The Twin Princes' Cat Ch. 01

A slightly upturned nose. Dark freckles over mocha skin. Doe-like eyes the color of honey. Large lips with a distinct cupid's bow. Brown mascara, eyebrow pencil, and hair dye to hide the golden sheen of my hair. Baggy sweatshirt that looks like a guy's to hide my figure and make people think I have a boyfriend. Loose jeans that won't hug my fat ass. Dingy backpack and beat up sneakers with a hole in the toe to make me look too poor to steal from.

Looks like I'm ready. There's no way to hide that I'm a girl. My breasts and hips are too big to hide well even in this baggy ensemble, but at least I shouldn't draw attention to myself. The last thing I need is more attention from the male population.

I look away from the mirror and pull my hood up before hefting the backpack on my shoulders. I give the small attic bedroom that's been my home for the past two years a parting glance and then slowly make my way down the ladder. The garage is lightless except for a thin stream coming out from the slightly bent second pane, but I can see just fine. I don't need light to see, after all.

I made sure the door to the backyard had its hinges oiled yesterday, so the only noise I make is the slight click of the lock disengaging. I'll have to leave it unlocked, but the likelihood someone will use it to break and enter is low in this neighborhood. I start down the sidewalk with my head bowed, silently counting the number of streetlights I pass under.

These foster parents were okay. I will give them credit, they did try. But even Mr. and Mrs. Karen's niceness wasn't enough. I don't fit in. I don't know where I will fit in, but this lovely suburbia isn't it. They'll miss me when they wake, but the letter I left and the fact that today is my eighteenth birthday should be enough to keep them from following me. Or filing a missing person's report.

I have custody of myself now. It feels good. I can make my own decisions. I can finally support myself. The Karen's insisted I didn't need a job because they'd take care of me, but I've managed to save up enough from odds and ends for the bus ticket and maybe a night or two at a shitty hotel.

The bus stop ahead isn't very well lit and like everything else at this time of day, utterly deserted. I find the most comfortable bench and sit, staring up at the patch of sky above me. The lights drown out any stars, and the color is still the ceilingless black of nighttime.

"So, where are you going?" a voice asks.

My ass hurts from the small jump, and I whip my head to the side to look at the man sitting next to me on the bench. I didn't hear him walk over, and a shiver goes down my spine as I meet cold, blue eyes. He looks somewhat like a weasel, and I know you should never judge a book by its cover, but he seems untrustworthy.

"Nowhere noteworthy," I reply with a shrug. "You?"

I don't want to have a conversation, but it's best not to antagonize this type of person.

"Same," he answers with a grin that reveals he's missing at least one tooth.

An arm wraps around my torso, pinning my arms to my side, and a foul-smelling rag is pressed against my face. I try to kick free in surprise, but the weasel leaps at me, holding my legs down.

"Just breathe, girly."

My head starts swimming, my vision swirling. I cough and gag at the flavor invading my mouth and nostrils, but I can't fight two men and this chemical.

--

Pain. Voices. Rumbling engine. Itchy skin.

I'm in a car? There are moans around me, and something sharp like an elbow digs into my back. I can't breathe. There are people crowded around me.

I can't see. My mouth tastes horrid. I can't move. I'm restrained?

Human trafficking. Funny, it never seemed like that big of a deal.

The world fades back to black.

--

Cold shocks through me. I try to scramble up, but my arms are held above my head, and I'm leaning on a wall, already standing. I shake the water off my face and try to open my eyes and move around, only to find my ankles cuffed to the wall as well.

Everything hurts. My shoulders especially. I place my weight better on my feet and stand up straight, the movement cluing me into the fact that I'm naked. I peer around with my eyes mostly closed. There's no light, but the weasel man and another man who must be his partner are walking around like they can see.

There are moans, groans, and cries all around me. Along the wall across from me I can see naked women strung up like I am. They must be on either side of me, too. The men are waking the ones still asleep like they did me, dousing them in cold water. My eyes may be playing tricks on me, but I think the men have wings.

Well. Human trafficking wasn't my idea of a new beginning, but here I am. I'm glad I shaved. Not that I care what a potential buyer, or whatever, would think about me, but I learned a while ago that having golden blonde hair with my skin color is too outstanding.

