sticks up in different directions, Salinger’s lips twist down, and he repeats Emerson’s instructions like it’s a foreign language. “Set the table?”
“Shit,” Huxley says, laughing. “You really did grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth. I bet you even had a servant to wipe your ass. Must be nice to have the Director as your daddy.”
There’s a touch of anger in Salinger’s eyes, but it quickly fades to something that’s either self-deprecation or acceptance.
“Would you like me
to get that same servant here to wipe the grin off your face?” he says, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.
“I’ll do it,” Giles says, pulling out plates and utensils, then placing them on the table.
I pour myself coffee, watching from a distance. All my life I’ve been called standoffish, unapproachable. Cold.
I’ve never really cared.
But now, watching as Tia sits down at the breakfast table, laughing as the guys joke easily, a part of me wishes I knew how to be less detached.
My heart stirs with tenderness for her. Tia’s story must be a fucking mess to end up here like she did, and it scares me, the instinct I have to keep her safe.
Even if there is a part of me that wishes I could lounge around at the breakfast table, shooting the shit, I know what happens when people let their guard down -- they get hurt.
Let these other men elbow one another, laugh at stupid stories, all working their charm to make Tia laugh as if that’s going to do anything to protect her.
I set down my cup of coffee, head out of the kitchen, knowing I need to walk the perimeter of the property again.
Giles narrows his eyes at me as I leave, his gaze knowing, but I turn away from him, not looking back.
I have one goal right now, and I don’t need to be understood by five other men.
I just need to make sure Tia is safe.
Chapter 5
Tia
After breakfast, I grab some paper from a desk drawer in the study, and sit down to make the list for Huxley. Supple leather club chairs surround a coffee table, a big stone fireplace flanked by bookcases filled with books that puts my old library to shame, makes the pang I felt over leaving my favorite books behind a little less sharp.
It’s surreal being here, it’s like every last thing is being taken care of for me. Well, everything but pants. I tuck my feet under me, the oversized hoodie of Fallon’s covering my knees. I pull at the drawstrings on the neck, and find myself breathing in the scent of him on the sweatshirt. It smells like firewood, pine trees, and fresh air.
He’s an Alaskan mountain man if I ever saw one, but oh my word, does the man ever relax?
