The silence is broken by the heavy, clipped footsteps on the stone floor getting louder and more condemning as they approach us.
And then they stop behind me.
Nobody moves.
Let the mind games begin.
I want to roll my eyes at this show of drama because my give-a-fucks at this stage would have flown out the window if there was one in sight. But, I keep a lid on bringing any further unwanted attention to myself and getting the shit piled higher against me.
Disobedience always comes with punishment.
I know this play is all about bully tactics and eventually trying to bring me back into a submissive mindset, which is what William had trained me to believe was my position in life, but Boxer and Miss C showed me it wasn’t.
“Rose, my darling, you may turn her around,” a smooth, deep, accented voice orders the woman. I make my mind up as I’m released and pulled away from the wall, and turn around. I’m going to put a halt to showing any more fear because these people thrive on it. It strokes their ego and swells their confidence.
A slim arm slides around my neck, holding a long, cold blade to it, as I’m forced to confront my new enemy. The brutally sharp blade bites into my soft throat, a reminder of how fragile my life is.
That trigger has been activated again, and my breathing hitches, my legs threatening to give out on me. I wish I didn’t react like this, but I can’t stop it.
So much for not showing any fear, because I can’t be held accountable for those fucked up boxes.
My past has a way of taking the lead and overriding my initial intentions. I don’t see my enemy because the box bursts open containing the memories of my mistress having her throat slit, and my vision becomes bathed in a blood red thick coat of paint.
A strong arm holds me up, the sting of the cold metal slicing into my stretched neck deeper until it is pulled back.
I’m lost in my memories. They have taken me hostage as I watch my mistress’ death play out to me in slow, precise motions.
I can hear Master William talking to me, but can’t understand what he is saying over the blood-filled gurgles of my mistress as she fades away. I inhale and can smell the metallic scent in the air, which makes me want to throw up, so I shut my eyes, try to block the memories, and repackage them.
I’m being shaken while a deep voice is talking to me, and I don’t care to listen. It feels good zoning out. I seek out new images and force Miss Catherine and Boxer’s smiling faces to slide their way in, locking the other memories back inside their box. I want to be home so badly. I’ve got no clue how long I have been lost to my family.
A week or more?
I just want to wake up to the smells of one of Miss C’s breakfasts and go check on the gardens I have made around her house. Take a ride with Lincoln on the bikes.
Pain explodes across my cheek, snapping me out of my safe oasis I had taken myself to. I blink a few times at the woman now standing in front of me. The blade has been removed from my throat.
What is with all the bitch slapping? I am so over it.
My annoyance helps to balance out my fear as I regain my footing unassisted. The male voice is back, but he isn’t revealing himself to me as he stands behind me again. “Rose, assist her back to her room in The Pen. I will give her this one small measure and converse with her privately.”
Without hesitation, I am being marched to my cell, the dagger hovering over the layer of skin that could so easily be sheared wide open, ending my life if I disobey. I know blood is trickling from the cut, and no matter how much I want to wipe it away, I can’t.
I have not yet laid eyes on the man issuing the orders. He’s stayed behind us the whole time, while Catwoman keeps my feet moving one in front of the other.
Guards would have come for me before I had gotten as far as I did if I was being watched on the camera, surely. Had it been dumb luck I had made it this far? Or was there simply no way out for me and I was not at risk of escaping, hence the unlocked door?
Was it a test?
We come to a halt, and the door opens, revealing the room I walked out of. Rose lowers the blade and holsters it then shoves me toward the bed, and I collapse onto it, moving myself quickly into a seated position, conscious of my nearly naked body.
The ridiculous piece of clothing I’ve been dressed in is see-through, and I was aware of my naked breasts being visible. Thankfully, I’ve been allowed a scrap of material for underwear. I’m far from comfortable with how I look in front of these strangers, and that is very deliberate. They want to see my humiliation. It is all a part of the mind fuckery. I badly want to cover up, but I won’t show them my discomfort.
I dare not acknowledge the cut to my throat. It will only show weakness. The thin trail of blood continues its path south to be lost in my cleavage as I sit defiantly in front of these people.
Catwoman stands, arms crossed, glaring down at me like she would readily kill me rather than bother with me. I match her stare, trying to look into her soul and see if there is anything humane left inside of her.
I fear there is nothing.
“Rose, you can stand down and wait by the door.” The man enters the room, and for the first time, I dare to look at him. He is wearing a thick black leather mask. My skin itches as he takes the steps needed to sit on the bed beside me.
Instinct has me starting to move away from him. “Stay where you are.” His command reminds me of William. I know there will be a punishment for not doing as he orders while the woman named Rose is in the room and appears to be his weapon to command, so I halt my movements. I need to choose my fights.
He reaches out, trailing one manicured finger along the cut at my throat, swiping it across the injury, and bringing it slowly to his lips. He sucks his finger clean. He thinks he is unsettling me.
He would be wrong. I want to murder him.
“My name is Cezar, and I own you.” His words are matter-of-fact. He waits for me to let that sink in. He wants me to cry out in rage.
I won’t.
Been there, done that, had one Master already.
He continues assessing my behavior while looking for a crack in my armor. “Your room is in the area I like to call The Pen, and because you’ve been delivered to me,” he looks me up and down, “not in the condition I would have liked, and through no fault of your own, you will be given a grace period to rest. You will not leave this room unless assisted by Rose or one of my sentinels. Rose will introduce these men to you later.”
Sentinels? This guy’s ego is so shoved up his ass.
“There will be no lock on your door because you will obey me. However, there is the camera in your room I noticed you have already observed. Leaving this room unassisted will lead to a punishment you will sorely regret.”
He pats his pants softly. “Rose, darling, come sit on my lap.” She does as he requests, positioning herself to look at Cezar. He holds her by the back of her head and turns it to face me. Her eyes are glazed over; she isn’t really seeing me in this moment. I know that look. She’s in survival mode. “Open your mouth, Rose, and stick out your tongue.”
She opens her mouth dutifully, looking like a beautiful, soulless ventriloquist doll. I stare in horror at the hacked off piece of muscle that has been left behind. She has no tongue to stick out.