Twenty-One

by D. Victoria BonAnno

  The twins returned to him, arm in arm.

  “Everything looks good,” said Charity, fingering one of her green pigtails.

  “Abigail called for you earlier,” her sister Faith chimed in. “We couldn’t get you on the intercom.”

  Demetrius tossed his hair over his shoulder. He was not in the mood for Abigail today.

  “What did she want?”

  “She didn’t say,” said Charity.

  “Of course not,” Demetrius handed Charity the stun gun. “I have business to discuss with her, anyway.”

  He scanned the basement. The attendants were hard at work, watching their charges for signs of high arousal, save for those who had glass slaves. The glass slaves did not participate in this training session. Their category catered to clients who preferred to inflict a more traditional response to pain in their slaves and to do much of the breaking process themselves. The glass slaves were treated far more gently than the steel and leather slaves as a result, especially when it came to pain response. Today the glass slaves were perfecting their oral skills, servicing their attendants on their knees, their hands at their necks. Three caught his eye, one of his most delicate slaves of the season. Her attendant, Rodney, had her white blonde hair balled up in his fist, forcing himself down her throat. She was further along than some of the other glass slaves, and she had never lashed out or broken down. She, like Chloe, seemed to be a natural slave. Demetrius turned to the twins.

  “Tell Rodney I have a new task for Three,” he said. “The intercom is off in the suite because I have a new slave up there in the isolation stage.”

  Demetrius studied Faith and Charity’s faces. Their biggest physical tells were their eyes, which was rare, despite popular assumption. People learn very quickly to lie with their faces. Normally overlooked parts of the body, like the feet, revealed far more than the face. The twins were quite talented at keeping their porcelain faces blank and doll-like, but their compulsive need to check in with each other always betrayed them. Their black eyes met for a moment before returning to Demetrius’ face. He waited for Charity, always the bolder one, to choose her words before daring to question him.

  “Are we losing a slave this season?” she asked, finally. Demetrius resisted a sigh. Predictability was a useful quality in those under his employ, but it was dull.

  “Her purpose here is business of mine and my partners,” he let a cold edge creep into his voice and fixed the twins with a steady gaze. Faith began to fidget first, breaking eye contact to brush an imaginary piece of dust from her sheer blouse. A couple of years ago, he might have smiled at his power over their nerves. But it was an old dance. He let it go. He would have to tell them his plans for little Chloe eventually, but not when they questioned him.

  A ragged scream broke through the hum of the training session. Demetrius and the twins snapped to attention.

  “Seventeen,” said Faith, pointing to the far end of the long room.

  Seventeen was a breathtaking specimen, tall and slender with smooth Mediterranean skin and glossy hair the colour of ripe black olives. She screamed again, thrashing wildly against her restraints, writhing away from the vibrator between her legs. Gabe, her attendant, struggled with her flailing legs. Gabe was a large man, but Demetrius knew that Seventeen was quite strong during her outbursts.

  “Gabe,” Demetrius called.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Gabe responded, his voice more exasperated than anxious. He had been with Demetrius for all six years and was one of his best attendants. “She’s just having a tough day, I guess.”

  Demetrius gestured for the twins to stay where they were and headed over to Seventeen’s table. She was a unique slave. If not for her behaviour problems, she would certainly be the bestseller of the season. When she had arrived, she had fought like an animal and refused to utter a single word. At first, her rebellion and her silence had intrigued him. It had taken him three months to get her to speak. Even now, she only said what was absolutely necessary; Yes, Master, if it pleases you, Master, et cetera. Soon, however, even Seventeen’s outbursts became routine, a tedious chore. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he found her poison, the one punishment or manner or method that finally broke her.

  Gabe had managed to pin her legs down by the time Demetrius reached them. Demetrius retrieved his switchblade and flicked it open. Sometimes that ominous sound was all it took, but Seventeen hadn’t heard it over her own screams. Demetrius caught her head and lay the flat of his blade against her cheek. She hesitated, looking him full in the face in defiance, but her almond shaped eyes betrayed her fear.

