Tight (30 page)

He lifted me onto a bed and I slept for some time, the mattress so soft compared to the trunk, compared to my cell’s mattress. I woke when he ripped the tape off. The handcuffs were removed next, and I rolled my ankles and wrists for a while before walking to the bathroom.

It had been so long since I’d looked in a mirror that I’d forgotten what I looked like. I leaned forward and gingerly touched my cheeks. Saw the stranger before me do the same. The stranger with the faded black eye. The stranger who looked stronger than I ever did. Who stood straight and glared into the mirror and dared me to criticize her scars. I stepped back. Used the restroom, washed my hands with the bar soap, then glanced at him. Got permission and opened the makeup bag that sat on the counter with trembling fingers.

I pulled out the contents and lined them up, in a neat row on the counter.

Revlon Photoready 3D Volume Mascara: Black

Maybelline Instant Age Rewind Eraser Concealer: Light

Revlon ColorStay Pressed Powder: Light/Medium

Revlon Super Lustrous Lipstick: #680 Temptress

The wrong colors for me, but I didn’t care. They were used cosmetics, which bothered me more. Who had they belonged to? Where had they come from?

“It would be in your best interest to look nice.” He spoke from the doorway, a few steps away, and watched me. I wished for a door between us, some privacy in this moment. I reached for the concealer, applied it generously, painting the bruises white, the black eye pale. I used every trick my mother had ever taught me. Took my time with my brows, applied mascara with a shaky hand and lined my lips carefully before applying the color. Finger-combed through my hair and wished for a curler, something to tame the wild mess it had become.

Then, I laughed. I couldn’t help myself, the sound bubbled out of me, as foreign in my throat as his cock. What was I
doing
? Why was I
trying
? I wanted a
curler
? There I was, hours from being sold, and I was worried about my looks. About making a good impression. I stared at my reflection and had the sudden desire to slam my head forward, into the glass. Had a mild moment of pleasure at the idea of him trying to sell me then, a bloody-faced girl with glass in her hair.

Instead I turned, like a good little slave, and faced him.

“What am I going to wear?”

“There’s a dress hanging in the closet.” He touched the edge of my elbow as I passed, my entire body jerking to a stop at the contact. “You look very nice,” he said quietly.

“Thank you, sir.” I intoned, my head down.

The dress was plain, a short black number, Ross tags still attached. I slid it on and stepped in front of the mirror.

“Perfect,” he murmured from behind me, his eyes critiquing every inch of the look, his hand tucking in the tags, smoothing out the fabric.

I kept my eyes down and forced a smile.

***

I don’t think that there has ever been a moment in my life where I knew, with absolute certainty, that my entire life was about to change. I didn’t realize it the night I was abducted. Didn’t realize it, as a baby, the night of my birth. But this night, I knew it. I knew that every action I took would have some form of consequences for the rest of my life. One wrong glance, one misstep... and it could end in death, or worse - a lifetime of torture.

I broke every rule I’d ever made for myself and cooperated. Let him cuff my hands. Stepped from the room and through the parking lot and didn’t scream. Saw my first sky in unknown years and stared. Took a seat in the front seat of a car I had never seen next to a man that I wanted dead. Quietly sat while he drove me through a city whose name I didn’t know. The car stopped, started, accelerated, slowed. Turned twenty-odd times before pulling down a street and stopping.

I’d been down streets like this before. Cobblestoned paths that led between buildings centuries old. I walked down a street like this with Brett before. He bought a flower from a street kid and tucked it in my hair. Pulled me into an alley and kissed my mouth, put his hand up my dress and caressed my thigh.

I shouldn’t have thought of Brett. The man who used to give me strength—just that slight thought of him broke my veneer. Made my hands shake and my stomach twist. I always thought, in the confines of that basement, that he would find me. Now, hours from that home, in a city I didn’t recognize, where I would be sold to a real Master, not some psychotic slave researcher... he’d never find me. Not him, not my father, not the police. I would be lost, I would be a statistic, like so many I had heard about over the course of my training.

The car settled into park and I looked at my hands. Felt the brush of his palm on my bare shoulder and fought the urge to recoil.

“I’ve been very impressed with you, Kitten. Maybe you
are
smart enough to keep this up.”

I wished he would just shut up. Find a bridge in this country and jump off of it. I stared at my hands and waited for him to come around, open my door, lead me to slaughter.

When we entered the room we were greeted by a voice. I stared at the shoes of the man speaking, shiny and perfect, and wondered if he had a wife who polished them. Polished them and straightened his tie, kissing his cheek before waving goodbye. I wondered if this man beat her or if he treated her like a queen. I wondered, not for the first time, at whether my keeper had someone, a wife or girlfriend who he feigned affection and forced smiles for. I wondered if he carried around a clipboard and bugged
her
with questions all day.

“There are fifteen buyers here tonight. The rest of the group is in the main room. You only brought her?”

“Yes. And I’m also looking to purchase.” I could hear the eagerness in his voice, a nerd wanting to sit at the cool kids’ table.

“Oh.” Polished Shoes shifted.
Ha
. I smiled to myself. He heard it too. “Have you been here before?”

