Hear Me (8 page)

It was more that wearing the woman’s clothes served to underline that she didn’t wear the collar too. It underlined her complete and utter lack of permanence here. He did seem to want her and had about admitted as much, which was an improvement over when she had first arrived. But that was a long cry from wanting to keep her… preferably forever. Ironically, he seemed to think she would want to leave soon, but she wouldn’t.

As she stepped out of the cabin, he turned to face her and raised his eyebrows. “You look good, subby. How are you with a knife?”

He set her up with a pile of onions and a chopping block. “Slice them thick for the grill,” he said.

She went to work, but paused to push a strand of hair back from her face with her forearm. He hadn’t included any sort of tie for her hair. The muscles of his forearm caught her eye. Her gaze traveled upward to where a lock of black hair curled over his brow. No, she didn’t want to leave, it wasn’t anything to do with how handsome he was, in his own dark way. It wasn’t because he made her feel safe. Not even because he had woken her from the prison of her own mind.

It was because he made her think of the future. She could see them together: watching him work with the wood, cooking together under the warm sunset, having kinky sex in the sweetly sticky nights. It was a fantasy, a fairy tale, but it was
more
. She had slipped out of survival mode without even realizing it. Her thoughts weren’t consumed with avoiding the next blow or earning the next meal. Thinking back on how she’d been only a few days ago, terrified and broken—it was like waking from a nightmare, sweaty, heart-pounding.

His hand on hers startled her. “Be careful there. Can you even see anymore?”

She couldn’t, not with the tears in her eyes. The knife slipped from her fingers, and she let him take it.
Trust
, that’s what it was. Even with all of their power, as cowed as she was, the men at the compound would never have handed her a knife. Even then, she would have used it on them.

Sam trusted her.

“Hey. What’s this?” He pulled her in for a hug. She breathed him in, once again enclosed in him, safe with him on a hill in the woods. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Whatever it is, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Very sweet,” came Brendan’s voice, and something stirred within her, like remembrance. “Am I intruding?”

Sam had tensed when Brendan came out; he relaxed by degrees. Though he said that his brother was harmless, there was some instinct that remained wary. “Of course not,” Sam said. “The food’s almost ready. Why don’t you set the table?”

“Sure thing, brother,” Brendan said with an enigmatic smile that sent a shiver down her spine.

Even when Brendan returned inside to the table, Sam and she worked in silence, the air shimmering with tension. She carried in a plate of steaks while Sam finished grilling the vegetables.

Brendan stood when she came in and took the plate from her. “Here,” he said. “Have a seat next to me.”

She eyed the chair on the far end with longing.

“That’s no good,” Brendan chided. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. The prettiest thing I’ve seen in weeks. Months even. You wouldn’t deny me the pleasure, would you?”

Her trepidation rose at his flowery words, meant to trick and subvert.

“Ah, brother,” Brendan said. “You finally made it. Tell your girl here to have a seat before she falls over.”

Sam frowned, but he said slowly, “Sit down, subby.”

She did.

“Good.” Brendan sat beside her. “Right in the middle. We can share her.”

When Sam raised his eyebrow, Brendan merely smiled. “The sight of her lovely face. I was just telling her how long it had been for me since I had seen someone like her. Too long.”

“You’ve been working too hard,” Sam said. “Give us some details. We were just wondering what it was you’re shipping this time around.”

Brendan paused in the act of transferring a steaming steak to his plate. “Is that so?” He gave her an opaque look. “What a curious pair you two make. Sports equipment, if you can believe it.”

“Really?” Sam asked, taking a bite. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a cargo-hold full of basketballs.”

“All varieties of recreational activities, or so I am told. I haven’t inspected the merchandise.”

Sam was looking at her now, head tilted. Probably because Brendan had been focused on her, completely, the entire time he conversed with his brother. Brendan was going to give it away like this.

“I loved going with you today,” she told Sam quickly. “I hope you’ll take me again.”

Sam smiled slightly, though he seemed far from appeased. He wasn’t stupid, and the subtext was fairly screaming. “Sure, subby. I like having you around.”