My jaw hurts. Oh. There's a gag. That makes sense, actually. The girls across from me are gagged, too. I stretch my jaw as much as I can around the oblong shape of it and discreetly watch the men and their wings. Maybe the wings are some sort of symbol of some kind? Like, only if you're wearing fake wings can you participate in buying these girls?

But that doesn't make sense, since the wings are so big. Both are taller than the men that sport them, and when I get a glimpse of their chests, they don't look to be wearing straps. Or shirts. This is probably some weird drug hallucination. Maybe I really was drugged and now I'm high. I don't feel high. I tried pot once. But they wouldn't use pot.

I'm confusing myself.

There's a thing on my stomach. Black paint in the shape of a V. A few of the girls across from me have it, too, but most don't. Virgins? I know I am, but it could mean something else. Claimed by a guy with a V as his first initial? And now that I'm looking, there are numbers above each girl across from me. Okay. Great.

The girl to my left is sobbing. Somewhere in here, someone is screaming their head off past the gag. I watch one of the men walk over and out of my sight, and then there's a "smack" that sets the screamer into hysterical sobs. What's really eerie is that neither man has said a word. If I couldn't see, it'd be scary as hell. There are footsteps and sobs and groans and whimpers, but no physical contact other than the ice water dripping down my body, the chains holding my hands up, and the metal cuffs on my ankles.

I shouldn't be able to see. The girls across from me are staring with wide, unfocused eyes, trying and failing to see anything. The splashing of water stops, and then the man who isn't the weasel speaks loud and clear, his voice commanding.

"They're ready."

There's a loud booming noise that makes me cringe and other girls scream. More sobs sound, and there are distinctly more footsteps too. I keep my eyes mostly closed and head tilted back so I can see through my eyelashes. There are voices, now, too. All male, seeming to discuss the women hanging from the walls.

The first to come into my view also has wings. His are darker than the two who brought at least me here, and he's also shirtless. Slowly, more come into view. All have wings, all are shirtless, and all are wearing pants and boots. Interestingly enough, they all also seem to be fit, with at least defined abs if not outright-fucking eight packs. Even the weasel is muscled in a wiry sort of way. I must be high. Honestly.

They're all light-skinned, though a few sport features that aren't as caucasian as their skin. The guy directly in front of me at the moment almost looks like an albino black man. They stick together in little groups of similar wing shades, talking quietly to themselves and looking over the women on the walls. They don't touch any of us, which is a bit of a relief. Only a bit.

I have a few admirers whose gazes sweep up and down my frame. The conversations flow from discussing the qualities of certain numbers to bets on how much they will sell for. The murmuring voices all seem to blend together, so it's hard to ascertain what my number is. I just watch the muscular, winged men as they pass by me. They all have tattoos on their chests, between and under their pecs and over their ribs.

I'm trying to get better glimpses of these tattoos when the atmosphere in the room completely changes. The men's gazes snap from the women on the walls and back towards where they came from. Almost as one, they turn and bow, going silent.

"Continue on," says a bored voice.

The men straighten and return, their voices more hushed than before. They seem to hurry through much faster now, and then there's a small period where there's no one in front of me.

The disturbance lingers just at the edge of my vision. I have to almost physically restrain myself from opening my eyes all the way and turning my head. I'm strapped naked to a wall, there's no room to be curious about these winged, hot men in front of me. Especially if the curiosity will set me apart from the rest. I can't afford that.

He steps more into my vision, letting me see his blacker than night wings. Woah. All the others had some shade of grey, but his are so dark they practically look like voids in space and time, and there's a stark contrast between them and the bright silver of his hair. Even without light, it seems to have a sheen to it that makes it different than the silver of old people hair.

His back is to me as he inspects a girl I can barely see. All of a sudden, he pivots and looks directly at me. I'm nowhere near the next person he should look at, and I can't help but flinch a little. He walks straight up to me and stands closer than anyone has yet, so close that if I breathed too hard my breasts would touch him. Because of the closeness, all I can see through my mostly closed eyes are his shoulders, a bit of chest, and parts of his wings.