“A while ago. We spoke then. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”

“Then you already know the house rules. Please wear these two pins, they’ll indicate that you are both buying and selling. I suggest you make Buyer 43’s acquaintance. He’s always looking for American girls to purchase, though he typically breaks them himself.”

“He’s here? I’ve heard his name before.” I could practically hear him quiver with excitement. This was it. What his months of research, his stacks of journals had led to. I hadn’t had a chance, begging for my life a few days earlier. This was a moment he’d been waiting for, planning for, for a very long time. I’d just been the stupid girl who had given him a key to the city.

“He rarely misses a sale.”

“Well, let’s go in.” He put pressure on my arm and I stepped forward, following his lead, the two of us following the shiny shoes through the doors.

In the entryway, my head down, listening to the conversation of my keeper and the greeter, I wanted to raise my head, look around. See what I was walking into. But, stepping down a wide hall, I suddenly didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to know. Heard, before us, screams of women, cries of terror and desperation. I slowed my steps, felt his hand close on my wrist and tighten. A warning.

My steps increased in speed, my chest hammering as I blew a shaky breath out. Tonight, I would be sold. The further we went, the more my ears understood. There were two groups of sound before us, a division of order and chaos, and when the hall ended, I tilted my head right, raising my eyes enough to see a hallway, the screams of women coming from that direction. To my right, a quiet hum mixed with delicate strands of music.

“Kitten, look at me.”

I lifted my eyes, then my chin, looking into his face.

“Can I trust you to make the right choice?” He held up a handcuff key. Moved his gaze right, then left. “I can take you either place. Two different groups of buyers. It’s up to you.”

I swallowed. Fought the urge to glance right, one woman’s long howl cutting a path through my composure. I held up my wrists. “I will be good, Master. I promise.”

He smiled. Worked the cuff’s lock open as I dropped my gaze. I saw his hand, long fingers that have yanked my hair, slapped my face, violated me...slip the cuffs into the pants pocket of his suit. A suit. I missed that detail, too absorbed in my own fate. Is that the proper outfit to wear when shopping for a soul?

“Ready, Buyer 214?” Polished Shoes had moved left, to the door.

“Please. Lead the way.”

When the door opened, it brought with it the smell.

tight (tīt)

(adj.)
very firm so as not to let go

“a tight grip”

The smell was of men, a raw animal scent of domination and want. Of competition, them all just a few steps short of beating their chests and howling. We stepped forward, my hands clasped together, head down, the room a quiet roar of conversation, male voices stacked upon male voices, in the background, the clink of metal and glassware, small bits of feminine voices sprinkled in. I listened for screams, but heard none. Relaxed slightly and felt his hand on my back, guiding me through the crowds. Saw Polished Shoes’ departure, the handshake that passed between the two vultures, a bit of cash exchanged in the clasp.

“Would you like a drink?” his voice was low and nervous, and I watched the tic of his hand, fluttering against his coat pocket, as if unsure whether to go in or out of the space.

“No thank you, Master.” I could be good. I could behave. Maybe we could go back to Phase One, this time with my cooperation. My life, in Phase One, had been a bearable one.

I felt the stiffening before I saw it, the switch that flipped and knew, even before the shoes came into view, that we were being approached. A single set of men’s dark brown dress shoes. A buyer.

“She looks American.” I searched for a hint in the man’s voice, an accent, an inflection, but got nothing from those words.

“She is. And well-trained.”

“Fully broken?”

“Yes.”

“She looks rough, like she’s been punished recently.”

There was a pause before he spoke, a moment where I felt a ridiculous moment of hurt, the criticism stinging. I had never been described as ‘rough.’ Never considered, in the hours leading up to this, the possibility that I might not be wanted.

He finally spoke. “Not a punishment. Just my form of sex.” He laughed, an awkward bark, and the man stepped back.

“Not my thing. Good luck.”

Not my thing
. I wanted to call out,
Wait!
It’s not my thing either! We’d be perfect together!
Instead, I watched his shoes move a few steps over, heard his greet of another couple. Cheated a bit and lifted my eyes to the right. Saw shoes and slacks and bare legs displayed on heels. People everywhere.

“Keep your eyes down,” he hissed. “And try to look fucking pleasant.”

Pleasant
? I weighed, for a brief moment, the downfalls associated with a swift pivot left and a strong knee to the balls. The thought brought a small smile. Then a strange hand, one that curved around my waist and pinched my skin, so hard and sharp that I wheezed in a breath of protest, stopped that smile.

“Nice... very nice.” The stranger hissed when he spoke, his body a stench of alcohol and cologne, my nose getting a front seat to the party when he pulled me closer, against his chest, his thick features rolling into place as he smacked thick lips together and squinted at me from inches away. I dropped my eyes, said nothing,
did
nothing, even as his hand traveled down my back and possessively squeezed my ass.

“How much?”

Not this man, not this man
. I’d take a thousand clipboard questions and beg for my keeper’s touch before I served this man.

“Fifteen thousand.”

Fifteen thousand
? I almost lifted my head, almost broke character and stared at my keeper.
That
is all I was worth? That is what the training and hell was for? To increase my value to the point to where my skin fetched the price of a
used fucking
Camry?

“That’s too much,” the man drawled, his fingers moving across my ass cheeks and digging into the crack. I bit the inside of my cheek and struggled not to speak.