21 EMMA
My anger at Lavinia for misinterpreting the mark fades within a few days. Because how could she know better? The marks on her body tell a whole different story than mine, and there’s no way for her to know that. So, of course, she assumed it was a sign of abuse. All she wanted was to show some compassion and find common ground.
But most of all, what drives me to return to her cell the next time Dax makes me wait in the hall, is the desire to hear her voice. Even when she spoke, her soft, lyrical tone caressed my ears and soothed my soul. Or maybe it was her gentle disposition. I don’t know. Either way, I’m more than a little eager to hear it as I open the hatch.
She gets up from the mattress the moment she sees me. The straitjacket is gone today, leaving her fully naked, like me. Taking the blanket with her and wrapping it around her, she approaches the door.
“I’m so sorry if I said something to offend you.” She stops a step from the hatch. “I really didn’t mean to. Please believe me. Please stay.”
Reaching my hand through the hatch, I offer her a sign of forgiveness. She tentatively slips her delicate fingers onto my palm, and I try to convey my forgiveness through my eyes as I nod and gently close my hand around hers.
“How long have you been here?” Her fingers twitch with uncertainty as she hurriedly adds, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
I hold up three fingers.
“Weeks?” she asks, and I shake my head. “Months?” she tries, and I confirm. Then I point at her to return the inquiry.
“Um, I’m not sure. A couple of weeks maybe. I’ve lost count.”
I point into the cell, trying to convey a question in my expression.
She glances back into the padded room, then realizes what I mean. “If I’ve been in here all the time?”
I nod.
“Yes. They only let me out to use the bathroom and to wash me down in the evenings.” She shudders as she adds, “And well, for the electrotherapy. You’re lucky you don’t have to get that.”
She goes quiet for a while, and I simply stroke the back of her hand as she stares off into the distance, seemingly deep in thought.
“Do you think someone knows what they’re doing here? I mean, like the government or someone?”
Swallowing hard, I shake my head. It’s hard to comprehend how she has no idea what this place is—how she’s stuck in this illusion, thinking they actually mean her well.
“I didn’t think so either. The things they do”—she shakes her head—“there’s no way they’d get to keep this place running if someone official knew.” She sighs. “But I guess it’s better than nothing, don’t you think?”
I don’t have the heart to break her hopefulness, so I just wait for her to continue.
“And I feel safer here than I did out there.”
I want to shake my head ardently—let her know that she’s by no means safe here. But it seems cruel to destroy her hopefulness, especially since I can’t give her the truth and tell her what this place actually is. So I’d rather let her live in the illusion for as long as she can.
Before she can speak more heartbreaking hopefulness, I gesture to her, then to my mouth.
She frowns, not following. But when I hum gently behind the leather and point at her again, her eyes light up. “Oh, you want me to sing to you?”
I nod eagerly.
“I’d love to.” She leans her head against the door, still holding my hand, and the gray walls and dry scent of basement draw back as she starts singing. She keeps her voice soft, as if singing only for me—and maybe to not draw attention, knowing we’d both get in trouble for me being here—but her voice is breathtaking nonetheless. Warm and delicate. I don’t understand the Russian words, but her enunciation is clear and deep-felt as if every word is of great importance. It sounds like a lullaby for a child, full of love and warmth. It washes over me with a deep sense of calm, and I drift away with the notes. Time seems to suspend as she sings, and I close my eyes, forgetting where I am.
Her hope rubs off on me just the way I thought it would. I feel lighter, less burdened by the loss and uncertainties of everything, and for the next few days, I simply drift along without worrying or wondering too much.
Over the next few weeks, I go back there every chance I get. It’s not much, but often enough to appease the jittery unease that has been crawling inside me since the distant sound of Lavinia’s voice made me remember everything I had lost and Dax closing my pussy made me think of what I’ll lose as he hands me over to a new man.
By some miracle, Dax never finds out that I leave. Neither does any other guard. I’m careful, only running off after lunchtime like Lavinia suggested, and being quick to run back to Dax’s office when I hear a guard approach.
She tells me stories about her childhood town and sings me songs, and I hold her hand in turn and stroke her cheek when she’s trapped in the straitjacket. Our bond grows with each visit, solidifying a friendship stronger than any I’ve ever known despite our time together being short.
As careful as I am, I’m bound to get caught at some point. I know it, yet I keep returning. I think that day—getting caught—has come one day as I’m leaning against the door, enraptured by a beautiful folk tune she sings to me. Suddenly, I hear footsteps approaching, way too close. Usually, I stay alert, listening for approaching steps, so I can run off before they get too close. But this time, they’re just around the corner.
