Chords that Bind Ch. 08

"Such a wanton for a virgin, Lace" The Russian observed. "I'm not entirely convinced."

A finger pushed into her tight entrance. A man with a North Jersey accent answered, "She's tight enough though, come feel her little cunt. I'd buy it." Cecilia was helpless as she was rudely fingered and discussed like one would a racehorse. She couldn't help the fact that she had been kept on the brink and responded to the touches. But Master saw what was happening.

"Gentlemen, I assure you, she's a virgin, but as you can see, she isn't allowed to come, so if you'd please refrain..." Gerry trailed off, enjoying humiliating the girl one more time.

James and Abraham looked to each other, shocked at the depravity. "A virgin?" Abe mouthed to him. James shook his head and ground his teeth. He hadn't known. A part of him ached to fully possess the creature. Even though she had been kidnapped and held against her will she was untouched. An innocent in every sense of the word, and he had to tamp down the side of him that wanted to do more than just save her.

The Arab took notice of the whip marks, stroking down the girl's back making her shudder, "What did she do Lace? This was quite a punishment," he asked.

"I believe I'll let Mr.—oh, beg your pardon—Sir Ashton, tell you that."

James had been hanging back from the others staring intently on his prize as other men had the nerve to touch what should be his. Summoning up a cruelty that he never liked to admit he had, he answered Lace without looking at him. He paced towards the girl slowly as he listed the sins that had led to her appalling abuse.

"The girl had the nerve to disobey. She spoke out of turn. Most disrespectful on the whole. Doesn't really have the proper attitude, but she is comely enough." James bit back his derision for Lace and channeled it into the contempt in his voice, continuing, "She even had me convinced that she didn't want to be here, as if she wasn't obviously a slut. Just look at her for Christ sakes. Dripping from both ends."

Cecilia opened her eyes and recognized the blonde man from the other day. The one who had tried to help her. He was no friend to her, she could see now that there was no goodness in him, only sadistic intent: he had only pretended to help her, only now to be adding to her fear and sorrow. It was just a farce, she had heard Master say he 'ordered' her, had listed the qualities he'd wanted trained and beaten into her. This man terrified her the most of the men in the room. As he ridiculed her, he started walking towards her, and she wondered if he would strike her too. He was boring holes under her skin, and the rigidity with which he held himself was too intense. The huge man next to him with the bald head seemed to be his body guard, and she didn't want to know how quickly she would be subdued if she tried to run again.

James saw the terror in her eyes as Cecilia recognized him. It broke his heart, but he couldn't drop his guise now. Everyone in the room was sizing him up. He walked to her with his hand raised, ready to convince the whole room he could be just as demented as they, when Lace stepped in front of him.

The fury in Ashton was astounding, and Lace knew he had unleashed something in the man the other day. There was no crisis of conscience now; in fact he was sure the man was about to hit his merchandise. "I'll ask you to not strike the girl Sir, at least until she's yours."

The Arab found that ironic "Don't want to damage her more than you already have Lace?"

Cecilia thought that maybe the turbaned man wouldn't be so terrible. She was so afraid of the aristocratic Englishman that any of these other men seemed preferable.

"Maybe we should just start the bidding," the mobbed-up looking Italian said. He sounded impatient, and stroked her sore cheek. It hurt so much, that threateningly possessive gesture, soft though it was, reminded her that there were no good guys here.

"Right then. Let's open the bidding at three million."

James held his breath for a moment. No one put in a bid, all hoping to lower the price, and they were successful.

"Do I hear two point five?"

"Two point five" said the mobbed-up American, the first to bid. James took note of his features, promising himself he'd see all these men again, but in court, fantasizing that he'd prosecute them...

"Come now, gents, how about three?"

"Three million." James said quietly as he dared. The Arab raised a long eyebrow at him, seeming to appraise James differently.

Lace spurred the bidding on, no one was rapid-fire bidding though, all hoping to appear less interested than they were. James was quiet as he sensed greater purpose course through the assembled men. He doubted if his funds would be enough to free Cecilia.

For the first time since she had heard the cello sonata, Cecilia wished there was music playing. She had found some strange ability in her body to withdraw from the present when it was playing, and she wanted nothing more than to stop feeling the pain radiating from her body, and perverted desire course through her blood, she didn't want to hear the men bidding on her, offering unfathomable sums of money if it meant they could do whatever they pleased to her.

Three million? Four? Five! She could hear the different voices driving her asking price further up. She saw the blonde and his bald bodyguard and knew they had every intention of being the ones to win her. She looked imploringly at the Russian and Arab, praying that whoever would win her had mercy. There wouldn't be any escape after this, she was going to cost too much money to be allowed even a chance at freedom.

