Fighting Dreams Ch. 02

It's hard to obey, but I find my way to kneeling so that it rises against my spine. I can feel her take each wrist and lock them to the opposite elbow to hug that rod. Then each ankle is pulled into place so that I'm kept in that tucked kneeling. Finally, she takes the three leather straps and wraps them around my breasts, hips, and neck before buckling them to ensure I can't move at all..

Looking at her list, she frowns before walking over the top of the box. After a few moments, she pulls out a head harness. She fits the ball gag in place, then works on fitting the straps to my face so that the goggles black out all sight.

"I hope that everything works out," she murmurs in my ear. "But be very careful. Something's not right, Jazz."

A few seconds later, I hear that cover slide in place over me, locking me silent and helpless inside.

Time passes as my knees and throbbing welts ache.

My only idea of what is happening is when I and the box are suddenly tilted and I can hear the roll of the wheels. Then a thud and the feeling of being pushed back before all goes still. Then an engine starting up, and the sensation of moving once more.

How long the drive is, I'm not sure. It feels longer than usual.

Finally the vehicle stops, a few moments later I am tilted once more and the box is wheeled somewhere else, deposited, and left alone.

A few moments later, I hear the footfalls approach, the cover slide off and a snort of annoyance. The buckles of the head harness are loosened; when the blinders fall off, I find myself staring into Slate's eyes. There's no warmth there, despite our history, and he says nothing as he releases the rest of the bindings.

I hold my tongue and wait as he goes to his chair and pulls out a key. Within a few seconds he strips the collar off as well and then unwraps me from the latex.

"Go shower quickly; there's clothes waiting for you," he orders. "Then meet me in the kitchen."

I nod once, then follow his orders. His house isn't massive in the same way as Rex's. Rex's is formal, covered in decadent pictures and artistic pieces. This place is open, minimalistic. Bare wood and greenery intertwined with metal and glass.

In the past I thought it matched its owner well. There's nothing concealed with Slate, and never has been. He's straightforward, ambitious, and blunt. That's what brought him to the top of the construction industry and allowed him to buy into the fifth seat of the House.

I wash myself clean quickly, then dress in what's been given to me. Underware, black shorts, and a gray tank top are slid on over my welts. I plait my hair back into a braid, then crawl to the kitchen.

He's sitting at the table. When I enter, he points to a chair. "Sit."

When I've done so, that heavy leather collar is locked back in place, but mercifully no gag.

"You know my expectations," he states bluntly, "I say it, you do it. Outside, you can use your feet. At the house, you crawl like a bitch. Fuck up? You get punished right then and there. Understood?"

I nod once more. "Yes."

"Eat, then get to work. The list is on the counter." With that said, he heads to the office and shuts the door.

I fix myself a sandwich quickly, grab a bottle of water and a granola bar. With not having eaten much in the last three days, I know I need to get my strength up. I snag the list and take it to the table. My eyes glance over it as I eat; it's longer than I expected.

For the afternoon, I'm left to my own duties. The cleaning takes the majority of the time; particularly scrubbing down the floors of each room. But when those things are finished, then I get a few moments to work in my room on studying and submitting a few of the assignments that are coming up. I don't know when I'll have time to work on my classes again, so I almost always work ahead.

Evening comes, and I prepare the meal as he has asked, leaving his plate under the warmer. I have to stand to reach the settings. But just as I'm about to turn around, I feel the arms wrap around my torso, caging me to his body.

"Are you done with the list?" he growls, giving a little squeeze that takes my breath away.

"Yes."

"Good. Then you may eat. You'll need your strength," he says, collecting his plate and mine before setting them at the table.

Ever mindful of his rules, I sink back to my knees and crawl over before rising for my seat. Though salmon wouldn't normally be something I'd eat, I don't know when I'll eat again. And honestly, it's not bad. The sauce brings out the salt with the cream, the greenery settles everything together without being too rich.

"Jasmine."

I stop chewing and look up into his face, feeling the weight of my full name draw my attention in all its complexity.

"I expect an explanation."

His voice is low. Strained with anger that seems to radiate off him. Has Regulus not told him? Suddenly the space between us seems too short. He thinks I meant to Run. He's in a far more dangerous mood than I'd realized.

I whisper, heart constricting. "He's been everything to me. You know I'd never do it. Not on purpose."

"But that's not denying that you did it, girl. Do you know what you've cost him?"

"I didn't mean to run!" I plead. "I wouldn't have been that stupid. I was angry, yes, and I left without telling him but all I wanted was to get a cup of coffee and a little space. I didn't know that I'd left my phone behind."

He stares me down, unyielding anger in his gaze. His words are clipped, dripping venom. "But you did know you had no collar. You knew if you were seen with that boy you'd be in trouble, Jasmine, but you did it anyway."

I stare at him, cheeks burning. Yes I did forget my collar that night, but he's still wrong. "I didn't ask for that kid to join me, Slaton. I told him to leave my table; he wouldn't. Reg could have asked anyone there. But he didn't. He dragged me to the House and turned me over."

"Once you were seen by another, he had no choice," he replies. "You know the rules. He owns you, body, soul, and mind for paying your debt. You have no friends. No family. No one outside him unless he grants it and even then your neck should bear his collar as a reminder."

"You're on rotation for a double strike, Jazz and you damn well deserve it. Not only were you collarless, but seen in the company of another male. What do you think that does to his reputation, girl? Do you think the whispers you've stirred have no effect on him or his business?" he asks coldly. His tone has my flush only heightening. "You're not a beginning slave, Jazzy. You know the rules and the consequences to your behavior and yet I'm not convinced you're actually sorry."

You have no idea how much I am sorry. Closing my eyes, I bury my face in my hands. "I don't know what you want me to say, Slate. I didn't mean for things to happen this way. I'm sorry for all of it."

His eyes show only disappointment. "No, but you will be. Get in the car. We have an appointment with the Basement. And then we'll see how much your sorry is worth."

((To Be Continued))