Fighting Dreams Ch. 07

The phone vibrates in my hand.

Staring at the screen, I weigh the options and then flick it open. A text is waiting for me from the driver. "When you are ready to be picked up, call me back at this number and give me your address. It will take forty-five minutes to make it to his residence. Don't be late."

I'm sure they will get a read receipt so I don't bother to reply. Scanning over the patrons, I assess each. Most are absorbed in their own business within their tables, and I've not seen anyone I recognize in line. As I sit, I try to make sense of what is happening.

Put it together. The House is considering Martinez as a business partner. Martinez is acquiring slaves for.... something. My files are currently missing from the House; that means there's no proof they legally own me. If Seth produces the contract Bolton made me sign, there won't even be an auction. He can force them to hand me over.

The only question is what I can do about it. I have freedom for a few more hours; there has to be something.

Walking down the streets, I browse the shops. They feel like a distraction to the larger looming future. After all, what's the point in buying anything? Seth will never let me keep it.

As the feeling of dread starts to set in, I realize that there's only one person that I need to see right now. One person who might have the power to fix or break everything. Turning on heel, I change direction and head for the black tower with its pearlescent letters that glimmer in the afternoon sun.

I can't believe I'm doing this. As I walk, I send one other message before tossing the phone in the nearest trash can. Because if I don't make it out of this alive, at least someone should know what bullshit I tried to pull to save my own ass.

I make a quick detour into a small shop that fits me into a pair of stunning black heels and a short red lace dress. The shopkeeper helps me settle my black curls; a smooth coat of gloss makes my lips shine. The final touch is a gold herringbone choker to settle the nerves from my bared neck.

Thankfully they have the other items I need in the next-door pharmacy.

The decadent glow to my appearance keeps me steady as I take the elevator up to the executive floor and bypass the secretary to stroll into the CEO's office with a spine made of steel.

"Jackson, we'll discuss the legal terms in an hour. Something just came up," he states into the receiver as his eyes take me in.

Seth takes his time setting it back in the cradle, then leans back into his chair. A smirk touches his lips, an arrogant appreciation of my presence. Those dark eyes narrow as he regards me. "Such a bold little bitch," he notes, trailing his hand down to stroke the naked woman at his feet. She stirs but doesn't wake under his fingers, even when he pinches and stretches one of her nipples out before releasing it so that it snaps back to her chest. "Aren't slaves supposed to be on their knees before their Master?"

My eyes want to drift from him. They want to stare at that thick collar on her neck, the golden bell nestled between her breasts. The bruises that line her ass and thighs. But I don't. I stare into his gaze because I know the minute I look away, I've lost.

I can't stop the heating of my temper at his words; my tone drips venom. "You aren't my Master."

"Not yet. But as I told you: you'll always come crawling back to me in the end."

"And yet I'm not here on my knees," I reply, taking the unoffered seat and crossing my legs. The motion draws his attention back to me. "I'm here on business."

"Business?" He laughs. "Oh, kitten, I'll spare you the formalities and tear you out of your dress right now then."

I humor him with a frosted smile. "You always did like a challenge..." I reply, leaning my head into my hand. "But you're not following."

Something makes him pause, the surface joviality reining in as he regards me with those cold amber eyes. It's a calculating look in the tilt of his head, the drum of his fingers against the armrest. He says nothing for a moment, then remarks softly, "Oh, Jasmine... you are desperate, aren't you? The only question is: why?"

"Because I know what you did to my contract," I reply as I hold his gaze. "And I'm here to tell you it won't work."

"And why would that be?"

I stare him down. "You showed me there are worse things than dying. No matter what the papers say, I'm never coming back to you. I'll kill myself first."

I have his undivided attention as he leans forward. "Suicide? What makes you think I'd let you?"

"You won't have a chance to stop me," I promise as I turn my hand to show him the injector against my bare thigh. "I preloaded it with liquid penicillin. You know what that does to me. And this much? An epi won't be enough even if you could get your hands on it."

He's pissed. I can read it in the tension of his hands and spine; the narrowed slits of his eyes. But given that he's not tackled me to the floor yet; he knows I'm not joking. I will die before I let him touch me.

