Fighting Dreams Ch. 01

Slowly I unbutton the top, staring in horror as each injury reveals itself to my eyes. My nipples are swollen, breasts mauled by bites and what looks to be welts from a whip. The welts wrap my sides, trail down to my tender stomach and tops of my hips. Lines in the skin are scabbed over, throbbing and look like a razor's cut.

What the...

I feel like I'm going to be sick. I can only imagine what my back looks like if this is the front. But I need to know...

Rolling back the covers, I tremble as I reach to untie the bottoms. I try to bridge to take them off. But the second my foot has pressure on it, I whimper as new lines of agony make themselves known. Fucking hell... I can't... I can't... Tears prick my eyes as I recall there are welts on the bottom of my tender feet. Even with the pain throbbing in my back, nothing compares to the blinding pain that those welts draw out.

Short panted breaths help slow down my pounding heart and deal with the agony.

The door opens, and I don't recognize the girl who hurries in. "I...Dream... he...." she whispers. She's a rabbit, ready to bolt at any second as she hovers at the bedside. "He told me to shower you..."

How the fuck. She can't hardly stand to look at me now and the worst isn't even on display. How exactly is this little twit supposed to help? My eyes fall to the black and white collar at her throat. The Twin's house pet... this is probably as much a punishment as it is meant to help me. He's showing her what can happen if she acts up with them.

"Go start the water," I order softly. "I'll be there in a second." I don't need her underfoot when I'm concentrating on not screaming. She scurries off and I slowly swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

I abandon the top; pulling the waistband free, I close my eyes and force myself to my feet. But it's too much. "FUCK." I collapse hard to my knees with a growl of frustration as the lightning strike dulls to a throbbing once more.

"It... it might be easier to crawl."

I look up, seeing her hovering in the doorway. Her eyes are disturbed, but oddly concerned. There is no disdain, just flicks of worry. "I mean... it's just a thought... if you want... I can try to help you up too."

The odds are, she won't be able to do much. Debating mentally for a moment, I use the position to ease off my pants completely. Unfortunately, no matter what she does, I'm going to have to be able to stand to clean up. I just need to breathe my way through the pain.

Stubbornly, slowly, I ease back to my feet. It's misery with each step, but in four strides I have made it into the cool tile. Two more and I am under the cleansing spray. She helps me pull off the underwear carefully, flinching as she sees my back. Her blush at my indiscretion is adorable and irritating in one.

I soak for some time, letting her gently wash out the sticky gunk from my hair and then condition it. She brushes through the tangles carefully before tying it up over my neck. "Do you want me to wash your back?" she asks as she passes me a washcloth lathered with Dial.

"Please..." I answer as I flip the spray to cold. Against the throbbing heat of my wounds, it is pure heaven. It's not her fault she's here, I remind myself as I wash away all traces of the debauchery that I was used for last night. No one ever gets a choice. Once the contract's signed and the check changes hands, they can do whatever they want.

She's surprisingly light handed, even if she dips a bit lower on my hips than I'm comfortable with. "How did you do it..." she finally asks as I turn off the water.

"How did I do what?" I ask.

The hesitation tells me that this is something we shouldn't be talking about; her eyes flick to the corners as if expecting to see cameras. She lowers her voice a little further. "You seem sane. Calm even. If I was in your shoes, I'd probably try to run. How did you keep it together through all this?"

Warning alarms are ringing in my brain.

She just used the 'r word' in a room I know is bugged. Dream wouldn't leave us unattended if he didn't have surveillance in every room.

As I see her lips start to open once more, I stop her sharply. "I don't want to talk about it. And if you don't want this to happen to you, don't ask," I snap.

She scuttles out just as I hear the door to the room open.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I'm met by two very blue sets of eyes. One holds the Rabbit by the throat, the other sits in the chair Dream abandoned. Platinum blondes, identical in height, build and everything but the color of their shirts. Luke is in blood red. James wears blue.

My body reacts quickly, dropping me into a deep formal bow on my knees. "Master James. Master Luke. How may this pet serve you?"

James tsks softly in his chair. "We aren't here for you, Jazzy. At least not entirely."

"We came to collect our pet. She is overdue for a punishment." Luke's hand tightens fractionally around her throat as he smirks. To her credit, she doesn't even struggle at the show of force. He glances over at me, running his eyes up and down my naked body with contempt.

James orders sharply, "Crawl to me."

I crawl carefully until I'm between his feet then freeze as I sit back on my heels with eyes lowered. I don't want to be here, this close to a demon.

His fingers clasp my chin, forcing me to look at him as he leans in close. "So stubborn. You were on the table begging and sobbing like a little bitch, but you still have that willful glint to your eyes."

