by Mara Black
Send me to a cold-blooded killer, evidently.
"I assure you, there's nothing deceptive here," said Joshua, crisply. "If she's not to your liking, your appointment still includes four more viewings."
With a sharp sigh, the guest walked around me, his eyes coldly evaluating. "If you really cared about keeping me as a customer, you'd make more of an effort to impress me."
"If you recall, you're not actually a customer." Joshua was starting to lose patience with him, but he was keeping himself in check. "Whatever your tastes, they don't seem to include anything that human genetics can offer. Have you considered creating yourself a wife in the lab?"
The guest let out a long, braying laugh. "You're lucky I'm on a good mood, boy." He poked his finger in Joshua's chest, but the driver didn't flinch. "I've got particular tastes. I'll give you that. But this offering is just sad. This bitch can't even smile." He turned back to me suddenly, glaring. "Smile, slut!"
My mouth must have turned down when I wasn't paying attention. I forced the corners of my mouth back up, because I didn't want to think about what would happen if I didn't.
"Ugh," he said, with a dismissive gesture, turning his back to me. "You see what I'm talking about? She can't even pretend to like me now. What's it going to be like later on, when I really give her something to frown about? I can't have that. She needs to be perfect, for the price you're asking. I'm here now because I don't want to pick up a slut from the streets, and all you're doing is cleaning them up a little and presenting them to me in a nicer wrapping. Aren't your girls supposed to be the best?"
"If you think you can do better, feel free to see yourself out." Joshua was tapping his foot. "Are we finished here?"
The guest's eyes flashed back to me. "Well. How about a taste test?"
Please God, no.
"Jesus Christ," said Joshua, going for the door. "This isn't a God damn ice cream shop. Can we move on, please?"
Letting out another donkey laugh, the guest finally, mercifully left.
I sat there numbly on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. I had dodged a bullet, but for how long? How many more times? And how much worse would it get, the longer I stayed here?
Joshua returned a few moments later, snapping his fingers again. God, I hated that sound.
"Change," he said, shoving the plain white dress in my direction again. "Quickly. Mr. Charles needs to see you again."
I didn't like the sound of that.
The boardroom was decidedly subdued, when we walked back in. Lambert was barely masking his irritation, and that frightened me more than anything. He might be incredibly lecherous and unnerving, but seemed to be the only person advocating for my safety.
"Good news," Mr. Charles said, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Things are moving even quicker than I thought. It's time for you to go to your new home."
My throat constricted.
"Now?" I managed to croak, after a moment.
"I know, I know," he tutted, coming close to lay his hand on my shoulder. "It wouldn't have been my first choice, either. I would've liked to give you a little more time to get acclimated. But I'm absolutely sure you'll be just fine."
"But I thought he didn't..." A few men were advancing on me, and I felt a wave of panic rise. "I thought he wasn't interested."
"Oh, not him," said Mr. Charles. "You're going somewhere special. This is quite an honor, young lady."
His words horrified me. I lurched forward, but my arms were already being held back. The cold-blooded killer. That's who they were sending me to.
In the dark corners of my mind, the voice murmured.
You belong to me now.
I felt a little pinch in my arm, and a moment later I felt nothing at all.
CHAPTER THREE
Tate
"What is this?" a voice was saying.
I blinked. Once, twice, three times. Was it dark, or was I blind?
"I don't want it," the voice said.
The voice said: "Take it back."
A short hmph of laughter. Another man spoke, and I recognized Joshua's voice. "You know I can't do that."
There was a long, stretching silence. I blinked, and blinked again. Tried to move. Something was wrong. My arms. My legs. They wouldn't respond. And my breathing - it was labored, it was harsh, like something was covering my mouth.
There's something on my head. That's why I can't see.
I struggled again, and started to feel something rubbing against my wrists and ankles. Rope.
I stilled. So, I wasn't blind or injured, as far as I could tell. That was a positive sign.
"This isn't my responsibility," said the unfamiliar voice. "And you can tell Charles -"
"Fine." Joshua cut him off. "Her blood will be on your hands, then."
A laugh. A different laugh, this time, from the unfamiliar man. Harsh and short and frightening.
"Do you think I care?"
Joshua made a small noise. "Have it your way."
Another long silence, and the sound of something - wood scraping against wood, I thought. A door opening and then closing, but not a normal door. Not a door in a house. Struggling again, I realized I was lying on something scratchy. Not just the rope, but everything beneath me, was slightly abrasive on my skin. It felt familiar, although I couldn't place it.
I started wiggling methodically, trying to loosen the ropes around my wrists. It was impossible to tell if it was budging or not, but what else could I possibly do?
After an impossibly long time, I heard a soft noise from the corner.
So I wasn't alone.
I froze.
"Hello?" I called out. "Whoever you are, please - please help me."
There was no response.
"Please," I tried again, hearing my voice grow firmer. "Just let me go. I won't...I won't do anything bad. I won't tell the police. They wouldn't do anything anyway. I won't even look at your face, just...let me go."
Nothing.
"I'll do anything you want," I said. "I have...I've got money."
Well, it was worth a shot, anyway.
