Chapter 44
Karson strides into my room, a flash of black, with the backwards hat on as always, fresh clothes and linens in hand.
I can only assume that means Mr. Morgan is on his way.
Placing the book I was reading upon the nightstand, I rise from the chair to meet him halfway as I remove the tensor bandage I now wear on my healing wrist.
My mouth doesn’t move, but my eyes say it all. Begging, pleading, screaming, for anything he’s willing to tell me about Chelsea.
Are my nightly submissions to Brad really keeping him away from her?
Karson turns his back to the camera. “She’s fine, Rose,” he whispers. “Let’s get you dressed.”
It’s the same phrase I’ve heard every day, multiple times. When he checks in, brings me a meal, or I ring the bell for something and he appears. It’s growing tiresome. Even if he cares about her, he can give me more than ‘fine’.
“What’s that mean?” I snap quietly, placing the bandage on the dresser. “All she ever is, is fine. She’s my fucking sister, Karson. Tell me more.”
“Will you keep your voice down?” His tone is hushed, but stern. “I’m doing what I can to keep her safe, but there’s things I can’t do to stop the bigger wheel in motion.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“There are clients with more pull than me. I can’t get her out of her meetings with them, I’ve tried.”
Nausea pools in my gut. “Is anyone hurting her?” I riskily ask. Karson can’t know about Brad. But, if he’s visiting with my sister in Karson’s absence, all I’m enduring will be for nothing.
Not that I can do anything about it.
I know I’m foolish for putting so much faith in Brad and his word, but I’m holding onto the hope I can sway Mr. Morgan into purchasing my sister in exchange for my unending gratitude.
Whatever that may be in his eyes. Especially, since he doesn’t have to pay for me if this deal he mentioned works out.
He’s clearly got the money, right? Or he wouldn’t be here.
“No one’s beating her, if that’s what you mean,” Karson replies.
I nod sullenly. I know what he means. This place is hurting her. This fucking situation we were sold into by the one’s who are supposed to care for us, protect us.
“Are you done? I have to change the sheets.”
Nodding again, he passes me the outfit he’s chosen.
Karson starts to strip the bed, tossing the old sheets and blanket to the floor.
“Karson?”
“Hmm,” he grumbles.
“Is there anything else I can wear?”
He huffs, clearly annoyed with me today. Maybe because I’m keeping him from my sister. “Like what?”
“I don’t know… Something that doesn’t make me choose between my ass or my tits popping out?”
He turns to me, abandoning his struggle with the fitted sheet that keeps slipping off the mattress corner. “What would you like?”
“Something normal? Shorts and a t-shirt?”
“You realize where you are, right?”
“Mhmm…”
“If you wanted a maid outfit, school teacher, cheerleader, I could find it. But regular everyday clothes? I don’t think so. I can ask Mr. Smythe if he’d allow me to get you some? Or bring it up to Mr. Morgan when he gets here. You’re his doll to play dress-up with.”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
“I’m just telling it like it is, Rose. No need to bite my head off.”
“Well, stop. I’m well aware of where I’m forced to be.”
“Look, if you make this fucking bed, I’ll get you new clothes.”
That was easy enough. “Okay,” I reply, stuffing down my laugh. The sheet is twisted the wrong way, which is causing his problem. It’s an easy agreement to make in order to get something more comfortable and with more coverage.
“What should I look for?”
A grin pulls at my lips. I know exactly what to wear to have Mr. Morgan putty in my hands.