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Destiny is a higher power than any other.
Even love.
Winnie’s collar jingles as she prances at Rudy’s feet, excited to go out. With ruthless efficiency, he bends, clips the leash on the dog’s collar, and opens the door with a fierce, chivalrous gesture that forces my shoulders back, my chin up. My breasts thrust forward, hips rolling as I walk, the soles of my feet grounding me.
Trained to walk this way, I find it intuitive now. My core connects me to the power of Mother Earth.
It is exactly seven p.m. Not one minute earlier, nor later.
Every action has an equal but opposite reaction in our world. While that may be a law of physics, I have been trained differently. Nothing I do is the opposite of what Rudy demonstrates. I am too aligned. We mirror each other, though nothing is equal here.
Equality is for the masses.
I am anything but part of a crowd.
Winnie takes the lead, pulling hard on the leash. After voiding herself, she takes to the sidewalk with a practiced grace, headed for the car. Rudy opens the door, and she hops in, headed straight for the small, secured carrier on the seat. A waterproof mat covers the upholstery.
We are six-tenths of a mile from our dog obedience class. Instead of walking, we drive. Chris, one of my other bodyguards, waves from his post at the side of the house where he poses as a gardener.
Only recently has Rudy gained my masters’ approval for trips without a second man on watch.
“Oh, God,” Rudy groans the second I climb in the front, Winnie beginning to whine for attention. “Shut that dog up.”
Fear spikes through me, but I do not cower. Overriding my body’s responses is one of my purposes in life.
A man like Rudy will not be the cause of my failure.
I refuse to let him.
Out of view of others, he takes liberties. Verbal liberties, of course. Even Rudy dare not touch me.
Touching me means certain death.
I say nothing. Winnie stops. Rudy turns on the radio, flipping to a music station that features oldies from the 1980s and 1990s.
A Pearl Jam song begins. I know the name of the band only because of him. Rudy is vocal about his likes and dislikes.
“You ever get tired of all this, Princess?” he asks me, the question rhetorical as he turns left. We’re only three minutes away, the drive easy, but Rudy relishes it. My masters trust very few people to be alone with me.
Rudy is one of them.
He’s useful, too. Listening to unapproved radio stations fills a hunger in me I didn’t know was there. It is forbidden, yet I like it.
Worry catches in my lungs like wet tissue paper, making it hard to breathe, but oh, how I yearn to learn. The radio announcers talk about wars in other countries, economic progress and decline, the lascivious behavior of music stars I have never heard of – and all of it soaks into me like a sponge.
When you are parched, every drop has more meaning.
“Join us!” cries out a man from the radio, his voice bold and full, seductive and strong. “We are a community of believers. What do you believe? Find friends, find community, and find salvation in the Lord at 14th and Vine every Wednesday night at seven and every Sunday morning at nine. Check our website at -- ”
The voice ends abruptly.
“Stupid fake preachers,” Rudy mutters as he shuts off the radio. “Who lets this crap be played on a Classic Rock radio station?”
“Preachers,” I say with a sigh. “So misinformed.”
He snorts. “You think you know the true religion?”
“I am the true religion,” I remind him, my words solid and true. The look he gives me makes my skin chill, his eyes narrowing. Do men’s eyes drift up and down every woman’s body the way Rudy’s do?
