Chapter 1 - Grand Prize #2
Who the hell needed an instruction manual to take care of a human being? A psychopath, plain and simple.
“Its IDs and passport will be produced overnight,” Martin said. “You can pick them up at the reception desk tomorrow morning. We’ll also be providing you with an extra plane ticket . . .”
William barely registered the rest of Martin’s instructions as he held the Serviteur’s gaze, the emotions in the man’s expressive eyes almost too much to bear. What the hell had he gotten himself into? What had he done to the universe to deserve this? Wasn’t he miserable enough already?
Martin handed them each a business card. “This room is yours for the rest of the night; use it as you please. Text this number if you need anything.”
William gave Martin his limpest handshake possible and looked back at the man he now legally owned.
“My name is Adathan,” he said with a bright smile. “It will be my absolute pleasure to serve you.”
Adathan’s hair was otherworldly shiny, framing a delicate face with kind blue eyes. He was tiny—at least one foot shorter than William. So fragile and vulnerable-looking, it made William’s stomach churn.
“Nice to meet you, Adathan,” William said, doing his best not to sound like an asshole. There was no way Adathan was genuinely looking forward to being at his mercy with the way William had reacted earlier.
“You know,” Richard said as he poured himself some champagne. “I almost regret letting you win.”
William huffed. “What the hell are you talking about? I had a straight.”
Richard took a slow sip, looking William in the eye as he said, “I knew you had a good hand.”
William crossed his arms. “Sure.”
“You always get so . . . stiff when you have a good hand.”
“Look who’s talking. You have your thoughts written all over your face.”
“Hmm, yes . . .” Richard trailed off, his smile growing as he held William’s gaze. “Perhaps.”
William narrowed his eyes. Where the hell was this conversation going?
“Tell me, William. What am I thinking of now?”
“I’m not in the mood for your games.”
Richard waved his hand dismissively. “Then I’ll get straight to the point. What I’m thinking right now is that you have no use for a Serviteur, do you? I mean”—he gestured at William’s shoes—“will you even have the means to feed and clothe it?”
Embarrassment pierced William’s gut. He’d been hoping no one would notice they were knockoffs with the cameras focusing on their upper bodies the entire time. He’d been stupidly na?ve.
Noticing was what Richard did. Whoever he considered beneath him, he figured out how to hurt.
“Let me take it off your hands,” Richard said, setting his champagne flute down.
“No,” William replied firmly. Richard was an idiot if he thought shaming him would yield results. If anything, it gave William the unshakable will to prove him wrong.
“Name your price.”
Why don’t you just buy one, William almost asked, remembering just in time that Adathan wasn’t a thing, and that they were having this conversation right next to him.
The muscles in Richard’s neck betrayed his frustration as William offered him nothing but extended silence. “Alas,” he said in a voice that was probably meant to sound lighthearted, “the waiting list is . . . infuriatingly long.”
William’s skin prickled with anger. There were people out there dying because they were on a waiting list for an organ transplant, and this rich asshole had the gall to whine because he couldn’t get his hands on a fucking slave fast enough. “I’m not selling him.”
“Suit yourself,” Richard said, turning to survey the buffet.
William refused to stay in this room a minute longer. He looked at Adathan, whose bright smile contrasted painfully with the sickening situation. “Let’s go.”
“You know how to reach me if you change your mind,” Richard said in a singsong voice.
Fuck you.
William rushed out, furiously stepping toward the elevator as he replayed the conversation in his head.
He’d thought Richard wouldn’t get to him so easily once he finally beat him, but he’d been sorely mistaken.
He should have known Richard would pretend he let him win.
Men like him had egos as brittle as the crystal champagne flutes they drank from.
William jabbed the elevator button, only then realizing that Adathan was carrying the box containing his goddamn instruction manual. He had to get his shit together and calm down. He couldn’t have Adathan thinking he was headed straight to a torture room.
William fidgeted with the keycard in his pocket. The few seconds it took to reach the fifteenth floor felt like an eternity as they both stood in awkward silence. He was almost tempted to hop on a plane and get the fuck out of this city tonight, but he could no longer act on impulse now, could he?
Fucking hell.
William motioned for Adathan to get out of the elevator and led him to his room, the pressure in his chest rising with each step he took.
“I’m sorry for the way I reacted earlier,” he said as he opened the door. “I’m not a bad person, I swear. I just think it’s fucked up what they did to you. But don’t worry.” He stepped inside and held the door for Adathan. “I don’t intend to keep you captive.”
“Am I not to your liking, Master?”
William gaped. “Don’t call me Master!”
“How would you like me to address you?”
“William.”
“Am I not to your liking, William?”
It was worse. Much worse.
“I can assure you that my training met the most rigorous standards,” Adathan said. “If it’s my appearance you’re not satisfied with—”
“No! This has nothing to do with your looks!” William gripped his own hair with a groan. “You’re a person. A person! I can’t own you. You’re not a thing!”
Adathan took a slow step forward, looking him in the eye as he said, “I’ll be anything you want, William.”