Pushing out from the door, I turn my head from side to side. There’s no way I’ll make it to the end of the hall in time; there’s nowhere to hide. So I make a quick decision. I close the hatch as quickly and soundlessly as I can, then step to the side of the door, lower my head, and gather my hands at my back. It’s the same way I always wait outside Dax’s office, and I hope to God the person approaching won’t find it strange that it’s not his office I’m standing outside.
My heart hammers in my chest as steps turn down the hall and I see a guard approach in my peripheral vision. It takes everything I have to keep my airflow steady so my nervous breaths rushing in and out of my nose won’t give me away.
The guard only casts a glance at me as he passes. I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief, but then he stops and backs up two steps to stand in front of me.
“Are you Dax’s special project?” Grabbing my chin, he lifts my face to study it. “Hell, I can’t tell with that mask.”
He pulls my head forward and holds a scanner to the back of my neck. It makes a beep, and he releases me. I stop breathing as he reads the info on the screen, and I can’t help the relief that makes my shoulders drop as he says, “I don’t get why he lets you stand out here.” He lets his eyes glide down my body. “Untied and without a leash.”
With a shake of his head, he walks on, and I nearly collapse against the wall as relief pounds through my veins. The moment he’s gone, I rush back to Dax’s office, and my heart is still lodged in my throat when he comes to get me half an hour or so later.
Despite several good opportunities, I don’t come back for two whole weeks, too scared to repeat the incident and not get away with it. But eventually, the thought of her voice—her company—pulls me back. But as I open the cell and find her curled up on the mattress, locked in the straitjacket under the blankets, and she doesn’t even lift her gaze, I know something’s wrong.
Worry churns in my stomach as I gently tap the door and she still doesn’t look my way. Finally, as I tap my knuckles against the metal, she turns her head. She blinks like it takes effort to keep her eyes open, and her blue eyes look dull and lifeless.
Needing to feel her—to comfort her with my touch—I lift a hand to the hatch and wave it.
With slow, staggered movements, she gets off the mattress and approaches. She looks lost, sad, and dejected, and I can’t help but wonder if she has finally found out the truth about this place.
“Did you know?” she asks me, leaning her head against the door, close to the hatch so I can stroke her cheek. “That we’re all just sex slaves? That they’ll sell us?”
I nod, hating that I can’t give her a better answer.
“I thought he saved me,” she says, her eyes going distant again. “I actually thought I had finally found someone who wanted to help me.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “How stupid was I? Now he keeps me drugged up and locked in this jacket, afraid I’ll hurt myself.” Tears form in her eyes as she glances into the cell. “How am I supposed to do that in here?”
She doesn’t say any more. She just stands there, leaning against the door and letting me stroke her. I want to talk to her. Tell her that everything will be okay. But deep down, I know it won’t. Things might become some version of okay for me, but they probably never will for her. She doesn’t have Dax to protect her. Only the scary brute.
So maybe it’s for the best that I can’t speak. Even if I knew what to say, it would only cause her more sorrow. So I just stand there, forgetting about everything as I reach my hand through the hatch and stroke her hair, her temples, her cheeks, and her neck. Tears trickle down her face, but she never cries. Not truly. But I can tell there’s a vast ocean of grief hidden deep inside her, and I wonder if she keeps it locked up or if it’s the drugs that prevent it from flooding out.
I don’t know how long time passes, but once again, I get lost and only realize my inattention when steps echo too loudly through the halls.
Quickly, I close the hatch and step aside like I did the last time. My whole system seems to reel—from the shock of seeing Lavinia like that and from the threat of getting caught.
I quiver all over as the guard approaches. But as he closes in, I realize it’s not just any guard or trainer. It’s the brute. The one with the long scar down his face. I feel his energy like a threat of violence waiting to be unleashed, hanging thick in the air.
A shaking sensation settles deep in my bones, and I can’t help the fearful whimper that escapes me as he stops in front of me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Digging his fingers into my jaw, he lifts my face and studies it. Then recognition seems to strike as he watches the muzzle. “You’re Dax’s girl.” He stabs a finger through the air toward the cell, his voice rising with fury. “Is he in there?”
I give a quick shake of my head.
“Then why the hell are you here?” Pulling my head forward, he tugs at the buckle, then pushes my head back when he finds it locked. He glances toward the cell, and the furrow between his brows deepens into a terrifying expression. “Have you bothered her? Have you opened the hatch?”
Ripping his hand from my chin, he grips the door handle, pressing his finger to the scanner to unlock the door. Lavinia must have still been leaning against the door because she shuffles, almost losing her balance as he yanks the door open. He catches her, wrapping an arm around her back as he grips her jaw to study her face. I take the chance to step away, to the other side of the hall.
