by Kitty Thomas
She wanted to go with him, so badly. If only a tiny meteor could fall out of the sky and just take Brian out.
“You threatened to give me to Brian for punishment!” she blurted out.
Something in Anton’s face changed. He looked comically horrified. “Oh, kiska. You’re talking about that day. The day with Shannon?”
“Yes!”
“You were so upset. I just wanted to get you in the shower, and I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I wouldn’t have sent you to him.”
“Promise me you won’t ever send me to him, no matter what. And that you won’t threaten it. Please.”
“I swear it. Never. It will only be me.”
“Will you promise to protect me completely from him?”
Anton sighed. “No.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I can’t promise it. Brian has said he’ll honor my claim on you, and he’s off the drugs now. But that may all mean nothing. I can’t watch you every second of every day. If he hurts you, I will kill him, and he knows that. But that doesn’t mean he won’t have some psychotic break and do it anyway. That’s the risk of being with me.”
Without realizing it, she’d begun to grip the edge of the table so hard that when she finally let go, she could feel small indentations from her fingernails underneath.
He stood and collected their plates from the table and put them in the sink. Then he took the wine glasses and rinsed them as well. Finally he turned back to her and leaned against the counter. “Are you coming home without a fuss, pet?”
Annette was quiet for a long time. She was pretty sure he’d sedate her or drag her out kicking and screaming. And did she really want to kick and scream and fight him? Hadn’t she spent the last six weeks of her life miserably unhappy without him?
“Yes,” she said finally.
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Master.”
A slow smile spread over his face. “Good girl.” He opened his arms to her, and she got up and went to him.
He held her close for a long time and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She’d missed this all-encompassing feeling of him wrapped around her.
He spoke to her in low, soothing Russian, words she would never know and didn’t need to know. She was sure what he said to her in that moment were all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say under other circumstances in a language she could understand. They sounded like words of love. Promises. Vows. These foreign words etched themselves into her soul.
And she knew that no matter what happened, no matter how wrong it was or how dangerous Brian might be or any of a million things that could go wrong in that house, she had to take the risk.
Finally he stopped speaking. He took her hand and led her out of the apartment to his waiting car. She got inside without fuss or drama and put on her seat belt. A few minutes later, Anton started the car and pulled out onto the main road.
“You know I will have to start your training all over again. I must have absolute obedience—the full protocol.”
Annette stared out the passenger side window as the trees went by, hiding her smile as a familiar ache crept between her legs.
Epilogue
Four years later.
Annette was in the kitchen baking when she heard the front door slam shut. Was Anton home? She impatiently waited the one and a half minutes remaining on the timer then took the cookies out of the oven. She didn’t even bother putting the cookies on the cooling rack. Instead, she raced toward the front door.
Anton stood in the entryway, a troubled expression on his face. He’d been gone a long time today. She’d missed him, but with the look on his face, she didn’t think he’d appreciate overzealous pouncing. Instead, she went for the cautious approach, edging slowly toward him.
“Master?”
He held out his arms, and she went to him, letting out a contented sigh when she was finally enclosed in his embrace. He kissed the top of her head.
“I missed you, kiska. I had a very long day.”
“I made cookies?” It came out as a question. She knew what very long day meant. It meant he wasn’t going to play with her tonight because whatever had happened was weighing on him too heavily, and he was too exhausted for it. She tamped down the disappointed twinge.
He allowed her to lead him to the kitchen and sat at the bar stool while she poured him some milk and put cookies on a plate for him. She sat across from him and absently ran her finger over the soft inside of her collar.
“Out with it,” Anton said.
“Out with what?”
“Don’t try my patience. You’re fiddling with your collar. You have something to say. Out with it.”
“Something’s wrong. You aren’t acting normal,” Annette said.
Anton sighed. “There’s a new girl here. Her name is Vivian. She’s not quite like the others. I’m not at liberty to discuss all of the details with you, but I brought her to the house too soon, and now I’m not sure how to handle her. She’s very upset.”
Annette got up and went around to stand beside her master. She ran her fingers through his hair. “I could talk to her... if you wanted. I could calm her down. I could tell her about you and me.”
Anton snorted. “I hope you weren’t planning to lead with how you traded yourself for your sister in hopes I wouldn’t kill you both. How would that calm her?”
Annette hesitated. She’d been a very good girl for a very long time. She was a little afraid to broach the subject. But she broached it anyway.
“Well, I could lie to her.”
“I’d have to punish you. You know what we said about this. I have a zero tolerance policy.”
A sharp bolt of excitement shot between her legs. She’d really missed him today. It might not be fun play, but all she wanted right now was his hands on her. She’d take anything.
“But if I helped you by talking to her… you’d go a little easy on me, right?”
Anton shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. Even if it helps me.”
Somehow this only excited her more. “W-would you do it tonight?” Please. Please.
“I’d have to. You know I don’t like to delay punishments.”
