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CHAPTER THREE
MATTHEW
Two Months Later
“What the fuck do you mean she’s gone?” I yell at the asshole behind the counter.
“Sir, you need to calm down, getting angry will not help anything.”
I swear I hear his words, but my mind can’t even fathom how this happened. Where the fuck did they go? Just when I was able to find someone who would believe me when I told them that the Grants were abusive. The investigation was supposed to be quiet. The social worker who was assigned to the Grants was caught taking payments and looking the other way on several of her cases. It took a young boy dying for the people in charge to even question the woman, but finally, I was getting somewhere.
What if someone tipped them off and they ran? I slam my hands down on the counter, causing several people in the small office to jump. “What are you doing to find my girl?” The menace in my voice is palpable, and the man takes a step back, fearing that I’m about to jump the counter. He’s right to be afraid, I am pissed, and right now, he’s the one who’s pissed me off.
“Matthew, I know you’ve been helping with the investigation. I swear to you we have been watching the house for weeks. We sent the new caseworker in yesterday, and when we went to collect the children today, the house was deserted,” he explains. My worst nightmare is coming into fruition. “We have spoken to the police. They’re looking for them. We’ve got Amber Alerts for all the kids in their care. We will find them.” I can hear the lie in his voice, he knows the likelihood that they will be found is slim to none. I mean honestly, who cares if they disappear? It means the state is free of ten mouths to feed each month. Rose, Benny, Christi, Amy, and all the others are no longer Child Services problem. They no longer have to care what happens to ten unwanted children. To them, their burden just got smaller.
I walk out of the building, knowing in my heart that my Rosie is lost to me forever.
CHAPTER FOUR
ROSE
Ten Years Later
“Five!” I cry as the cane lashes into my tender flesh again.
The pain is almost more than I can stand, but I must for my Master. The whooshing sound makes me anticipate the blow, and I can’t help clenching before it makes contact. The impact throws me off balance, and my elbows slip off the bench, which is wet from a mixture of sweat and tears. Master grabs my hair, halting my inevitable fall. The vicious grip on my hair is agonizingly painful as most of my weight is supported by the hold he has on my long blonde hair. I quickly right myself on the bench, whimpering in relief when he releases my hair.
My concentration is broken by a snort of laughter that brings me back to myself fully. I can feel the eyes of our audience pierce through me. I know they’re watching me closely. I’m Damon Savada’s new slave. Everyone wants to see. I’m a novice. Despite my past, I’ve had no formal slave training. I can only imagine the people watching are finding my performance sorely lacking.
This is my first public scene and my first caning. I knew I wasn’t ready. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to have an audience for my humiliation. But I must endure. I’ve survived worse; besides, this is for a good cause.
For my future.
A future free of servitude.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I had to become a slave to a sadist to earn my freedom. This is still better than— I shake myself out of that line of thinking. I can’t go there right now. Right now, I need to focus on being the perfect slave for my Master. I cannot fail in this.
I suck a quick breath through my teeth, wincing in pain. I’ve unconsciously been chewing on my inner cheek—an old habit I can’t seem to shake—I taste the saltiness of blood as it coats my tongue. I take a few soothing breaths, thankful for the short respite from my punishment. I have no illusions that he’s done.
The temptation to look behind me to see what has him distracted is almost too much to withstand. I’ve already learned that lesson, though. I’m to keep my eyes on the floor. Curiosity will only result in further punishment. With a force of will that was hard-won in worse circumstances than this, I fight the temptation and keep my eyes averted. I use the reprieve to try and calm my nerves.
Several minutes or maybe it was merely seconds later, the cane strikes me on my sensitive upper thighs. My body involuntarily jerks away from the hit, and I cry out like a banshee. Immediately following that stroke, three more come in quick succession all to my upper thighs, each one harder than the last. I’m sobbing in earnest, my throat raw from screaming as line after line of fire is lit on my body. All I know is pain. The blows keep coming, and all I can do is whimper and pray he stops.
Oh God, please, no more. No more, please, I pray to the same god who abandoned me to the monsters years ago. Despite everything, or maybe because of everything I’ve been through, I still believe. One day, my prayers will be sincere enough that they’re answered.
I am floating in a sea of lava, my entire body burning. I feel apart from myself. Maybe I’ve finally passed out from the pain? A small part of me hopes that’s the case. For the first time since Damon led me on stage, there is silence. The murmuring of the audience has ceased, and I can no longer hear the whistle of the cane flying through the air.
Would I still feel the strikes if I were unconscious? Maybe God heard my prayers after all and granted me oblivion. I’m prepared to sink into the nothingness when suddenly I’m jerked up by my arm. I cry out as the sweet numbness that was taking over is snatched away. Damon yanks me to my feet and pulls me against him. My abused back held to his chest. Did I think it hurt before? The rough fabric of his suit is like a million points of pain.
I attempt to protest, but I haven’t got the strength to do more than whimper and cry. He pushes me forward, and I stumble, kept upright only by Damon’s hold on my arm. His fingers dig into me until I can feel it in my bones. He gives me a shake, and my stomach rolls. I plead with my stomach to save me the indignity of throwing up.
“She’s mine, we have a contract. This is none of your business!” Damon shouts at someone. I try really hard to concentrate on what’s happening around me, but I keep losing focus in the haze of excruciating pain as Damon shakes me like a rag doll at whoever he’s arguing with.
“You made this my business when you brought the girl here,” says the stranger. “Now let her go and leave. Consider your membership revoked.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but that doesn’t stop Damon.
“Like I said, we have a contract, the bitch owes me, and I intend to collect.” Damon shakes me hard, causing my head to flop as if to emphasize his point. I’m no stronger than a limp noodle, and definitely no match for his anger.
Please, no more. I silently pray and beg for mercy. I was so stupid. I never should’ve made a deal with him, no matter how desperate my situation. If this is any indication of how the next six months are going to go, he’ll probably kill me before I earn my freedom.