"Well played, little bitch. So what is it that you want?"

"The contract release form," I answer. "Signed and scanned over to the House."

Pulling open his desk drawer, he takes out the form and signs it. A brief scan over of his hand and then I watch him type in the House's communication line before sending it. He turns the screen to me, showing that it's done.

"Done," he growls. "What else are you here for?"

"That's all I want."

His eyes are burning as he sits there; the deep lines of his forehead are silently brooding. It's like he doesn't understand why I'm here. I knew I'd catch him off guard but like this? Seth isn't stupid. Understanding slowly seeps into me as I stare at him, but it's far, far too late. He didn't take it. That means-

The phone rings a second later, and he never once looks away from me. "Yes, it's legitimate, King. Jazz rather forced my hands on the release. But make no mistake... I'll still be attending the auction," he says into the receiver.

His eyebrow raises at King's reply and a cruel smile blossoms on his lips. "Oh. Would you like to speak with her?"

There must be an affirmative because he hits a button and sets the receiver down.

"Jasmine." King's voice fills the room, and it's hard to tell if he's pleased or pissed.

I opt for the most respectful tone I can offer while staring a Devil in the face. "Yes Sir?"

"Meet my driver downstairs in sixty seconds. Seth? Keep her if she's late." The line goes dead.

I flee for the stairs to the sound of Seth's laugh, tumble my way down them with more than one swear, and sprint past reception.

I just barely make it into the vehicle before it starts to drive. Panting with my head between my knees, I don't even register who is driving until we take a sharp turn into a parking garage and they kill the engine.

"You dumbass."

I stare into Isabelle's eyes as she drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "I don't know what he's going to do when you get back. No one's ever done this. No one's ever even gotten close to doing something like this...." she whispers. "He bet you might run, he thought you might wander; he never thought you could pull this shit off."

Staring at my shaking hands, I squeeze them together, feeling some of the anxiety creep back into me at her words. "I had to," I reply softly. "I can't go back to Seth."

"You can't go to King either. He's not mad, he's fucking furious. You'd be better off running. And I won't stop you if you do," she murmurs. "You don't understand what's come out, Jazz, it's bad."

"I don't care if he's pissed," I reply softly. "I'm not going back to Seth."

"You have no sense of self preservation," she sighs as she starts up the car. "And that means I don't have to pity you for what's going to happen next."

When she finally pulls into his garage, she doesn't get out. For a moment, I also hesitate. But then the programming kicks in and I quickly shed the clothes I'd bought. I leave them folded on the seat of the car and carefully set the collar around my neck.

The leather keeps me from getting jabbed by the wiring, for now, but I can feel the press of the buckle on the back of my neck as the weighted ring pulls it forward.

Making it in the door takes a moment of courage; as it opens, I'm braced for something horrible. But there's nothing. If anything, his house looks normal. It's quiet though I can hear him moving about in one of the other rooms. The only lingering difference is that none of his other slaves seem to be around.

Caution makes me enter slowly, closing the door behind me. Navigating the rooms of the house, I glance in each as I look for him. Knowing he's angered leaves the hair on the back of my neck standing tall.

Suddenly as I push open the last door of the hallway, a hand wraps around my mouth; the kiss of steel freezes me in my steps as it presses against my side.

"You deserve everything that's coming," he whispers against my ear. "But there's nowhere to hide. Not this time."

"In." The knife turns so that the flat edge rests against my neck. His hip nudges my leg forward; still wrapped in his arms, I take the shaky steps into the room.

"Kneel."

His sharp command has me dropping quickly into my waiting position, eyes tracing him as he keeps the blade in contact with my skin. I can feel its edge warn my skin that it will bite if I move the wrong way. My breath comes in short pulls as he steps in front of me and settles the blade's tip against the hollow of my throat.

"So this is what I paid for..." he murmurs. "How disappointing."

Those words cut deep and flush my cheeks, but I say nothing.

"Slaves are supposed to be loyal to the House... but first you ran. Then your Master used it as an excuse to steal half a million from me."