She could see the desire in his eyes and was sure it mirrored her own. “Okay,” she said, hardening her resolve before she could lose her nerve. She knew she was playing with fire.
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Which room is she in?”
“End of the hallway here on the main floor.”
Annette left him in the kitchen and went to tell another pretty lie. She had no way of knowing it in that moment, but this particular lie would become so compelling that eventually she’d half believe it herself. Over time, as it got added to and deepened into a life of its own, it would become the creation myth that defined everything she loved about her master and everything she’d wished for from the moment they’d met. And somehow, some day, it would blossom into a kind of truth.
Even so, the punishment that was to follow would leave its searing mark on her for a long time to come.
58
BOOK FIVE: Twisted Fates
A dark, twisted growl next to her ear: “You were a very bad girl.”
“No!” Shannon struggled in the ropes, but they were too tight. How could this be happening? Only minutes ago she'd been playing in the pool. Happy. Not a care in the world. To go from the bright afternoon sun to the darkness of the dungeon so quickly made her head spin.
Brian had made quick work of stripping off her bikini and tying her to the St. Andrew's cross. She cringed as he dragged the tip of the knife along the stone wall. Grating. Like fingernails on a chalkboard. Worse.
Annette screamed incessantly outside the cell. Banging on the door. Yelling at Brian to stop. But he wouldn't. He'd locked them in, and he had the only keys.
Nothing could stop him, except maybe God. And Shannon had given up that belief long before she'd come to the house. The only r
idiculous belief she'd carried into adulthood, was the shockingly naïve idea that somehow she would get a happy ending.
This ending was anything but happy.
Brian made a full lap around the cell, dragging the knife blade against the stone like some demented horror movie villain. He finally stopped next to her and bent close to her ear again. “You shouldn't have embarrassed me up there,” he whispered. “Now I get to make you bleed. It's the rules.”
“Please. Please, I'm sorry.” She made one final attempt to struggle free, knowing it was pointless but equally knowing if she didn't at least try she'd only blame herself more for the things he was about to do to her.
“Too late.”
Shannon jolted from sleep, her heart pounding in her chest so fast she was sure it would break free. She'd somehow gotten herself bound up in the blankets in her sleep. She kicked and struggled to free herself, then shoved them off the bed when she finally managed to untangle the sweat-soaked fabric from her body.
A fine sheen of clammy sweat still clung to her skin, chilling her. She'd woken in time at least—before it got too bad. Before the cutting had started. But it wasn't enough because that night still lived in her mind, fresh and new as if it were yesterday. In reality, eight years had passed since that awful day, but the dreams kept her trapped in the past, in a place now definable only by her nightmares.
Sometimes she could go days, even weeks at a time, without having the dreams. But they would never fully leave her. They were a part of her now—as physically real and solid as the scars.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed until her feet touched the cold floor and dragged herself to her private bathroom. She had one of the nicer suites and a larger bathroom now. The men at the house upgraded her after that day. As if it could make up for anything. Like a room upgrade was an apology for the unforgivable.
Shannon flipped the secondary low light on and splashed water on her face.
Then she looked in the mirror. She always looked. Every time she had the dream she looked in the mirror as if by some magic the scars would be gone, and she could reassure herself it really had been only a bad dream after all.
The worst of it was her back. She never looked at those. She just... couldn't. But she felt them. Every day when she showered, her fingertips brushed against those awful scars. They'd been made alternately by bullwhip and... that knife. She couldn't look at them.
But she could never seem to stop herself from looking at the ones that had whipped around to touch the top of her chest. It looked to her as though the devil's claws were digging into her shoulders, the way the scars had whipped and curled around. It was as though she were always in the clutches of something evil.
That evil thing still slept on the lower level of the house, free and untroubled by guilt for anything he did to anyone else. Brian hadn't touched her again after that day, but he didn't need to. He'd done his damage.
There were a few on her neck, but they were mostly covered now by her long dark hair. A few grazed her upper arms, and there was one mark on her cheek. It was small and had faded some over the years. And with artful makeup she'd learned how to mostly cover it.
Tears trailed down her cheeks. She wiped her face with the back of her hand because this was the point where she always thought about Mina. Mina had come to the house a few years ago. She was damaged and scarred—like Shannon—and yet Brian was kind to her. He loved her. Somehow that monster that had seen Shannon as some kind of garbage had the complete opposite reaction to Mina.
Why? Why her and not me? What's wrong with me?
How was it that the scars on Mina had guaranteed her happy ending, while the scars on Shannon made hers now impossible?
On most days the house was a polite criminal enterprise. The guys that ran it sought out kinky women with deeper needs to bring back to the house and train to sell to wealthy men with similar and complimentary kinks. All the women were there more or less of their own free will and knew the rules and the outcome before climbing on board this demented train. They'd signed on to play this game. But even so, the house was illicit.
Nobody left this place a free woman. You walked through those doors, and the next time you walked out was in a rich man's chains. There was no true out. There was no changing one's mind. There was no safeword.
