Pieces of Autumn (3 page)

"You'll be staying here for a little while," he said, guiding me inside. It was a room the size of a closet, clean, windowless, with a small cot, a sink, and a gleaming chrome toilet in the corner.
 

A prison cell.

I turned to ask him how long, not that I expected an answer, but just to hear the sound of my own voice. To remind myself I was still alive. But the door was already closed.

I was left alone, in silence, with nothing but my thoughts.

"You belong to me now."

I tossed and turned, twisted, tried to escape. But something was holding me down. I was frozen, immobile, unable to scream no matter how hard I tried. And even if I could, who would hear me?

Who would care?

I couldn't see his face. I could never see his face. Even as he came close to me, closer than he ever had before, touching me, his fingers closing around my wrist, his features were still obscured in shadow.
 

Fighting, thrashing, I tried to ignore the tingling feeling that crept up my arm, at his touch. The electricity. I was covered in goosebumps, and all he was doing was holding my arm.

He
did
own me.

I might not accept it, but my body's reaction proved that he controlled me in a way I didn't understand.

"No," I whispered, in vain.

"No, what?" he whispered back. His grip tightened.

"I don't want this. Please." Hot tears leaked from my eyes.

"Oh?"

His thumb stroked the sensitive underside of my wrist, and I shuddered.

Even though I couldn't see his face, I knew that he was smiling.

Joshua came for me early the next morning. I had woken up from my nightmare soaked in sweat, and sat there awake for the rest of the night, my knees hugged in tightly to my chest.

"I need a shower," I said to him, as soon as he unlocked the door.

"You'll get one soon enough." His expression was irritated, preoccupied. "Come. Mr. Charles wants you to entertain a guest today."

From the way he said it, I guessed he didn't agree with the plan. It was the first time I'd seen him display real emotion, and I hoped it would make him a little talkative.

"What kind of guest?" I asked him.

"The only kind we have." He was walking briskly, and I had to make an effort to keep up. "That's what they call potential customers."

They
. Interesting word choice.

Wait.
Customers
?

"Already?" My heart skipped a few beats. "But I just...I just got here."

"You won't leave right away," he said. "The guest knows that. But he saw you in the catalog, and he wanted to meet you during his appointment."

"Oh." That wasn't particularly comforting.

Why the hell did I do this?

Because it seemed like a better option than selling yourself on the streets until Birdy caught up to you.

"This guest is very particular," Joshua went on. "So you'll need to be on your best behavior. If he likes you, we'll put you through the expedited training program."

"Training for what?" I regretted asking the question, as soon as it came out of my mouth.

He glanced at me briefly, with an expression I couldn't quite read. "All sorts of things. Etiquette. Dancing. Cooking and serving food. Submission in all things, including the bedroom."
 

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, unable to stop myself.

"It's not so bad," he said, flatly. "You get used to it."

Two weeks? Expedited program?
Submission
?

They really were going to turn me into a slave. At least, they were going to try.

"That's a lot to learn in two weeks," I said.

He glanced at me again, like he wanted to say something, but couldn't.

After a long elevator ride, I realized he was taking me back to the boardroom. Even behind the closed doors, loud voices were escaping into the hallway. I couldn't distinguish any words. Just anger and frustration.

As the doors swung open, the conversation abruptly stopped. All the men at the table looked up, eyes on me.

I clenched my jaw, staring back. Daring them to believe I was less than human.

"Gentlemen, we'll continue this discussion later," said Mr. Charles.

"We can continue it now," a younger man protested. He kept glancing at me, his eyes devouring my body in a way that made me feel sick. "This is absurd. Are we really going to pander to an old man's ghost? Look at her. She'll fetch a good price."

"There is no discussion," said Mr. Charles. "She never should have ended up in the catalog. I wasn't consulted. We'll let Mr. Farber meet her, but he's not going to like her any better than the others. Especially when he hears she's untrained."

