Willing Slave, Unwilling Master Ch. 04

"Seems serious," she replies, before a smirk spreads across her face. "So what was my little brother doing with a naked girl in his bed?" she asks gleefully.

"Later," I groan. "Much, much later. Like when we are both dead."

Jezebel simply crackles with laughter.

Zack stands at attention as we reach the door. "Mistress, may I have permission to speak?"

"What is it?" My sister says, not unkindly.

"I met Rose this morning, and she seemed overwhelmed by choosing her own clothing. I had to assist her. Perhaps Master Dan would like me to aid her again?"

My sister looks at me, her eyebrow raised.

"Thank you, Zack, that would be great," I say, still a little startled by his revelation. Had I somehow put Rose in a situation that was too much for her without even realizing it? Surely she can handle dressing herself?

Together Zack and I stare at Jezebel, waiting for her approval. "Fine," she sighs, "Now come on Dan, he's waiting."

He? Who the hell would even know about Rose? My sister would have posted about her on every social media link in the known universe, I'm sure. But even so I can't see a connection there. Would my friends have said something to someone? They were not exactly happy about my involvement with Rose and the slave trade. But regardless of how they feel about me they would never do anything to harm a Lower Vil, right?

I walk ahead of Jezebel into the lounge, still racking my brain for some detail I may have missed over the last few days. However, my chain of thought is broken abruptly by the man perched on the arm of our armchair with mock casualness that is fooling no one. Sitting directly across from him with a frown on both of their faces are my parents, and Emily, who's kneeling at my father's feet. I can't see her downcast face clearly, but from what I can see she looks decidedly forlorn.

The stranger grins at me as I approach, a gold tooth glinting amongst his pearly whites. If I had to describe him in one word it would be slimy. Not physically, of course; he's well-groomed with a wafer thin moustache and thinning black hair, but he carries the aura of a seedy used car salesman.

"Ah, this must be the man!" He stands up, offering his hand.

We share the briefest of handshakes before he continues with an introduction. "Ernie Richardson, don't call me Dickson and we'll be friends for life." He throws my father a smirk, which is only half-heartedly returned.

"Err, hi," I say, wiping my palm on my trousers absentmindedly.

"Now, lad, I recently sold your father a girl. All above board corse' but thing is, I'm an honest salesman and I gotta tell you the girl's defective. She's no good I'm afraid, and see I asked myself, I said Ernie it's not right leaving a young man with a inferrer product, I said that to myself yes I did." I glance over at my dad, who shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. "So, I will be needing her back. But how about I give you twelve thousand credits, three to pay back your old man, nine for you. Can't say fairer than that now can you?"

"No," I reply simply. "What do you mean defective?"

"No?" He says the word as if he's not sure he fully understands the meaning. "Well, it's her mind ain't it? Always is with them Lower Vil. Useful things but damn fragile."

"She's shown no signs of mental problems," I reply sullenly. Well, other than falling into that whole catatonic state thing earlier. But I'm not going to mention that.

"It will come lad, trust me. And you don't want to be witness to that. Believe me, I've been in the trade a long time. Seen it all."

"Then I will take her to a doctor." I shrug.

His face visibly pales. "Ah lad, well doctors see. What you have to understand see. She can't be helped and the amount of credits some quack would charge you? No, I can't do that to you lad, I won't. I'm an honourable man."

"Rose is not for sale," I say curtly. I have no idea what this creep wants with her, but I'm sure it's not good.

"Right, right. Let's say twenty thousand credits." Behind me Jezebel gasps. It's a lot of money, enough for the most expensive slave or a solid down payment on an apartment. "You could replace her easily with that kind of credit in your palm. And I'm your man to get you anything you want," he pauses. "Anything, younger than selling age if that's what you're into."

I take a step back, disgusted. "Rose. Is. Not. For. Sale." I say slowly, with force behind each word.

"Greg!" The salesman turns desperately to my father. "Talk some sense into the boy!"

My dad considers what I assume is his friend with a newfound disdain, before turning to me. "It's a lot of money, and if what he says is true, then he sold me a defective product." His gaze suddenly finds Ernie and there is nothing even pretending to be friendly there anymore. If there's one thing my dad hates above all else, it's being on the receiving end of a bad deal.

"That's why I'm here to make it right, ain't it?" Ernie says, holding up his hands in a perfect show of innocence.

Dad ignores him, continuing to talk to me. "If she's going to become sick it might be for the best, even if whatever is affecting her is curable you won't be able to afford the medical bills. No, my advice is to end it now before you become too attached."

"I still don't understand this illness he claims she has," I say, more to myself than my father. "Her ident chip would have been monitoring her since the day she was born. If she were going to become sick it would have been noted on her registration docs, right?"

"We are still waiting for her registration papers," my father says with a pointed look towards the salesman.

Tugging at his collar, the slimy little man looks between all of us. "Look, I need that girl back." He rubs his palms together nervously. "She was never mine to sell-"

"You sold me stolen goods!" Dad roars, startling Emily who nearly falls over but manages a grab for the coffee table just in time.

Rose does not count as 'goods' but now hardly seems the best time to remind anyone.

"Get the hell out of my house," Dad growls dangerously, and apparently Ernie, like us, knows to get the hell out of town when my father uses that tone.

I follow him to the door under the pretense of showing him out, but really just making sure he doesn't try to kidnap Rose. The sun is bathing the gravel drive in warm red light as I open the front door for my unexpected, and most unwelcome, guest.

"That girl is going to cause you nothing by misery lad, trust me." He frowns, pulling something from his jacket pocket. "Here's my card, just in case you change your mind." I notice his confident trader speech has vanished as he hands me a tiny rectangle of white card. Who the hell still uses paper cards for sharing contact info?

"I won't." I reply, closing the door on the man who was responsible for bringing Rose into my life, and who now seems to be desperate to get her back. What in the name of all the eternal stars is going on?