Bidding reached 6.5 million, and Gerry knew he had beaten his projected profit on the girl already. She had been a lucky find, and circumstances were all to his advantage. He egged the betting on. "It's not everyday you find a submissive virgin on the market... who'll give me seven?"

James was nauseous. They were fast approaching the threshold his funds had set. Something had to be done before he and Abe were out of the running. He heard himself speak, and it was too late to take it back. "I'll give you eight."

The Englishman had spoken deadly soft as he upped the ante. Cecilia felt tears stain her swollen cheeks, knowing that soon if was going to be over, and she'd be in a worse state than she could possibly imagine. Without the music she was stuck where she was, without a balm or distraction to calm her mind or senses.

James' boldness had paid off. At least the American seemed to be rethinking the expense and the Arab had been feigning interest, but seemed to think that the whipping would leave permanent scars, making her worth less than what the other men were bidding. The Russian though, held firm.

"Eight and a half." He said in his thick accent.

"Eight and three quarters now, with another million wired to a Swiss account." James had used his last hand. He had bid everything he had available to him. The extra million he added to what he and Abe brought represented his inheritance from his father, which he swore he would never touch.

The Russian bowed his head. "No. Even a virgin isn't worth ten million. May you have the joy of her."

Lace was ecstatic. Nine point seven five million! He had hit the mother lode with this girl. And he had proof of concept. Ashton had been more than willing to pay for the tailor-trained slave. This business was going to generate more money than he knew what to do with. "Done. Sold to Sir Ashton for nine and three quarters of a million pounds."

When Cecilia heard the words leave Master's lips, the color drained from her face. She felt cold all over. He wouldn't stop staring at her. His cool blue eyes were vibrant with possibility, and she didn't want to know what he would do to her first. He and his friend walked towards her. The bigger man was untying the rope looped through her collar.

James was shaking. He had done it. Somehow he was going to be leaving with the girl tonight. He nodded to Abraham as he started loosening the binding ropes. "You're mine now." He said for the benefit of everyone in the room. At these words, Cecilia fainted, and James caught her, easily holding her weight as Abraham undid the last of the knots.

"Congratulations James," Lace had approached him as he hoisted the girl in his arms. "I knew she was the one for you. As for payment..." His voice trailed off in a distasteful suggestion.

Abraham spared James the effort of speaking. He emptied the two briefcases on the pedestal that Cecilia had been kneeling on. Stacks of her Majesty's currency tumbled heavily out of the dossier cases. "As Sir Ashton said: That's eight and three quarters now. The rest will be sent to wherever you find most convenient."

The scumbag had an answer to that. "Here," he thrust a business card with a Swiss bank's logo on it. "Speak with Etienne. She'll settle the balance on the account." Abraham grabbed the card and gruffly murmured assent.

Abe opened the back door to the car, and James handed her off to climb in. There was a warm tartan blanket in the passenger seat. They laid Cecilia's prone body down with her head on James' lap, and wrapped her in the blanket.

"She's burning up." Abe sighed.

"I know. Let's get her home."

"Right."

Abe drove slowly at first, the weight of the whole affair, of what they had just done pressed on them both. But as they pulled away from the array of brightly colored cars, Abe put his foot on the accelerator, and let the supercharged Audi release a low roar. It might not be the fastest or the showiest, but Abe felt the need to have just a tease of a victory lap. They had done what they set out to do.

James smiled at his friend's driving flourish. But looking down at the poor girl lying across his lap, he only felt sadness. He still needed to right everything that had been done to her because of him. And because of him, Cecilia would never see him as anything other than a monster. He briefly imagined that he was heroically whisking her away from danger, that he had rescued her instead of buying her. But getting her away from everyone else there would have to be enough.

Underneath her swollen cheeks, he could tell that her high cheekbones were ever so slightly exotic. Her hair was long and curly, and her fevered body was perfect. He wanted more than to just hold her as they drove back to London. His conscience was guilty, but his desire was turning this into a punishment all its own. He kept his hands still, making sure to keep her warm and safe, wishing that he had met Cecilia under different circumstances.

At home, James carried Cecilia into the house without saying a word. Clara was ready to go with a pot of Earl Grey and some hot soup, but James didn't acknowledge her efforts when he walked in holding the girl. He'd broken his own heart. Now that she was in his house he felt the gravity of what had been taken from Cecilia. He couldn't be responsible for hurting her any more. He was going to steal these last few moments with her, admiring and atoning in the dark room they had set aside. He didn't turn on any lights, just let illumination from the corridor peek into the room, and watched her as she slept. Cecilia would sleep for awhile yet, and he'd go before she stirred.