He snaps in front of my face, and I flinch at the sudden noise, my eyes flickering open before I slam them completely shut.

"Y-your highness," the weasel's voice cuts in, "you're not supposed to-"

"We want this one."

"Th-then you can bid-"

"We will pay ten thousand for her, right now."

The puffs of air from his words fall directly on my face, which means he's still looking at me.

"Ten th-thousand? No one bids that much..."

"Then that is our bid, and no one will bid more, so you might as well sell her to us now instead of at auction."

"I-I... sure. Anything for your highnesses. Come with me, and we'll do the paperwork as my partner readies her?"

The oppressive presence in front of me backs off, and I take a deep breath. I hadn't noticed I was taking shallow ones before. So much for not doing anything to single myself out. I was just bought, without going to auction. Because apparently this is some sort of pre-auction. Just when I think he's gone, a hand engulfs my throat and then something cool encircles it. The hand pulls away, and I gulp past the tight restriction around my neck.

Did he just put a collar on me? How? When?

Footsteps walk away, and others come closer to me. I keep my eyes shut tight, and what feels like a wet sponge wipes at the V on my stomach. Then with some fiddling and locks clicking, my ankles are released. I pull them together and stretch a little as a body is pressed fully to mine. I try not to shiver, and soon my wrists are freed from the chains but not the cuffs. He keeps me pinned to the wall and forces my hands behind my back, locking them together there.

His weight pinning me disappears, and I almost fall over on my shaky legs. Something's dragged over my head, and what feels like an apron is tied around my waist. Luckily, it wraps around my ass, but it barely covers the entire thing, and I can feel my nipples pressing against the seam at the top. Less endowed women wearing the same thing probably have their breasts sticking out, which becomes the truth for me when a hand slides in the front and pulls my breasts out. My hair is pulled through, and then I'm pushed forward.

I stumble forward, sorely tempted to open my eyes and look around. Or even down at whatever this ridiculous apron thing is. I keep them screwed shut so I don't give into temptation.

"Pleasure doing business with you, your highness," the weasel's partner says.

A hand grabs the still cold thing around my neck, and I'm pressed up against a hard body. Slightly chill hands hold onto my hips, and breath that smells like the man who bought me brushes over my face.

"Keep those eyes shut, Pet."

No shit. He touches the collar thing and then lets go of me. My collar is pulled at, and I have no choice but to follow or choke to death. Damn, did he leash me? With my arms behind my back and the apron thing holding my breasts up-ish and together, I feel like I'm on display. My bare feet stumble over unfamiliar, hard flooring, and it takes every bit of concentration I've got to keep up with the tugs on my collar.

"Stairs," is my only warning before I'm stumbling up said stairs. I almost trip twice and actually trip once, landing on my face against what must be those wings. They shove me back, and if it weren't for the collar I'd fall down the floors and floors of stairs we've come up so far.

He slows down after that, but it's still kinda fast. We go up even more floors, and just about when I think my legs are turning to jelly, we turn and I'm ushered past him.

A door shuts behind me.

"You may open your eyes now," he informs me.

I keep them stubbornly closed up until the gag is unlatched from behind my head. I spit the offending thing out and then work my jaw, opening my eyes slightly to figure out where we are. It looks kind of like a living room, but I can't tell for certain through my eyelashes. The man is behind me, trailing his fingers through my hair and untangling the knots that formed around where the gag latched.

He pulls me back against his chest by my hips when he's done, and my hands are awkwardly caught between my ass and his hips, on either side of a small bulge.

"What's your name, Pet?" he asks, his lips moving against the hair over my ear.

I lean away from him but can't go far because of his hold.

"Tasha," my voice is scratchy.

"Full name, including middle."

I clear my throat this time. "Why? Does the name of the girl you're going to rape matter?"

There's a chuckle in front of me, and I can't help but snap my eyes open and stare in disbelief. The man who bought me is in front of me, but there's still a man at my back. The one in front of me steps closer and takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head back.

"We ask the questions," the one behind me says, his nose digging into my hair to find my ear.

"You answer," the one in front of me finishes, his eyes searching mine.