As I watch him lower her to the padded floor with gentle care, I realize I should run. But before the impulse can reach my legs, Dorin turns to me with a deep, feral growl, and I’m like a deer in headlights as he accuses, “You made her cry.” He unclips a baton from his belt and lifts it into the air. “You’ll fucking pay for that.”
Heart racing in my chest, I back up toward the wall and sink down against it. Huddled in a defensive position, I lift my arms to shield my face and brace for the impending blow.
“No, Dorin, stop,” Lavinia begs as she rushes forward and shoots between us, shielding me with her body. “She comforted me.”
I’m about to try and scream as I think he’s going to hit her, but he merely shoves her aside. “Get back to your cell.”
But Lavinia is not giving up. She steps back between us, and panic kicks into my furious heart as I consider shoving her aside to avoid provoking the beast further and getting us both beaten up. But I’m not as brave as her. I don’t dare to go against Dorin. I just sit there, shaking as I try not to look at them.
“She helped me,” Lavinia says with a deep plea in her voice. “Please, just leave her be.”
Grabbing her arm, he hauls her toward the opposite wall. Taking a carabiner hook from his pocket, he snaps it onto the back of the straitjacket. With a hard yank, he pulls her up against the wall and snaps it onto a hook. “ Don’t fucking bang your head against the wall, or I’ll shoot you up with so many drugs that all you can do is drool out your fucking mouth.”
She gives a quick nod, and then he turns toward me again.
I should run, I should run, I should run, is all I can think as he approaches. But all I can do is sit there, frozen in place by his brutal stare.
“No one hurts what’s mine.” Leaning down, he grabs my hair so hard it smarts at the roots and lifts the baton into the air.
I cry out behind the muzzle and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Stop!” a sharp, authoritative voice demands from down the hall. It cuts through the silence and echoes off the walls.
And makes Dorin stop.
I pant hard as I glance to the side to see Mikhail approaching with firm strides, his fancy oxfords making a quick succession of clicks that ring out through the barren corridor.
“Don’t. Touch her,” he warns with a coldness that could freeze an ocean. He lifts his phone to his ear and seems to wait for someone to pick up.
“She made my girl cry,” Dorin says as he tightens his grip on my hair. I whimper as I feel a tuft loosen from the roots.
“She didn’t. She didn’t make me cry,” Lavinia tries to explain, jerking against the straitjacket, but neither man listens to her, and nothing gives as she keeps jerking.
“Cell one, now. It’s your girl,” Mikhail demands into the phone, then pockets it and holds a finger up to Dorin. “You’d better not put a single scratch on her. She’s Dax’s girl, and you know the deal.”
Dorin makes a feral snarl, loosening and tightening his grip on my hair.
“Get the fuck off her!” a new voice barks.
Turning my attention to the end of the hall, I see a furious Dax hurrying toward us. He’s teeming with murderous energy, his thick biceps bulging with impending violence as he clenches his fist. His eyes are like burning coals as he goes straight for Dorin, ready to rip his throat.
Dax lifts his fist, and I curl up on myself, praying I won’t get caught in the crossfire when the two men go at each other. But just before Dax strikes, Dorin releases me and steps back, hands in the air.
In an instant, Dax is at my side, pulling me into his arms, turning and checking me. “Are you okay?” he asks as he searches my head for bruises or other signs of damage. “Did he hurt you?”
Shaking my head, I decide not to tell him about the hair Dorin ripped loose, afraid he’ll go straight back into attack mode.
Lifting my gaze, I see Lavinia watching us. Her chest shakes from the shock of it all, but there’s relief in her eyes as she glances back and forth between Dax and me and down to my arm where I bear his mark. I’m guessing she’s putting two and two together.
I avert my eyes when Dorin steps up to her and releases her from the wall. But I can’t help glancing back up, needing to see that she’s okay, but also curious about his seeming protectiveness toward her. As Dax does with me, Dorin checks if Lavinia is okay, but instead of searching her body, he searches her face.
His touch seems more practical than tender as he grips her head between his hands and bends his knees to look deep into her eyes. He’s cold and mechanical, yet somewhere in his hard disposition seems to be a flicker of affection. Or maybe obsession. It’s hard to tell, but it’s clear she’s more than just another victim to be trained and sold to him.
She’s as hard to read as he is. Averting her gaze, she denies him the connection, and her whole body seems to try to turn away from him. But when he brushes a fleeting stroke across her cheek, I can see the pain in her eyes—the longing.
She wants him, but for some reason, she can’t accept it.