The younger man let out a disgusted sigh. "I just want my objection on record. You really think the old man would still want this, knowing what we know? You want to keep trying to appease that cold-blooded killer he loved so much?"

Mr. Charles was glaring. "Lambert," he hissed, momentarily turning vicious. My blood ran cold. "That's
enough
."

Lambert raised an eyebrow in my direction, and I shivered. "I just think she deserves to know who she's destined for."

What the hell is he talking about?

"Well, if Mr. Farber likes her, this whole discussion will be moot," said Mr Charles, mildly. "You may get your way after all."

"You know he won't," said Lambert, sourly. "He's never liked any of them. I think he only comes here for the free drinks, and the power trip." He sneered. "After he turns up his nose, like he always does, you're really planning on shipping this poor thing off to..."

He drifted off, seeing Mr. Charles' face.

"Well," said the older man, shaking off his look of murderous rage and glancing in our direction. He addressed Joshua first. "Did you let her know about our guest?"

"I don't think she's ready," Joshua replied. "We can't expect her to put on the full show. He knows that, doesn't he?"

Mr. Charles just shrugged. "He's meeting five girls, I doubt he's going to focus too much on one particular flaw. If he likes her, he likes her."

Joshua looked troubled, and I couldn't quite understand why. Of course, I didn't understand most of what was happening here. It was all some strange, parallel universe, where it was normal to talk about selling off human beings.

To murderers, apparently.

I wasn't sure if I should be praying that Mr. Farber would turn his nose up at me, or inexplicably take a liking to me and save me from whatever fate awaited me otherwise. Cold-blooded killer didn't sound too good...but then again, anyone who was plotting the deaths of these men couldn't be too bad himself.

Could he?

Or he could be worse.

"It's not up for discussion, I'm afraid," said Mr. Charles, with a frozen smile. "Mr. Lambert sees who Mr. Lambert wants to see. You know that. Get her ready. He'll be here at three o'clock, and I want her looking flawless."

Joshua took me to another one of the suite-like rooms I'd seen when I first came here, and once again waited while I showered. This time, he had a slinky red dress for me to change into. It clung to me heavily, cut in a low V on my chest so that the top of my stomach was displayed. A few inches lower, the fabric was gathered to draw attention to the center of my pelvis.

I'd been instructed to apply the makeup waiting for me on the counter. The bright red lipstick and deep smoky eye shadow completed the look. I was like a horrible parody of beautiful elegance.
 

A pair of matching stiletto heels was waiting for me by the door. I slipped them on, praying I wouldn't have to walk far in them. I might not be able to, not without twisting my ankle, anyway. It occurred to me that they weren't meant for walking.

I shivered.

"Where are we going?" I asked Joshua.

"Nowhere," he said. "Mr. Farber will come here." He reached into his pocket and produced a pair of garish gold earrings, and a similarly ridiculous necklace. "Put these on."

Just as I fiddled with the clasp, there was a knock at the door. Joshua hurried to answer it.

I held my breath as Mr. Farber walked in.

He went straight for me, his face angry and unsmiling. I forced myself not to react, even as he stopped just a few inches from me.

In another life he might've been handsome, but there was a stink of bitterness and desperation about him. It made me recoil, but I forced it down, reminding myself that this was better than the alternative. I smiled sweetly and drew my head up, not flinching when he grabbed my chin and forced it higher.

He sneered.

"Really? This is the best you've got?"

"She's brand new," Joshua said. "Is there something wrong?"

"Doesn't look like in the picture." He was looking at me, but at the same time, he really
wasn't
. His eyes examined me like an object in a store. "You people have to stop with your deceptive business practices."

There was a sense of relief -
he doesn't want me
. But there was anger, too, at the way he looked at me, touched me, like I was a piece of garbage. Was this really going to be my life?

What if
no one
wanted me?

What would Stoker do then?

Send me to a cold-blooded killer, evidently.

"I assure you, there's nothing deceptive here," said Joshua, crisply. "If she's not to your liking, your appointment still includes four more viewings."

