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“Get out.” She speaks with a snarl, pulling me back to the present.
My skin feels like it’s on fire and the pain between my legs throbs as I step out of the tub. With her gloves still on, she takes her time rubbing my raw skin dry with the towel before moving to dry my hair.
“Follow me.”
She grabs the string and fabric contraption she had earlier and exits the bathroom, expecting me to obey. My legs areshakier than before and my stomach is in knots, turning on itself. I still want to be sick, but again, I don’t want to suffer the consequences.
Inside a small room now, with a single bed pushed up against the far wall and a dressing table and mirror up against another, I stand and wait patiently for Mrs. Grouse to do whatever she needs to do.
“I have two guards outside and a gun in my waistband, so if you even think of attempting anything like last time, I won’t think twice about killing you. Fuck where you came from.”
What is she talking about?Other than guilt, which I highly doubt they’ll feel, consequences don’t affect these people. She’s being dramatic, as usual, and I refrain from rolling my eyes. I’m just a thing they own, something they bought as part of their messed up Firm thing.
I may be battered and beaten, but I refuse to ever let them break me. The longer I’m back here with them, the more I just know this isn’t it for my life. It can’t be. It would be too cruel a thing to have this life until the day I die, which is the only reason I think I’m still living. There will always be a tiny spark of hope for more and I think that’s the only thing getting me through this right now.
“Sit down and raise a leg.” I do as I’m told and she bends a little with a black stocking rolled up and ready to slide onto my leg. She doesn’t get to her knees, she never does, instead, she insists I lift my leg as high as possible to make it easier for her.
I could kick her in the face… it would be so satisfying, but my energy levels are below running on fumes so I wouldn’t get very far. The last time, I only made it because I had planned, I had waited, and I had prepared. The guard I killed had been a complication I didn’t account for and moved up my schedule a little, but when he tried to climb on top of me I just couldn’t take it anymore. It had to be that moment.
Mrs. Grouse dresses me in black stockings, a sheer black wrap that barely covers me down there with strings holding it up, and a thin strip of matching fabric across my breasts. Then she primps and prods at my hair and face with various pins and makeup, and when she’s finally done, she stands back to admire her work.
“Perfect. You look a bit skinnier than usual, though. Hmm. He won’t like that. We’ll have Mrs. Laurel bring you some extra food. Make sure you eat it.”
They’ve always looked after me to some extent. Getting to the point of death is something they’ve always seemed to avoid with me. Although sometimes I wished for it. Figuring out why they want to keep me alive is a whole other thing. It makes no sense. They could just buy a new slave, but I think it’s the mistress and her weird obsessions.
I try to stay still, like the doll she is so proud of, but my head is spinning and I know I won’t last for what they have planned tonight. They may not be trying to kill me, but my current condition is far from top shape. I’ll be expected to serve food and drinks to their guests, and even myself, if that’s what they want.
“Now, go and find Mrs. Laurel in the kitchen. She will hand you your first tray. Chadwick will make sure you get there without incident.”
I nod lightly in response, because anything more would send my head in a bigger spin than my current situation.
The new burn on my shoulder still throbs and stings, like it’s going through layer after layer of my flesh, but I grin and follow her out of the room.
“Chadwick, please take the slave to the kitchen and hand her off to Mrs. Laurel, but don’t take your eyes off her.”
“Yes, Mistress.” The tall, wide man is foreboding, his hair shorn close to his head, his eyes dark, but his façade is ruined when I spot the smudges by his neck, then on his hand… he iswearing fake tan and it looks bad. Like, really bad. Mrs. Grouse tried to use it on me once but it didn’t go well and the memory of her scrubbing my skin raw again makes me shudder.
One of the old maids used to wear it a lot too, and she’d always have to boil-wash her uniform to get it off of her clothes. If I focus on these minor details, it’s easier to block out the bad going on all around me.
Mrs. Grouse turns and saunters off, her nose high in the air, and Chadwick grips the top of my arm, hard, his fingertips digging into my flesh as he drags me down the hall after him. We get to the main dining room, where all the guests are congregating behind those double doors, and I’m just grateful we’re not going in there straight away. The longer I can avoid it, the better.
“Oh, there’s our troublemaker.” Master appears as if from nowhere with his entourage of followers surrounding him.
I guess they weren’t in the dining room yet.
His brows are furrowed, his eyes wild and angry, and his mouth is curled into a snarl of epic proportions. He’s pissed. This never bodes well for me.
Suddenly, one of the men beside him moves to my other side, gripping the opposite arm to Chadwick. His hold is bruising, tight, as uncomfortable as I imagine it would be in the Underworld with Hades.
Although, Hades isn’t looking too bad right about now because Not-Chadwick lifts a cloth up to my face, holding it over my nose and mouth.
I know that smell.
The edges of my vision begin to blur. I know I’m about to pass out and I’m trying not to panic, but I make out Master’s words before I do.
“Looks like you made an impression on your little vacation, Slave.”
Chapter Twenty-One