That freezes me under his eyes, then the number sinks in. Half a million. Oh, sweet fucking gods. "So we're going to have a conversation, Jazz," he growls as his hand seizes my neck.

The barbed wire's spines mean nothing to him as he drags me toward a black metal-covered box. A click of a button and it opens. It's little more than a coffin with an angled bottom. And I can see water lapping on the deeper edge of it.

Not good.

He forces me flat on my back on the angled bottom. The water rises just barely up the sides of my body; it's warm, but not hot. My hands are snapped to a metal bar over my head, and my feet are stretched and secured to the bottom. With both locked in, I can't move more than a half inch by raising my head.

I stare into his merciless gray eyes as he taps commands into the console. He allows the silence to hang until he's finished, then leans over the side of the tank.

"Tell me the truth, you stay just as you are... lie to me, little slave, and every time you do the water level is going to rise."

This is going to suck. I don't know anything.

Those pitiless caverns stare into my soul. "Where is Regulus?"

"I don't know," I reply.

I jerk in my bonds as water waterfalls in from the facet above, warm and splashing. But it rises just a bare inch over my ankles before turning off.

"I don't believe you, slave. I think you do know. After all, didn't he visit you just a week ago?" King asks coldly.

The question makes me think that Dream hasn't told him about two nights ago. Admitting that I've seen him so recently might land me in worse trouble. But my hesitation costs as the tap flicks on and the water stirs once more.

"Yes," I admit, opting for the simplest answer to placate the hawk above me.

He shuts off the water. "And who gave you permission to see him, slave?"

"No one." I wince as I see the small smirk on his lips, but he doesn't turn on the water. Not yet.

"Where is he, Jasmine?" He leans over the side of the tank so that he's eye to eye with me. "Don't play stupid. Surely Regulus would have kept his precious pet in the loop."

"I don't know," I reply, holding his gaze even as a little shiver runs down my spine. "I didn't know about any of this."

"That's a shame."

On goes the water. I can feel it creeping up my knees, my legs, and my hips. The rippling along my belly is starting to make me nervous, but more so, the flat gaze in his eyes. But this time? He doesn't shut it off.

"You have sharp ears when it suits you, little slave," he states as the water rises to my breasts "Talk... or Drown."

"But I don't know anything!" I plead, feeling the waters rise.

Just as the water hits my chin, he stops the flow. "You don't know anything?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Not one little whisper in the dark? Not one number changed in the business? Not one little risky investment? Surely such a well-connected little slave would have heard something useful. So what was it?"

I can almost hear Reg's voice in my ear. Rule eight: Keep your mouth shut. Never repeat anything that you overhear or anything you see, to anyone. Not inside the House. Not outside it. They'll kill you for it, pet. This is the most important rule I will teach you. And no matter what you cannot break it.

And I've heard so many things. Account numbers, late-night conversations, financial moves, strategies between leaders, and Reg's secrets. I've sat beneath his feet and worked on his corporate books for years. His numbers are all legitimate; he does not need the money.

But his contracts? Not all of them run through the House. He kept two places that were safehouses, just for us. And that might be where he has King's money.

Staring into King's eyes, the water rippling at my chin, the pressure is on. Do I break my silence, and hopefully remain able to breathe... or do I hold it? There's no winning. If Reg did it and I talk, he might kill me anyway. If I don't say anything, King will interpret it as loyalty to Reg. And all of this still might just be a mind fuck.

It comes down to if I believe King will let me drown. What did he say to me when I started rotation? Valuable assets have to be protected.

"Nothing," I whisper defiantly, staring into his eyes.

He holds my gaze... and turns the tap back on high.

He's bluffing. He wouldn't do this.

Closing my mouth, I try to slow and steady my breathing through my nose. The bubbling water's edge passes my chin... then my lips. Sucking in a breath through my nose, I close my eyes.... And hold it.

For a few seconds? I'm fine.

Then starts the ache. I ignore it and let out a bubble or two as the pressure starts to build in my chest.

He'll let me out. But slowly... I have to let out more bubbles.

He'll let me out.

No matter how I fight the need, I can't ignore it; I have to breathe. Soon.

Please let me out.