With a sharp sigh, the guest walked around me, his eyes coldly evaluating. "If you really cared about keeping me as a customer, you'd make more of an effort to impress me."

"If you recall, you're not
actually
a customer." Joshua was starting to lose patience with him, but he was keeping himself in check. "Whatever your tastes, they don't seem to include anything that human genetics can offer. Have you considered creating yourself a wife in the lab?"

The guest let out a long, braying laugh. "You're lucky I'm on a good mood, boy." He poked his finger in Joshua's chest, but the driver didn't flinch. "I've got particular tastes. I'll give you that. But this offering is just sad. This bitch can't even smile." He turned back to me suddenly, glaring. "
Smile
, slut!"

My mouth must have turned down when I wasn't paying attention. I forced the corners of my mouth back up, because I didn't want to think about what would happen if I didn't.

"Ugh," he said, with a dismissive gesture, turning his back to me. "You see what I'm talking about? She can't even pretend to like me now. What's it going to be like later on, when I really give her something to frown about? I can't have that. She needs to be
perfect
, for the price you're asking. I'm here now because I don't want to pick up a slut from the streets, and all you're doing is cleaning them up a little and presenting them to me in a nicer wrapping. Aren't your girls supposed to be the
best
?"

"If you think you can do better, feel free to see yourself out." Joshua was tapping his foot. "Are we finished here?"

The guest's eyes flashed back to me. "Well. How about a taste test?"

Please God, no.

"Jesus Christ," said Joshua, going for the door. "This isn't a God damn ice cream shop. Can we move on, please?"

Letting out another donkey laugh, the guest finally, mercifully left.

I sat there numbly on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. I had dodged a bullet, but for how long? How many more times? And how much worse would it get, the longer I stayed here?

Joshua returned a few moments later, snapping his fingers again. God, I hated that sound.

"Change," he said, shoving the plain white dress in my direction again. "Quickly. Mr. Charles needs to see you again."

I didn't like the sound of that.

The boardroom was decidedly subdued, when we walked back in. Lambert was barely masking his irritation, and that frightened me more than anything. He might be incredibly lecherous and unnerving, but seemed to be the only person advocating for my safety.

"Good news," Mr. Charles said, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Things are moving even quicker than I thought. It's time for you to go to your new home."

My throat constricted.

"
Now
?" I managed to croak, after a moment.

"I know, I know," he tutted, coming close to lay his hand on my shoulder. "It wouldn't have been my first choice, either. I would've liked to give you a little more time to get acclimated. But I'm absolutely sure you'll be just fine."

"But I thought he didn't..." A few men were advancing on me, and I felt a wave of panic rise. "I thought he wasn't interested."

"Oh, not
him
," said Mr. Charles. "You're going somewhere special. This is quite an honor, young lady."

His words horrified me. I lurched forward, but my arms were already being held back. The cold-blooded killer. That's who they were sending me to.

In the dark corners of my mind, the voice murmured.

You belong to me now.

I felt a little pinch in my arm, and a moment later I felt nothing at all.

CHAPTER THREE

Tate

"What is this?" a voice was saying.

I blinked. Once, twice, three times. Was it dark, or was I blind?

"I don't want it," the voice said.

The voice said: "Take it back."

A short
hmph
of laughter. Another man spoke, and I recognized Joshua's voice. "You know I can't do that."

There was a long, stretching silence. I blinked, and blinked again. Tried to move. Something was wrong. My arms. My legs. They wouldn't respond. And my breathing - it was labored, it was harsh, like something was covering my mouth.

There's something on my head. That's why I can't see.

I struggled again, and started to feel something rubbing against my wrists and ankles. Rope.
 

I stilled. So, I wasn't blind or injured, as far as I could tell. That was a positive sign.

"This isn't my responsibility," said the unfamiliar voice. "And you can tell Charles -"

"Fine." Joshua cut him off. "Her blood will be on your hands, then."