  “You know,” said Demetrius, meeting that angry, frightened stare, “in six years, I’ve never allowed a slave to rebel as long as you have. I see so much potential in you, Seventeen, oh, yes, I do. But my patience is wearing thin.”

  He placed the blade just over the tear duct of her left eye. The slave froze in an instant. Those lovely full lips quivered just a bit. He let the very tip of the knife touch the space between her eye and the bridge of her nose.

  “Should I just…run through this delicate bit of flesh here now, cut my losses, burn your corpse like I’ve had to with other slaves who just wouldn’t get with the program?”

  Seventeen’s terror was palpable. Tears pooled around the tip of the knife. Her body was rigid, as if breathing wrong would cause him to drop the knife. She was lithe and built with well-defined muscle, like a thoroughbred horse. Her curves were perfect, with smooth hips and plump, round breasts that most women would have to pay a fortune to achieve. Demetrius reached down the line of her body and cupped her left breast with his free hand. She quivered like a cornered animal. Demetrius was painfully erect now, looking into those wide, pleading, terrified eyes.

  “This is the last time I will indulge your little tantrums,” he hissed. He took the knife away from her eye, tracing along the contours of her face, those lips, her high cheekbones. “One more outburst, and I will have no choice but to dispose of you. Don’t make me do that, Seventeen.”

  He surprised himself by dragging the knife along her cheekbone. Seventeen gasped. Her skin gave under the blade, a small wound, and quick to heal, but the blood flowed immediately. Desire burned through Demetrius’ veins like a swift poison. He looked away from her face, from the cut. If he didn’t, he would do it again, and again, and again, until that tempting body of hers was decorated in sweet red streaks.

  Demetrius drew a silent breath to steady himself. He had even grown weary of the sensation of arousal; the ascending pulse, the ragged breath, the need to dominate, to penetrate, to release. The need was there, all-consuming as always, and it would need to be satisfied so he could get back to work. However, the thrill of it had long ago soured.

  He looked at Gabe when he felt he had regained control of himself.

  “Put her in isolation,” he said. “No food. Tie her to one of the crosses outside for a few hours before sunrise. I’ll deal with her in the morning.”

  Gabe nodded and began to unbind his charge from her table. The rest of the attendants scrambled to pretend that they hadn’t been watching the incident instead of doing their job.

  “Continue until your charge reaches orgasm,” he ordered, walking toward the twins, his pulse thick in his chest. “Be sure to strike them just as they begin to climax.” He folded the knife and returned it to his pocket. “Faith, go tell Three that she is on isolation duty for the new slave. Then come join your sister in my bedroom.”

  The twins parted ways immediately. Charity fell into step behind him, her stiletto heels clacking over the sounds of resumed training. His mind returned to Chloe and the heat of arousal intensified. If only he could go to her now, to take out this tedious need on her sweet soft skin, but it was too soon. He held onto the image of her tear-stained face, looking up at him with wide, desperate eyes. He carried that image upstairs to the bedroom, where the twins would quench this fire.

  Chapter 5

  September
27, 2011

  The low beep of the door made Chloe scramble into as much of a sitting position as she could in her tiny cage, her arms wrapped around her knees.

  It had been at least a couple days since Demetrius had thrown her into the cage, though she could only guess. There was no measure of time in the room; no windows or clocks. It was maddening. With no dimming light or chirping birds, time stretched into an indiscernible eternity. She marked the passing hours only by her growing hunger and thirst. Bruises formed on her arms, marks of Demetrius’ brutal grip. Eventually a heavy, urgent sensation grew in her bladder despite the fact that she hadn’t had water since she had woken in this damned place. She screamed for someone to come, beat her palms against the bars, but her pleas went unheard. Finally she could hold it no longer and she soiled herself, like an incontinent animal. Chloe had never felt greater humiliation. She hardly felt human, trapped and nude in a puddle of her own waste. She cried until her ribs ached, screamed until she had no voice. Still no one came.