Another small noise.
And then, he spoke, his voice cold and smooth, like marble.
"If you had money, you wouldn't be here," he said. I shivered and realized there was a chill in the air, despite how hot my face felt from...whatever was covering it. My nipples felt painfully stiff.
"Okay, fine," I said, thrilling with the knowledge that I'd finally gotten a reaction out of him. "But that's no reason to let me die out here."
Giving voice to this possibility made my blood run even colder, but I felt it was necessary. He had to understand what was happening here. What kind of person didn't automatically have compassion for a woman tied up, helpless, on the ground?
Who the hell was this man?
The cold-blooded killer.
I staunchly ignored the voice in the back of my head.
There was no response for long time. My mind started racing.
"Listen," I said. "You're obviously no friend of Mr. Charles and the Stoker agency. I heard you talking to the driver. I know where they are. I know how to get in. I could give you information."
"The driver?" he echoed, disbelief tingeing his voice. He sounded much closer now. "Is that all you think he is?"
"Well, he...he drove me there." I felt particularly stupid, but this was no time for self-doubt. That's right - he drove you there without a blindfold on. So of course their location's not a secret. Anyone who wants to know can probably find out, including...whoever this is. Stupid, stupid, stupid Autumn.
"Is that all he did?" The voice was even closer now. It almost sounded like he might be crouching on the ground, close to my face.
"More or less," I said, swallowing hard. "I mean, he - looked at me. Held me back when the doctor branded me."
There was no sense in being anything but frank with this man, I thought - but I heard his sharp intake of breath as I spoke.
"And nothing else," the man said. He
was definitely very close now.
"Nothing else," I confirmed. "Not really. After I was branded, they..." I exhaled. "They put me in a cell for the night. And then I saw one of their guests, but he didn't pick me. So they brought me here. I guess that was - today. Or yesterday. I'm not really sure how long it's been."
And just like that, something was yanked off of my head. I shut my eyes against the sudden onslaught of light, gasping in my first un-muffled breath since I'd woken up.
That smell.
Hay.
I was in a barn.
So, this had to be a positive step, right? Something about my story evidently intrigued the man. I opened my eyes again, carefully, and realized the light was actually quite dim. There were just a few utility bulbs hanging from the corners of the room.
I twisted my head around to look at the man beside me.
He was, in fact, crouched very nearby. Frowning at me slightly, like I was a broken-winged bird and he was considering whether to smash my head with a rock.
His features were sharp and handsome, chillingly so - or maybe that was just his dark gray eyes, looking at me so dispassionately, that made the goosebumps rise all over. Even if it weren't for the fact that I was tied up on the floor of a barn, he would have cut an imposing figure.
Long and lean, he was dressed in a dark suit and tie that didn't look like they belonged on a farm. Peeking out from under the cuffs of his pants, I saw something incongruous - boots, big black ones, the kind that police and soldiers used to wear, back when they were first trying to restore order.
My heart beat faster when I looked at him. So this was the man that Lambert thought it prudent to warn me about.
The kind of predator that the other predators were afraid of.
My mouth was dry, but I was determined to show him that I wasn't a victim. Whatever he planned to do to me, I would fight.
I was searching his eyes for emotion. Some sign of humanity. But he was well-guarded, his eyes showing nothing but a faint flicker of curiosity.
Well, curiosity was something.
"Do tell me," he said, and now I could see the sardonic twist of his mouth as he spoke. "Do tell me, after a few hours in the company of the fine men at Stoker, what top secret information do you suppose you've collected?"
I glared at him. "It was worth a shot," I said. "You shouldn't even need a bribe to let me go. Any decent human being -"
He cut me off with another chilling laugh. "That's right," he said, standing abruptly and straightening the jacket of his well-fitted suit. "Any decent human being would have untied you by now. So where does that leave us?" He started pacing the room. Prowling, rather - he was certainly at the top of the food chain. My whole body was taut, waiting for his next move.
What was he hiding?
I couldn't consciously explain why, but I knew his disinterest was calculated. A careful mask. There was something he didn't want me to see, and that meant he actually cared what I thought of him. Didn't he? He must. He couldn't be as cold and dangerous as Lambert had implied.
I was fighting a rising tide of panic inside. Scattered memories were coming back in a rush. The last time I'd smelled hay, felt it, going to harvest festivals as a young girl, my mother saying to me one day - if anyone ever tries to kidnap you, tell them about yourself. It's important that they see you as a person just like them.
It might as well have been a thousand years ago, but I clung to her advice all the same.
"I don't know," I answered him, finally. "I don't know anything about you, just like you don't know anything about me."
"I know one thing," he said, stopping to look at me. My heart skipped another beat as his eyes fixed on me. Reading. Evaluating. A cold, calculating gaze that stripped me bare. "I know the only thing that matters."
"Have you ever been on a hayride?" I blurted out, making him stop and stare at me.
"Excuse me?" he said, his mouth twisting again.
"A hayride," I repeated. "You know. Farms have them sometimes. They take you around on a wagon, and you sit on bales of hay. I used to love them when I was a kid, but thinking back, I can't imagine why. It sounds boring, doesn't it?" I managed a giggle, and it sounded terrifying, but human.
