Chapter 21 #2
I take the tray with trembling hands, and pass out the glasses, starting with the gray-haired man, then the older one with the bushy brows. King watches my every movement with a crooked smile.
“Such a graceful little thing,” he murmurs as I approach with his glass. When I lean forward to set the tray down, his hand shoots out to grip my wrist. His thick fingers trace circles over my pulse point. “Much more refined than when I last saw her.”
I choke on my own breath, but I force myself to stay still. Polly’s words echo in my ears. Don’t fight. Don’t react. Don’t give him what he wants.
“Indeed,” Sir says with obvious pride. “Bailey, why don’t you show our guests how well your lessons have progressed? Please, recite something for us.”
My insides twist. I can’t… not like this, with King’s sick smile staring up at me. “Sir, I—”
“Come now, don’t be modest. That lovely piece from Keats you’ve been practicing. You must remember the passage, you just recited it at breakfast yesterday.”
The room falls silent, all eyes land on me. King’s grip on my wrist tightens to the point of pain before he finally drops my arm.
There’s no getting out of this. I’m no more than a trained circus animal forced to perform.
I clear my throat, my voice barely steady.
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever... It’s loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness...”
“Excellent diction,” the gray-haired man comments, his English accent prominent. “Very proper. I’d almost never guess she started as a common whore.”
Tears well in my eyes but I refuse to let them loose. They won’t hurt me. I will stay strong.
“And look at her posture,” Sir adds, moving behind me to adjust my shoulders. “Six months of deportment lessons. Notice how she holds herself—chin up, spine straight. None of that slouching American nonsense.”
King slowly claps. “Impressive. Though I do wonder...” He leans back in his chair, studying me. “Has she learned proper obedience as well as pretty words?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Sir gestures to me. “Bailey, a proper curtsy for our guests.”
A single tear rolls down my cheek. I can cry and cry and it won’t change anything, I have no choice but to obey. I lower myself into the curtsy Ms. Harrington drilled into me, keeping my eyes downcast as I rise.
“Charming,” the bushy-browed man chuckles. “Like something from finishing school.”
“That was the idea,” Sir beams. “Complete refinement. She’ll make a certain someone very—” His phone buzzes, cutting him off. He checks it and huffs. “Gentlemen, forgive me. I need to take this call. Important business matters.”
“Of course,” the gray-haired man waves him off. “We’ll keep ourselves entertained.”
Sir steps out onto the terrace, turning his back to the rest of us as he speaks urgently to whoever’s on the other side of his phone. As soon as he slides the door closed, the air in the room shifts, becoming thicker, more suffocating.
King pulls out a small object from his pocket, scooping white powder from it onto the glass table. I watch as he inhales two lines, offers some to the other men, but they politely decline.
When my feet finally feel lighter, I make a move to go back to where Polly’s standing by the credenza. Maybe I can make myself small and wait this meeting out.
“Pet, where do you think you’re going?” King’s smile widens, but there’s nothing warm about it.
“Nowhere,” I manage to say.
“That was quite a performance just now. I’m impressed.”
The gray-haired man lights a cigar, leaning forward to watch our exchange, the other settles back sipping from his glass.
“Tell me, Bailey,” King continues, swirling his whiskey, “do you remember the many conversations we had?”
I keep my eyes down, maybe he’ll stop, focus on something else. Through the glass, I can see Sir pacing the terrace, gesturing animatedly into his phone.
“I asked you a question.” King’s voice hardens. “It’s rude not to answer when someone speaks to you. Surely you’ve learned that much from Ms. Harrington.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes, what?”
My throat constricts. “Yes, I remember.”
“Good.” He takes a slow sip of his drink, never taking his eyes off me. “And what did I tell you about respect?”
The memory hits me like a slap to the face the moment the word leaves his lips—his hands on me, his voice in my ear, the way he made me beg, made me hurt.
My legs shake.
“I said,” King’s voice drops to that dangerous whisper I remember too well, “what did I tell you about respect?”
“That... that I needed to learn it,” I manage.