  Now that someone actually was at the door, Chloe panicked. She wasn’t ready for another fight. She wasn’t ready for Demetrius to finish what he had tried to start. The very thought filled her with dread. She clutched her arms and stared at the opening door.

  A small figure stepped into the room, far too small to be Demetrius. Chloe peered through the bars, too afraid to lean forward. A girl no older than sixteen or seventeen came toward the cage with a coil of chain over her shoulder and a large white bucket in her hand. Other than the curtain of long, layered white-blonde hair, she was completely nude. She crouched by the cage door and unlocked it, setting the bucket down beside her. Chloe’s heart jolted.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice still raw from countless hours of tears. “Get away. Get away from me!”

  The girl looked back at Chloe with round blue eyes and said nothing. She opened the cage and held something up. Chloe caught sight of a plastic water bottle in the girl’s hand. Thirst cut through her panic like a sharp blade.

  The girl held the water bottle out to Chloe and beckoned with the end of a chain. Chloe saw a clip attached to the chain and fought the urge to touch the D-ring on the leather collar locked around her neck. The girl beckoned again, shaking the water bottle. The sound made Chloe’s throat ache.

  “Who are you?” Chloe repeated cautiously, though she had already begun crawling out of the cage, thirst overtaking fear.

  The girl touched a finger to her lips. Her face, heart-shaped and seashell white, looked far too weary for one so young. She handed Chloe the water bottle. Chloe opened it with trembling fingers. Her knees buckled at the sensation of water flooding her mouth and down her throat. She slurped and swallowed without grace and forgot herself entirely. Water. Oh, God, she hadn’t known just how thirsty she had been. The bottle was empty so quickly, her thirst slacked but not quenched. Still, her mouth was no longer dry and she was out of the cage. She stretched her legs. Her muscles were stiff and weak from spending so many hours curled up. Chloe felt a small tug on her neck. The girl had hooked the chain to her collar and she hadn’t even noticed. Chloe was leashed like a family dog, nude and coated in her own waste. She folded her arms to shield her breasts as tears returned to her eyes. The thoughts that maddened her in her isolation threatened again: How could this have happened? What would become of her?

  The young girl crouching beside her seemed to understand. She reached out and patted Chloe’s hair. Chloe nearly jerked away, but the touch was tender, the first contact she’d had in days, and it soothed her despite herself. Chloe looked at the girl, naked and collared like Chloe herself. She had to be a slave, just what Demetrius planned for Chloe to be. Had this girl been locked in the cage before Chloe? Had she been starved?

  The girl beckoned for Chloe to rise. She complied. Her legs felt a little stronger than they had a few minutes ago.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” Chloe demanded.

  The girl just shook her head and pressed her fingers to her lips again, her eyes wide. But the sight of her made Chloe’s stomach twist. The girl was unbound, armed with a chain and a key to the cage, and Demetrius was nowhere in sight. Why didn’t she run? Chloe thought back to her mother’s stories, how patients of hers who kidnapped people would receive letters from their victims in prison. Had Demetrius broken this young creature so utterly that she was nothing but a compliant zombie? Chloe clutched the girl’s wrist, ignoring her silent and frantic warnings. No. No, this girl had to see reason. She had a mind of her own, just like Chloe, and Chloe couldn’t believe that a man could extinguish all that a person was, every shred of self. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t happen to her.

  “We have to get out of here,” Chloe hissed. “We don’t belong here. You’re not a slave. Please, you know the code to the door. We can-”

  The girl took Chloe’s face in her hands and pressed her lips against Chloe’s mouth. Chloe froze, dumbfounded. The girl’s lips were soft and insistent before she pulled away and pointed to the walls. Chloe blinked rapidly. Her throat had gone dry again. She followed the girl’s pointing. At first, she saw nothing. Then she noticed small holes where the walls met the ceiling, and a small red light here and there. Chloe’s heart sank. There were cameras in the walls, many of them. Demetrius had probably heard her cries from them, had probably watched her scream and struggle against the cage and soil herself. Her face burned with shame. When the girl tugged on the chain, Chloe followed her, numb.