Brendan needed a full minute to recover his silver tongue. “She speaks. This is new, yes?”

“Since earlier,” Sam said smoothly. “So you see your worrying wasn’t necessary. She’s already getting better here.”

“I still say she should come back with me.” For once he turned and looked quite seriously at Sam. “What about the people she left behind? Her family. For all you know she has a lover waiting for her, and here you are fucking her in a shithole cabin.”

“That’s enough,” Sam said, his voice soft and menacing. “I let you give me a hard time, but I’m not going to let you disrespect her.”

“You’re not going to let
me
disrespect her? Oh, that’s rich. She’s a dirty little sex doll you found washed up, used up, half
dead
, and instead of sending her to people who might actually care about her, you dress her up in Amanda’s old clothes and give her commands like she’s a dog.”

“Get out.”

“Brother,” he started.

“Now,” Sam said with more than enough heat to show he meant it. If he had spoken to her that way, she would have cowered. Even now, she cowered.

Brendan took his time getting up. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked between her and his brother. She tried to ignore that, didn’t let their gazes his meet. He would leave and she would be fine. He would leave, and she would go back to being Sam’s recycled sex doll. She wanted to die.

“Fine, brother. Choose the girl, again. See if it turns out any better this time.”

The door slammed shut behind Brendan, belying his coolly-spoken parting shot. Sam wouldn’t look at her.

“Sir,” she said. “Master?”

“Don’t call me that.”

She recoiled. He
was
mad at her.

“Please,” she tried.

“My name’s Sam. That’s what you can call me. Say it. Say
please Sam.
”

“Please, Sam,” she whispered.

He looked at her then, but she almost wished he hadn’t. She saw in his eyes disgust and fury. She saw herself turned away, cast off once again. The empty plastic doll left on the floor. Then he veiled his expression. “I’m going to go work. I need to just…you stay in the house. I mean it this time. Stay.”

Hmm. Like a dog, indeed.

She stayed in her seat as he left the cabin and locked her inside. She really shouldn’t mind. After all, she hadn’t forgotten what they had done to her, but the more time that passed the quieter her fear.

Her sense of self had returned, but it wasn’t a switch. Not off, then on, but something that stood and stretched and grew stronger with each kind word and gentle touch. She should be content to wait as his feet, to be put away when he no longer wanted her, to be shut out of his thoughts and emotions; she wasn’t.

It was like she had been trapped at the bottom of the ocean in a hellish Atlantis. Then she had broken free and started swimming. Still deep, everything had been muted. She’d swum higher and higher and now she could see the surface, kicking furiously, dying for a single breath.

She didn’t know what was at the top. She only knew that she had to get there.

Despite her uncertainty, she wouldn’t disobey. She still worried that someone might be looking for her, and it was too dark to see. And even with her newfound strength, she didn’t mind submission. There was a clarity here, a peace. She had only minded the way Brendan had spoken about her. She only worried he might be correct.

Chapter Seven

She woke in the dark, a book in her slack hands and a blanket over her knees. She must have drifted off, but where was Sam? Harsh breathing was too familiar, suddenly. A dark presence that taunted with its stillness.

Her throat tightened. “No.”

“Yes,” Brendan murmured. “See? You know me, even if you think you don’t. You know who your master is.”

The words made her breath catch, strange and meaningless to me. “Sam will come.”

Hands enclosed her wrists, warm and firm. “What will he see? You submitting to me. Didn’t he tell you about his last girlfriend?”

Oh God.
Sam.

“He won’t want anything to do with you then.” Lips coasted over her shoulder, bringing goosebumps to her skin. “Where will you go? All alone in the woods. I’ll take care of you.”

It sounded like a threat. Would Sam hear her if she called to him?

“Come on, little girl.” There was the pain she expected, almost wanted. Deserved. His fingers dug into my skin, pushing her down. “Fight me. I liked it when you fought.”