Because of the nature of the house, the choice was once, and it was forever.
Choose wisely.
When Shannon had become too damaged to sell, she'd been lucky they'd let her live. She'd become a kind of indentured servant, running the on-site spa. Brian had left her alone after that. The other guys had continued to play with her—for awhile.
Except Lindsay, the doctor. He avoided her even more than Brian.
Shannon hated Brian, but she loathed Lindsay. There was something broken inside Brian that made him dangerous like a wild animal. On some level you couldn't really blame the wolf for eating the lamb. But Lindsay was different. He wasn't broken or sick. All of this was his fault. He'd been the one who'd lured her to the house. He'd made all the promises that hadn't been kept.
He'd saved her life that day, the day Brian broke everything. But it wasn't enough to make up for bringing her here. He'd made further attempts to help her, but the guilt shining out from his eyes every time he looked at her was too much to deal with on top of everything else. She didn't want his guilt. She wanted to be free.
She wanted to reverse the foolish decision that had brought her here.
But it wasn't just the house. There was no free. Even if they decided to let her go, Brian would follow her into her dreams. Even death might not free her mind from him entirely. That was how deeply he'd dug into her soul that day, tying the worst parts of himself to her indefinitely. A shadow, permanently attached.
Her fingertips found the edge of the longest, most brutal scar, and traced it across her back until she could reach no further. When Brian had finished, he'd untied her and left the cell without a word. Just another day to him.
She'd made it somehow to the ground before she'd lost consciousness. The next thing she knew, she was in bed, her entire torso bandaged with the doctor looking down at her.
He should have let her bleed out on the dungeon floor. It would have been a far kinder fate.
Shannon went back into the bedroom and slipped into a robe. The clock on the wall read 1:30. She hated when the dream came this early. It was impossible to get back to sleep. She couldn't stop seeing it. All that blood. All her blood. How had there been enough blood left inside her to keep going?
How had there been enough of anything inside her to keep going?
How long was she going to lie to herself and pretend anything would ever get better for her? It was only getting worse. The men at the house hardly played with her anymore. They'd adored her before that day. And after, for a few years they'd made a good show of not being bothered by the marks that marred her.
But she wasn't in her twenties anymore. And the girls who came to the house just seemed younger and younger next to her. She kept getting older, and they kept being twenty. What charms she may have had in spite of Brian, were slowly but surely fading. And every day the lie that somehow things would work out... somehow she would be loved, died a little more.
She was fading into the background. Nobody noticed or wanted her. There was no escape from any of this. Except one.
She'd thought about it over the years, but it had always been a passing thought. Nothing more serious. Shannon wasn't sure what was different now except that she had hit a moment of absolute realization. Before she'd somehow always been able to convince herself that things could get better. She'd held out hope that maybe there was still someone out there for her. Somehow. In her mind, Mina had stood out like a beacon of what was possible. But unlike Mina, Shannon's rescue never came.
The fantasy was getting harder to hold together. She'd known for years. Somehow she'd managed to put off dealing with the truth until now.
But she'd dec
ided. She was leaving this house. Tonight. No, she couldn't go out the normal way. Although she'd figured out the security codes long ago, a metal security bracelet was locked around her wrist. It kept her inside the perimeter and would deliver a nasty shock if she stepped outside it. And it wouldn't stop until she either stepped back inside the perimeter or passed out.
But there was more than one way to leave this place.
Shannon crept down the stairs to the main floor. She stopped inside the kitchen. Phyllis had made her famous chocolate cake. Every bit of the recipe, including the frosting, was from scratch.
Shannon took a fat slice, poured a tall glass of milk, and sat on a stool at the counter and ate. When she was done, she left the plate and glass on the counter. She dragged her finger through the remaining frosting on her plate and smeared it on the shiny stainless steel.
Her last act of defiance, and neither Brian nor anyone else in this house would be able to punish her for it.
As she made her way down the hall to the spa, she passed the fitness room and heard the treadmill whirring away. Shannon tensed. Brian.
Sometimes he ran in the middle of the night. Whatever demons haunted him, it wasn't about anything he'd done to anyone else. That part of him was dead inside. But there must have been a moment when he was innocent and someone had broken him. That moment, whatever it was, kept him running on the treadmill in a futile attempt to escape his own demons. Shannon couldn't be bothered to give the first beginnings of a damn about anything that haunted him.
Whenever she thought of Brian's pain, all she could think was: Good.
She scurried past the open door of the fitness room and continued on.
When she reached the spa, she went into the room she'd set up as an office. She took a key from the bottom of a planter and unlocked the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a pill bottle.
Lindsay gave out sedatives like candy—some he'd given to her. Instead of taking them, she'd slipped them into an empty pill bottle she'd found in Lindsay's office trash can one day. She'd been collecting them for a while. Sometimes if he left his office unlocked and she could get to them, she'd sneak one or two extra but not enough that he might notice. Sometimes she feigned an inability to sleep and got them from him that way.