  The cage key also opened the second door in the bedroom, which Chloe had not yet seen open. She was surprised to step into a full bathroom, as modern and elegant as the bedroom itself. Chloe didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been something so mundane. The girl led her to a walk in shower with warm grey stone walls. She removed a handheld shower head and tested the water on her palm before gesturing for Chloe to come closer. Chloe hesitated. She didn’t know what to think. The girl’s nudity didn’t make Chloe any more comfortable with her own. A part of her was relieved by the opportunity to bathe, but her mind raced. Cameras or no cameras, she had to get out. The girl’s compliance scared her to death. She beckoned again and Chloe came to her. She held the chain on Chloe’s neck, but she was such a tiny thing. Chloe could definitely overpower her if she had to.

  A stream of hot water flooded over Chloe’s head and dampened her short hair. Her muscles yielded to the warmth instinctively. She sighed. Something as simple as a shower became so significant after her isolation. She began to feel human again. The girl gently unfolded Chloe’s arms and washed her body. Chloe found herself staring at the girl’s breasts, bare like the rest of her, her small petal pink nipples barely veiled by strands of her bleached white layers. How could she be so comfortable nude? How long had she been trapped in this place? What had Demetrius done to her?

  The girl turned her back and picked up a towel from a nearby rack. Chloe caught sight of a mark on the girl’s shoulder blade peeping through her hair, something dark and raised. It was a large Roman numeral three. Chloe feared her heart would stop. The girl was branded. Like a cow. Now the thought of overpowering the girl to escape made Chloe’s heart ache. She couldn’t hurt this girl, a victim, just like Chloe was. “What’s your name?” Chloe whispered. She glanced around the bathroom for cameras and found nothing. The girl shook her head, her eyes downcast, and held up three fingers. She patted the spot on her back that was branded, and patted her chest.

  “Three...you...oh,” Chloe whispered. Her lip quivered, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. She understood. The girl had no name; only a number that had been seared into her back. A wave of nausea rolled over Chloe. Demetrius’ words came back to her. “After this night, you are Twenty-One, and you are my slave.”

  How long would it be until Chloe was branded? How long until she was silent and nameless and washing newly kidnapped women like this girl, slave number Three? How many other slaves did Demetrius have locked away? Was she in a house full of bedrooms with cages? No. She had to g
et out. Now. She looked at Three, so frail, her eyes lowered, her face blank. Was this what it meant to be “broken?”

  “I will break you, and I will shape you into the perfect slave.”

  No. That couldn’t happen to her. It wouldn’t happen to her.

  Three tugged on Chloe’s chain and turned around to lead her to the bedroom. Chloe sucked in a breath. She didn’t want to hurt the girl, but this could be her only chance.

  They stepped into the bedroom and Chloe sprung. She grabbed the chain with both hands and wrenched it from Three’s grip. Three jerked back, surprised. Chloe charged her and yanked the chain around Three’s tiny throat.

  “I’m so sorry!” Chloe said in the girl’s ear, pulling the chain back so Three could not free herself. She held Three’s back close to her own chest and dragged her to the door. “Open the door.”

  Three struggled, flailing her arms, clutching at the chain around her throat. A cry escaped her lips, a tiny, pitiful sound that threatened to break Chloe’s resolve.

  “Please stop,” Chloe begged, “Please don’t. I don’t want to hurt you. Just open the door!”

  Chloe was surprised by her own strength after days in a cage, but it was dwindling fast. Her arms already began to ache from the struggle.

  “Open the door!” Chloe hadn’t meant to shriek, but Three responded, punching in a numbered code. The door beeped and opened. Chloe nearly laughed in relief. The door was open. It was open. She was free from this room, this horrible room.