My hands jerk against the bars that hold them as the last stream of bubbles escapes. My chest aches and bucks, trying to pull in air that just isn't there as my eyes open in the blur of the water. All the while, King watches in the rippling surface overhead.

He's not going to let me out.

Panic. It's blinding fear that has my body fighting my bonds. But it does no good. They're metal and I can't get up any momentum with the way they hold me. I'm stuck. And for all my effort? That need has only grown stronger.

Air!

I'm coughing, but not air. It's thick and horrible and for a minute I can't see as my body goes beyond my thought. Over and over it pushes the water out only to suck it back in and ache. All I know is that I need something I can't get.

And there's nothing I can do about it but fight.

Twisting, struggling in the water, a second stretches as my struggles start to slow. My body's giving up. There's just no energy. And With no energy? There's no hope.

I'm going to die.

Almost drowning sucks.

Coming back from it? That sucks worse.

The first thing that I feel when I come to is that I am throwing up. Over and over as I spasm on my side. A hand pounds my back as the water I'd taken in comes back up. The violence of it leaves me twitching in my bonds until it slowly subsides and eventually I can just... pant.

Hands hold me by the shoulders, rubbing slow circles on my back. Twice more my body pushes the water from my lungs and belly as I retch to the side.

Fucking hell.

Everything, and I do mean everything, hurts.

Fingers grip my wet, knotted hair, pulling my head back so that I can stare into King's eyes. They're flat, dispassionate despite what he just did and that chills me to the core. I begin to shake in his grasp.

"If your contract wasn't so valuable, I'd leave you to drown," King states bluntly.

"When Regulus decided to steal from me, he forfeited any hold he had on you. You belong to the House. And when your new master takes you, you'll belong to him. You're going to the block, Jasmine, and you better damn well pray that I make what your Master owes."

His eyes go from mine to look over my shoulder. "Isabelle. Put her to bed with Gracie once she's evaluated. And make sure she's locked in."

The doctor declares me fit for bed, though he does warn Isabelle that I should be watched for a fever.

Then it's off to a dark room where my ankle is tethered to the bed's chain. I'm curled into it with another slave whose hands are chained up to the headboard. She turns and cuddles up to my side as I lay down; I take her warmth for what it is and try to rest.

The next morning, he pulls me from bed and takes me back to that dark room. But this time he takes me to stand between the suspension frames and a table that looks like it should belong in a casino.

"Every slave on rotation faces this board. It is the only fair measure. Each Master contributed to the punishments that rest here," he states, running his finger along the spinner. "They range from mild to extreme. You will drop it three times. Whatever they give is what your punishment from me will contain."

I swallow. Roulette is a game that requires no skill, and there's no predicting what I will land. Taking the ball as the spinner starts, I drop it in... and pray for a little luck.

The ball spins and clicks, landing on..... Sixty-one. The next spin draws me a seven, and the last gifts me a thirteen.

"Suspension by rope... hot wax... Hm. And electrostimulation. One of the more interesting combinations to pull," he says, opening the armoire to pull three bundles of fibrous weaves. "But if nothing else, it will tighten that cunt for your Master."

It takes him a surprisingly short amount of time to have my lower body secured to his rigging. When his fingers tip me forward off my feet, I hover about six inches over the ground with ease. His other ropes then wind about my legs like snakes; binding ankle to thigh and feet pressed together so that my knees form butterfly wings. My arms are then bound together over my head from fingertip to elbow in a lattice that then coils over my breasts and ribs.

Hung and dressed in his ropes, I stare at the floor as I float over it. This... while uncomfortable, is not unbearable. I feel like I'm in a hammock, secure and safe as the ropes press against my body.

He places the electro stim pads next, four to my inner thighs and four to my lower belly. I can hardly keep track as he plugs their cables in with expert ease. Then he turns on the little box. He sets it to a program I can't see, then clicks the arrows until I jolt as the pads begin to send a buzzing feeling through my skin. It goes on for about ten seconds, then goes off.

My eyes trace his movements as he returns to the cabinet. Two long white candles sit in his hands; he sets them above me, secured to the ropes, and then lights them. At those angles, they'll drip all over my back and thighs.