"King may have put you on restriction, but when it lifts at the auction, I'm going to enjoy training you properly. Such a pretty contrast you'll make with Rabbit."

When my brow furrows at the information tidbit, he smiles like a Cheshire Cat. "Oh, so they haven't told you?"

"Nor is she allowed to know."

A third familiar voice interjects. It's an arctic blast that makes the Twins pause and look up. King stands there in the door of the room, thunder in his eyes and arms crossed on his chest.. His casual lean is offset by the murder in his eyes.

King... the head of the organization. Number One ranked; ruthless, chaotic, and willing to do whatever it takes. He rarely raises his voice; he is more likely to shoot you. To the outside he's our backer, the one who takes on the debts and pays them out. His power is in his purse, and more so in the critical eye for profit.

"Take your girl and leave," he orders and without a word, the Twins clear out.

Left alone, naked and on my knees, I tremble with tension as those gray eyes focus back to me. He takes in the sight without a word before making his judgment.

"Sit on the bed."

I obey quickly. It is getting easier to manage the pain, especially when I can see the edge of his pistol at his back. When it is done, I look up to find him sitting opposite me. The fury is gone, an intense focus has taken its place.

"Give me your hand."

Obediently, I extend my right hand; he studies the bruises surrounding my wrists. A few probings and a soft manipulation confirms what I know already; it's not broken. What I don't expect is when he begins to wrap it.

"You make be a slave, but you are an asset to the organization," he states. "And assets need to be protected if your debt's going to be paid."

He takes my other one also, wrapping it firmly. "You have turned a profit despite your disadvantage as a slave; you have rarely been disobedient... and that is why I allowed Devon to stop Regulus from taking your show further."

I feel like I've been drenched in ice; every muscle is tense. The stress that wraps around me is too much. Too tight. I can't breathe. Can't move. Regulus did this to me? My Regulus?

Heat coils in my chest, a low sob that starts and I can't stop the tears as they release. Burying my face in my hands, I cry out my pain, the shock, the shattering of my heart. For all my misery there lingers an attachment to the one who has broken me, a need to reconcile the unknown cruel reality with my softer memory. Why would my Master allow this?

"I never thought you would be so stupid." His calm words are a slap; stinging blunt which brings me out of the shattering of my soul.

His words feel piercing as an icepick even as his voice remains level. "When you chose to go behind his back, when you left without telling him where to or how long you'd be gone, you became a Runner."

Strong fingers tug my hands away, forcing me to stare into his eyes. "And you know what we do to Runners, Jazzy. The pain you feel right now is what you deserve and not the least of what you will feel for fucking up."

He sits back, releasing my wrists. "You're going to be kept here for the next two weeks while you heal. Then you're going into Training Rotation to either prove you're a slave worth keeping or at least give us an idea of your worth if we sell your debt off. And make no mistake, that's tempting with the trouble you've caused."

He stands, walking to the door. "I suggest you brush up your skills, Jazzy. We'll be paying close attention."

He leaves, and I have no time to waste. I dress in a loose robe before grabbing my laptop and going to work.

The next two weeks drag.

By day four, I have paced my quarters twice and I can recite the Ten's rules by heart. Most of my injuries throb, but at least the slices are healing well.

By day ten, I am crafting conspiracy theories, practicing positions and trying not to scream. My bruises are yellowing with age, the larger splits starting to flake their scabs. Even my wrists are starting to become functional.

On the eve of day fifteen, I am given a visitor.

Rex brings down a tray and a small duffle. "Eat and pack. We are going to the house after. And I want you in the black silks."

The food is eaten quickly; I know that I won't have long to grab the few items that I have been given here. The most important things go into my box; computer and books, both stack neatly will be returned to my room and kept safe. A few pairs of clothing, toiletries, and then the robe which covers my body go into the duffle.

I open the outer pocket, pulling out the few scraps of cloth and the chains that connect them. To the eye they seem almost like a belly dancer's garb if it were all one piece but with less gold bangles. They cover essentials, but little more and with too quick a turn they can show all.

For Rex... he likes the visual. He also likes how reluctant I am to be exposed; it becomes a game each time we meet. He tries to humiliate me, I dance a narrow line between disobedience and seduction.

This time though? I don't care. This is just a stepping stone to proving that I belong here. That I'm worthy of the collar I was given. And that he's worthy to keep me.

I adorn myself with them easily and adjust them to settle over the swell of my hips and breasts. In his world, the colors are significant. In sheer black, he has marked me as one who is in trouble; when he hangs the spined rose on the chain between my breasts he claims me as his ward. Not owned, but protected, punished, and ordered by him.

"Wrist."

Obediently extending it, I watch as he fastens the leather cuff around it, clipping his tether. "Come. It is time to go Home."