He could only imagine the terror he would incite if he were there when she woke. She needed medical attention, and James wasn't going to delay that any longer. He should have called a doctor as soon as they arrived, but he procrastinated a few moments longer, savouring this one chance to be alone with her.

Regardless of their success, James knew now that he couldn't be trusted alone with her. He wanted her badly and the strangeness of all the events leading up to this had made the boundaries too murky for his liking. He felt exactly like a predator, and something about her helplessness was calling to him like a siren song. No. He'd done enough damage. It was time to leave.

Clara had been anxiously waiting downstiars, only Abe was keeping her from running up to see the girl they had rescued. But when James came downstairs she could tell now was not a time to press him.

"I'm calling Dr. Patel. She's got a fever, and I don't like the look of those bruises. She's sleeping now."

Several years before, James had been prosecuting Dr. Patel for defrauding the pediatrics fund for underprivileged children. Thousands of pounds had gone missing, and a few hundred had turned up in bad hedge funds under Dr. Patel's name. James was pushing for severe charges, even though there were some numbers that didn't add up, and Dr. Patel insisted he was innocent and had never invested in hedge funds in his life.

The niggling details made James dig deeper, and he found that not only was Dr. Patel innocent, he had had his identity stolen and was being framed for the fraud. If James had been any less thorough, Dr. Patel would be behind bars and Bruce Howard would have gotten away with £30,000. As it was, James had saved Dr. Patel's freedom and reputation. He never had any need to ask for favors before, but James was about to ask a big one from Dr. Patel.

When he arrived he hugged James like an old friend. "I'm sorry I have to ask you this, but can we keep this visit between us? I've gotten myself into a sticky wicket. Please trust me..." James said, leading the doctor and Clara up the stairs and nervously wringing his hands.

Cecilia was still sleeping, but Dr. Patel turned on the lights. "Ashton! What happened?! Who is this?"

"Honestly, I don't want to tell you. Just know that I'm trying to get her help. Cecilia's been terribly abused, can we leave it at that?"

"This is not your doing I trust?" James didn't know how to answer that.

"I didn't beat her, no. I'm trying to help her, and the first thing I did was call you. I think she's got a fever."

Dr. Patel nodded. He had often seen victims of domestic abuse, but couldn't believe that Ashton couldn't have done this to the girl. Ashton wouldn't have asked him over here if it hadn't been important. He pulled the sheets off her and agreed with Ashton's assessment about a fever. The bruises though, were alarming, particularly the one on her left side. Patel went into doctor mode, preferring not to think about the person who had done this to the girl.

Clara gasped when she saw the sleeping girl. James looked at his feet. Maybe this was part of making all of this right, enduring the reactions from those around him, knowing he was the prime mover of the things that Cecilia had been forced to endure.

Cecilia stirred, but didn't wake as the doctor rolled her over. "Christ! Ashton!" James knew he had seen the whip marks on her back. "How do you explain this?"

"Look, I... I can't explain it. I just..."

"Doctor, what he means to say is that he rescued her." Clara spoke up clearly, and with an authority she never employed. "He found men hurting her, and he took her away, and now he's trying to get medical help. That's all. You can't honestly think he did this?!"

The doctor relaxed. That sounded more like the Ashton he knew. He had thought he was covering up for some sick abuser for a moment. "I trust you'll be prosecuting to the fullest extent of the law?"

James hadn't been practicing law for years now. Dr. Patel knew that, but for now, if it would help get Cecilia the attention she needed, James agreed. "Yes, after an official investigation of course."

Patel nodded. That was in order, now, to see about treating the marks for infection...

Clara stayed with Cecilia and the doctor. James withdrew, feeling as though he had invaded Cecilia's presence long enough.

When Dr. Patel came downstairs, James was impatient. "Well?"

"She woke up while I was examining her. Not very lucid. She gave me her name, couldn't tell me where she was..."

This wasn't good. Patel was going to turn him in. Maybe that was what he had wanted, but had been too cowardly to do himself.

"...I told her she was safe and she seemed to believe me. Very disoriented on the whole. She appears to be concussed. She's got a few cracked ribs as well. Every time I had her breathe deep for me it hurt her. I wrapped it up, there's nothing for it but to heal on its own. She's very dehydrated, and still in shock. Clara said she was going to get her some soup or something... James? Do you know who did this?"

"Yes. I do."

"Then I expect you'll make sure they pay for this."

"I will." James answered solemnly. 'I just don't know how', he thought.