He just kept looking at me, still betraying nothing. The intensity of his gaze made my stomach twist.
"I thought about that just now," I said. "Because of the hay. There was something called a hay-jump, too. You could climb up this ladder and just jump right into a huge pile of hay. It was great. That one, honestly, I can still see the appeal. If I had a barn I'd basically do it every day."
Grimacing a little, he spoke again. "I know you sold yourself to them."
But he spoke with a little less conviction, this time.
"I didn't," I replied, anger rising up in my chest. "I signed a contract. I don't belong to anybody."
"Well, that's where you're wrong," he said, the grimace turning into a cold smile. "For all intents and purposes, you belong to me now."
My heart fluttered in my chest, and the man from my nightmares prowled in the back of my mind.
You belong to me now.
"Just let me go," I said. "I heard you say you don't want me. So let me go."
A short, quiet, closed-mouth laugh. "It doesn't work that way," he said. "Did you read your contract?" A moment later: "Of course you didn't. They never do."
"I was starving," I snapped at him, wriggling against my bonds one more time. "Do you have any idea what it's like? Of course I didn't read it. It didn't matter. You can't legally sign away your rights as a person. It's not possible."
"It is if you own the courts," he said. "It is if you own the police and the judges and the people who write the laws."
On some level I knew he was right. On some level, I'd always known. Stoker didn't skate by on some technicality. They were being allowed to do what they did.
Unless he was talking about himself.
I was going down the wrong path. Quickly, I backtracked.
"It doesn't matter," I said. "The police have never been a friend to me, anyway. I'd never go to them for help. If you set me free, I won't talk."
"You're right," he said. "They won't give you a chance."
I froze, staring at him.
"How did you know?" I whispered, a black fear crawling from the back of my brain and clutching at my chest.
His brow furrowed slightly. "That's not important," he said. "The point is, I know Stoker better than you could ever hope to."
"Oh!" It came out in a rush of breath. I realized he was still talking about Stoker. Of course he was. Who else would he be talking about?
He didn't know a thing about me.
He didn't know I was hunted.
"You seem relieved," he said, coming close to me again. "You shouldn't be."
"Sorry," I said, irritably. "Anyway, I'm not afraid of Stoker."
"You should be." He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled something out. Small. It fit in his palm, and he turned it over and over, without letting me see. His fingers were mesmerizing in their movements, nimble and strong, long enough to wrap around my throat. "If you run from me, they'll reclaim you, by any means necessary. They retain that right. It doesn't matter if you leave by my 'permission' or not." He smiled, wanly. "They don't care."
"So don't tell them," I challenged.
His smile didn't waver. "I won't have to."
I considered this for a moment. If what he was saying about Stoker was true - and it certainly held up under mild scrutiny - then I was well and truly fucked. No matter where I turned, there would be no safety for me.
Unless.
Unless.
For all intents and purposes, you belong to me now.
He was still turning the thing over and over in his hand, and when it caught the light I saw a glint.
Pocketknife.
My pulse quickened. Was he planning to cut me free, or slit my throat? At this point, did it even matter?
But it
did matter. It mattered very much. Because if I could convince him that my life held some value, he might be able to protect me. He didn't have Stoker's resources, but he clearly had their...respect. Or something like it. Why had they given me to him? Like Lambert had pointed out, I was a valuable commodity - a young woman, a virgin, pretty enough and healthy enough and able to carry on a conversation. I could have commanded a high price, but instead, they gave me away.
What did they owe this man, and why?
If he was even half as powerful as Stoker, he might be able to protect me - not just from them, but from Birdy too.
He knelt down, suddenly, knife in hand. A moment later, he was grabbing me by the arm, and flipping me over roughly. I let out an involuntary squeal. The sudden, rhythmic friction of the ropes answered my question. He was untying me, but for what reason...I couldn't imagine.
The nameless man dragged me to my feet, pulling me after him until I understood to follow.
"Thank you," I said, softly, as he pushed the barn door open.
"Don't," he said. His tone was flat. There was still something about the way he spoke to me - looked at me - he was definitely holding something back. Not just hiding secrets, but restraining himself from doing something. Saying something. I was burning with curiosity, but something told me I'd regret the moment I ever found out what it was.
He was holding up a lantern. Battery-operated, I realized, as my eyes adjusted to the strange glow. Where the hell did he get batteries from? To use them so carelessly, when a flame would have been just as good, was incomprehensible to me.
There was a fairly well-worn dirt path that led towards our destination. A house. A very big house, and mostly dark, but for a few windows that glowed softly in the distance. The moon and stars nearly outshone them, but for some reason I took a morsel of comfort in the sight. It was a house. A house where I could live, for a little while at least.
"Stay in front of me," the man said, roughly. "Watch out for snakes."
I hurried ahead of him, hardly feeling the tiny stones that dug into the hardened soles of my feet. I rarely wore shoes, if I could help it. If I was ever lucky enough to find a pair, it was always more useful to barter them for something I could eat.