But she didn’t. She let him undress her, let him push her down onto her hands and knees, let him cup her breasts and squeeze. What could she do? Nothing, nothing at all. He was too strong, and she was too scared.

She imagined Sam working out there, just one building over. He would be tired by now but frustrated. Something had bothered him, so he kept sanding, cutting, stripping the wood with his hands. Then he would finally let go of whatever it was, through will or sheer exhaustion, and come inside to see his brother fucking his pet. Again.

She could do nothing. She
was
nothing. All the names that they called her—whore, slut, cum-hole—when had they become true? His fingers were inside her cunt, that part of her both exalted and feared. They worked in and out, drawing out pitiful moisture, making her ready.

She remembered arriving in a cold building. None of the girls would meet her eyes.

A sharp pain on her scalp and her head was pulled back. A voice against her ear. “My good girl. You’ll be my good girl. It’s what you want.”

They’ll never break me,
she had promised to herself, silent and fierce. But what could she do?

Each time they beat her body, her mind would drift away. She could feel the pain, but it didn’t matter so much in that empty house of hopelessness. This time, she felt the currents of his cruelty pull her out to sea. But she went somewhere else this time, to a place where color suffused the air, where sounds clashed in sharp harmony, where memories burst on her tongue like spices, rich and bittersweet.

* * *

My name is Melody Cole, and I was born in Syracuse, New York more years ago than I usually cared to admit. As a young child, I ran in a pack of girls, barefoot and wild, kicking up cold dry leaves behind us. We made a fort out of bed sheets and loose lumber that came down when the boys launched a full pillow assault. Soon enough my friends were drawn away from our tight circle by lopsided smiles and stammered invitations to the movies.

I wasn’t, but not for lack of wanting. Too skinny to be hot, too shy to be noticed, I walked the same wooded trails alone. When I didn’t get asked to prom, my mom set me up with the neighbors’ college-aged son. He was surprisingly charming, and I put out for the first time that night.

I got my degree in business development and marketing from Penn State, and right about the time I decided I didn’t need boys to make me happy, they discovered they liked my skinny body and aloofness. Dinner at a fabulous restaurant and coffee back at my place became standard Saturday night fare with whatever exec was passing through the office, but relationships took a backseat to my career.

It was a lonely existence and when one of my girlfriends needed a place to crash after breaking up with her boyfriend, I had been grateful for the company. We built a grown-up fort out of ice cream and sappy movies, swearing off pesky boys for good. But soon my friend grew restless, drawn away by five o’clock shadows and multiple orgasms.

Ever the follower, I tagged along with her to a munch, where a group of kinky folks got together and one of the Doms presented on the topic of informed consent. That Saturday I bailed on my scheduled date with the VP of Internal Development to go with her to the local kink club. Soon I was going a couple of nights a week, and several play partners had narrowed down to one, and next thing I knew, we had signed a power exchange contract and were picking out curtains.

I had been so sure of myself, smug in the certainty that I was doing the right thing. Powerful during the day and submissive at night—wasn’t that every girl’s fantasy? So I had everything.

Until my Dom and boyfriend told me I was too needy, too clingy. He was looking for a partner, not a pet. I needed to move out. Obedient to the end, I left, lost and needier than ever. The sweet contradiction of confidence and humility crumbled, leaving only a mess.

Things blurred after that. There was a gap in my memory, but it was a small tithe for all that had been returned to me.

I remembered, again, arriving in a cold building. I remembered that none of the girls would meet my eyes, and how that scared me worse than the guns and masks that had come before. I had sworn they would never break me.

I had been wrong. It had only been the shell of a woman who woke up here under Sam’s reluctant guidance. Unable to speak, unable to remember, unable to even
think.

Not anymore.

In a sudden motion, I jerked my head back. A crack sounded in my ear, followed by a pained groan. The impact hurt me too, but if there was one thing to be grateful for in all this, it was that my pain tolerance was practically a superpower at this point. When he tried to restrain me by my hair, I felt it rip from my scalp. When he grabbed hold of my wrist, I twisted hard, sending agony through my shoulder by breaking free in the same motion.