“Exactly.” He leans forward slightly. “And have you? Learned respect?”
I nod quickly, desperate to give him what he wants so this will stop.
“Show me,” he says. “Come here.”
My feet are rooted to the floor. Through the glass, Sir is still deep in conversation, completely oblivious.
“I don’t like to repeat myself, pet.” King’s tone grows sharper with each word. “Come. Here.”
On wobbly legs, I take a step toward him, then another. The gray-haired man chuckles low in his throat, coughing from the cigar smoke. The older one adjusts his position to get a better view.
“That’s better,” King murmurs when I’m within arm’s reach.
I hate him so fucking much. I want to spit in his face, claw his eyes— “Now, your new master seems to think his gentle methods have made you into a proper lady. But you and I both know what you really are underneath all that polish, don’t we? ”
His hand clamps around my wrist again, and I whimper from the pain. He pulls me down until my knees hit the hard floor.
“Don’t we?” he repeats, his nails digging into my skin.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I whisper.
“Oh, I think you do. You’re still that same frightened little girl who begged so prettily. He may have taught you to recite poetry and curtsy, but he hasn’t changed what you are.” He squeezes my cheeks with one hand, leaning in so his mouth is an inch from mine. “And what you are is my little toy.”
I try to shake my head, to get free from his grasp, but he only tightens his hold. “Please,” I try to say, but the word barely comes out.
He just laughs and drinks in the sight of me crying and begging, exactly like he wants me.
“You know what I’m curious about?” His free hand moves to finger the pearl buttons of my dress.
“He’s dressed you up so pretty, like a little doll.
All proper and refined on the outside.” His fingers work at the top button.
“But I wonder... is the packaging underneath just as fancy?”
“No,” I breathe, trying to pull back, but his grip on my face keeps me in place.
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” The first button pops open. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen those perfect tits.”
Both men murmur their approval, leaning forward like they’re witnessing the crescendo of a show. They’re disgusting, all of them.
“Please,” I say, bringing my hands up to try and stop him from opening the next button. He lets go of my face to swipe my hands aside.
A third button gives way, then a fourth. The dress gapes open at my throat, and King’s smile widens.
“Much better. Now let’s get to the good part—”
“Orlov.”
Sir’s commanding voice has King’s hands dropping to his side. He walks over, phone still in his hand, wearing an expression of fury.
“Finished with your call?” King says smoothly.
“Step away from her. Now.” Sir’s tone is deadly quiet.
“Oh, come now. I was just inspecting your handiwork. Making sure she’s as refined underneath as she appears on the surface.”
“I said step away. You’re damaging months of careful work.”
King finally releases me, and I scramble backward, clutching my dress closed. “She needs to remember her place. Your methods have made her soft.”
“She knows her place perfectly well.” Sir’s gaze flicks to me, then to Polly, still frozen by the credenza. “She’s to be saved for someone important. But…”
I feel all the blood drain from my face as his attention settles on Polly.
“Polly,” Sir says quietly. “Come here.”
“No,” I gasp, struggling to my feet. “Please. I’m here, it’s fine. He can—”
Sir ignores me completely. “Orlov, if you need to satisfy your... needs... Polly is more than adequate for the purpose.”
Polly’s face goes completely blank, like a light has been switched off behind her eyes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t protest, just stands there with an empty expression, like she’s been waiting for this moment.
“Much more practical,” Sir continues. “Bailey is being prepared for someone specific. Polly, however...” He shrugs as if she’s nothing more than an object. “She’s expendable.”
King beckons Polly forward, and she obeys with slow robotic movements. “I usually like them with more fight.” He runs a hand over her thin frame, and pulls her dress down, exposing her bare breasts. “But she’ll do.”
“No, please,” I cry. “Polly, you don’t have to do this.”
Sir wraps his arms around my middle and hoists me off my feet. “Come, Bailey. This is no place for a lady.”
“No!” I scream. “Polly!”
The last thing I see before Sir hauls me out the door, is King’s hand connecting with Polly’s cheek.
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!” As the words leave my lips, I realize I mean them with my whole being.