46. My Property
Chapter forty-six
My Property
Julian
A month and a half ago
After spending a whole weekend at her place by myself, I started worrying and took a few days off from the clinic to search for her. No one could imagine the extent of my rage and self control when I saw her all safe and happy at work. I had given the bitch the benefit of doubt, thought maybe she'd been kidnapped. But there she was, safe, making eye contact and smiling at whom I'd soon find to be the biggest piece of shit.
It was the obvious look of lovers. Instead of sitting in my rage, I focused on finding out who he was, tracing his license plate back to him. He was already being investigated by the CIA and FBI; a world-renowned cartel member who specialized in human trafficking. Of course, only my little bird would get into this much trouble without me.
I stayed in the background, knowing if I approached her, she’d never believe me. That’s when I contacted him through an anonymous chat, asking to buy one of his girls. He showed me his catalog but she was nowhere in it so I described her to him. "I'm looking for something more like…" He didn't answer for weeks but I waited.
Sebastian: How about this one? I couldn’t sell her for the price I wanted because of the scars on her back. If you’re willing to pay that price, you can have her. I’ll need proof that this isn’t some stupid government authorities trick.
Me: Like what?
Sebastian: We both fuck her the night I bring her to you.
At first, the very suggestion made me want to kill him right then and there because I’ve never even thought of sharing her, but as I let the thought simmer, I realized it was the perfect punishment for her crime. My rage at her stupid betrayal intensified by the seconds until it became infinite. Still, to this day, when I think about it for too long, it bubbles up again. She’d wanted two men in her life, right? Him and me? Well, she could have us, for one glorious night.
I had to tread carefully. If I just took her, he’d come after us with the cartel.
Sebastian: You're the one aren't you? The one she's running away from?
After he figured out that Astoria and I had a history and doubled the price, I became his best friend, conversing with him every night. It turned out, the hotel was the perfect hunting ground. It was always the same story. The girl who went on vacation with friends disappeared somewhere. He even told me he’d faked weddings with a family who worked for him–this was for the girls who were difficult to groom. After they ‘married’ him, he'd sell them.
Me: Why waste money on fake weddings?
Sebastian: When cows know they’re going to be slaughtered, they don’t taste as good, after. The meat is not as tender. I like the difficult ones, and your Astoria has definitely tested my patience. I guess I just want to give her one last good day in her life before she goes back to you.
The Wedding Night
He carried her unconscious body into the house, laid her on my kitchen table like a dead pig, and pointed at her. “There she is, your lovely Astoria. Are you happy?”
She wasn’t breathing right. I resisted slashing his throat right there and then.
“It was a good instinct on your part to scar her so much.” He continued talking as he undressed her and tied her with ropes from his bag. “In this business, buyers want clean and unmarked. Virgins, of course, are of the highest value, but she’s such a good fuck there’s no way I would’ve been able to fake her being a virgin.”
Such a good fuck… If he knew what those words did to me, he would’ve never spoken them. Almost all my generosity and patience went out the window. I let him talk while I planned how to kill him, the chauffeur and how to dispose of the limousine.
“I’m assuming you’re the one who trained her to come so easily and to crave being fucked hard? Anyway, I never touched her ass; I wanted to save it for today.” He smiled at me with anticipation.
Sebastian was either too cocky for his own good, had a death wish, or wanted to see me pissed off at her. Those were the only reasons I could think of for him to speak like that. And it worked. I pictured stabbing her right there, taking out her appendix and then sewing her back up without any anesthesia.
He broke my daydream. “Oh, I brought you a gift since you obviously like marking your property.”
He opened his leather bag again, took out a small branding iron, and chuckled, running the tip of his forefinger across the metal. “See, it says, ‘Asher Julian Michaelson’s property’. Here, I’ll heat it for you.” He took it to the stove and turned on the gas. “Hope you don’t mind that I didn’t add the doctor part.”
Of course I had never told him my real name. It's all an indirect threat.
“You really fucked her up, you know. There’s not a night she doesn’t cry your name in her sleep."
Yes, I know, asshole.
"We can wait until she’s waking up and pretend you’ve tied me up, see how she reacts.” He laughs. “I know I’m a sick fuck, but I’ve been doing this for so many years. It gets boring, you know?”