Their voices are eerily identical. They can see, and the one in front of me is looking me in the eye, so he knows I can see. Shit.

"Tasha Dial Amora," I growl out before trying to jerk out of their hold.

In response, the one behind me wraps his arms around my waist and the one in front uses his entire hand on my jaw, stepping closer so I'm sandwiched between them.

"Dial," the one behind me purrs out the name, pronouncing it dee-all instead of die-ahl like I did. "Good catch, brother."

"What should we do with her? Pet or doll?"

"Pet," the one behind me says without hesitation.

"She'd make a good kitty," the one in front agrees.

I try to protest, but for some reason my voice won't come out.

"She'll need a new name. How about Starlight?"

The one in front lets go of my jaw, and his eyes move to look over at my shoulder, at his brother.

"Too rough. Dawn?"

"Too much like a normal name. Sunshine?"

"Oooh, Sunshine. Perfect."

Then, to my complete surprise, the one in front leans in and kisses the other over my shoulder, pressing me between them. I hear their lips smack and pop between them, one groaning and the other humming. They both pull back at the same time, and the one in front wraps his hands around my waist as the one behind lets go. He smirks down at me. At least my hands are no longer pressed against that... bulge anymore.

Without warning, he spins me around to face the other, who has a matching smirk on his equally handsome face. They're identical twins. Well, yup. I'm screwed. The one now in front removes the collar while the one now behind works with the cuffs until they fall to the floor. The one in front finishes first and then pulls the apron thing over my head, and his brother unties the thing from my waist.

I'm left naked, and they step back simultaneously. I rub my wrists and back away so I have them both in my sights. They're like each other's mirror images. Even the height that their pants rest on their waists are identical. They have sharply angular faces anime fans would probably drool over, complete with almond shaped eyes, all four of which are fixed on me. Their eyes are green with white pupils, and the irises have a dark depth to them that make them seem like pure emeralds, even without light to sparkle off of them.

One of them drops his gaze from my eyes to trail up and over my frame, and I find myself against a wall. I hadn't realized I'd backed up that far. Without any verbal signal, one of them turns and walks out a door while the other approaches me. I dart around him and his wings, putting the couch and chair island in the center of the room between us.

"Stay away from me," I say, holding my hands up, as if that'll ward him off.

He holds his arms out to the sides, and then his wings press against the backs of his arms. With a flash of what I can only describe as darkness, his wings disappear, making the room feel larger.

I stare at where his wings were with my mouth slightly agape.

"There, that's a little more fair, isn't it, Sunshine?"

"Fair for what?"

He steps around the couch, and I mirror his movements, staying away.

"It's custom to allow a slave to fight against her first owner. If she wins, she is not meant for slavery, and he'll return her back home. If she loses, then the owner has every right to do with her as he wishes. I'm the one who signed your papers, so lucky you, you don't have to fight both of us."

"No one can face both of us," the other agrees from where he's leaning on a door frame.

Yeah, lucky me. Sure, I'm scrappy, but I'm nowhere near as fit as this guy. He keeps walking around the couch, and I keep the couch and chairs between us.

"But I'm naked," I point out, trying to find something to stall this "fight."

"Yes you are," the one in the doorway purrs.

"I'll take my pants off if you think that'll be better," the one circling with me offers.

Take his pants off? Hell no. I quickly shake my head, and it's while I do that he pounces. I jerk to the side and barely manage to dodge the full on tackle, but he still catches my arm and then pulls me off balance as he falls to the floor.

I land on top of him with an "oof," and then I'm all elbows and knees and nails, trying to get off of him. He laughs, and then somehow we're spun around so he's on top and I'm pressed to the floor, his weight pinning me down. I try to punch him in the face, but he catches my wrist and then wrenches it above my head. The other wrist soon follows, and he sits up, positioning his weight on my thighs so he's kneeling over me. One hand holds my forearms down above my head, and the other pokes at a tiny scratch mark on his pec.

I struggle to get up, but his grip is too strong. I grit my teeth and say nothing. He smirks down at me and then leans down so we're face to face.

"I win, and now we own you completely. Be a good little kitty and say you accept our ownership."