Chapter 23 Wrong Hands
Wrong Hands
I almost didn't answer. The building had security—no one should be able to reach my door without being buzzed in. But the knock came again, authoritative and impatient, and my conditioning responded before logic could intervene.
She stood in my doorway like something out of my nightmares and dreams. Leather jacket over a black dress, boots that meant business, energy that commanded attention. Nothing soft about her except the knowing smile when she saw me.
"Bunny." Not a question. A statement that froze my blood.
"I... who are you?"
"Someone who knows about the Mire Institute." She stepped forward, and I automatically stepped back, letting her into my space without conscious decision. "Someone Gabriel sent."
My heart stopped. Started. Raced into overdrive. "Gabriel sent you?"
"We need to talk." She pushed past me entirely, surveying my apartment with calculating eyes. "Nice setup. He always did like to keep his pets comfortable."
The word 'pets' should have warmed me. Should have felt like recognition, like belonging. Instead, something cold slithered down my spine. Wrong. This felt wrong, though I couldn't articulate why.
"You know Gabriel?" I hated how desperate I sounded. How eager. But three weeks of abandonment had stripped away dignity, left only need.
"Oh, honey." She settled onto my couch—my safe space—like she owned it. "I know all about Gabriel. About his methods. About what he does to girls like you."
"He sent you to get me?" Hope overrode caution. "To bring me back?"
"Something like that." Her smile sharpened. "He's been watching, you know. Seeing how you handle independence. That disaster at the coffee shop? He wasn't pleased."
Shame flooded me, hot and immediate. Of course he'd seen. Of course he'd judged my failure. But how did she—
"How do you know about that?"
"I told you. Gabriel sent me." She patted the couch beside her. "Come sit. Let's discuss what happens next."
Every instinct screamed danger. But stronger than instinct was conditioning—obey female authority, follow commands, trust anyone who knew the right words. I found myself moving, sitting, even as my skin crawled with wrongness.
"Good girl." The praise hit like a drug, making me hungry for more even as alarm bells rang. "He said you were well-trained. Said you'd come easily once you knew he wanted you back."
"He wants me back?"
"Would I be here otherwise?" She shifted closer. "Though I have to say, seeing you in person... I understand the appeal. All that rage transformed into something so... compliant."
My body reacted to her proximity—not with arousal but with increasing dread. Something in her eyes, her energy, the way she looked at me like meat. This wasn't how Gabriel's colleagues acted. Wasn't how anyone from the Institute would approach a patient.
"I should... I should pack."
"No need." Her hand found my thigh, possessive and wrong. "He has everything you need. Just wants you. As you are. Right now."
The touch broke through conditioning enough for clarity. Gabriel would never send someone who touched me without permission. Would never let another person handle what was his. This woman, whoever she was, wasn't from him.
"Actually," I stood quickly, "I need to use the bathroom first. Before we go."
"I don't think so." She grabbed my wrist, grip painful. "Sit back down, Bunny."
The use of my name felt like violation. Wrong mouth forming sacred sounds. I tried to pull away, but she was stronger than she looked. Fear finally overrode programming, flooding my system with adrenaline I'd forgotten how to use.
"Let go."
"Or what?" She laughed, ugly sound. "You'll hurt me? Sweet little Bunny who can't even order coffee without panic? Who lets strange men grope her rather than make a scene?"
"How do you—"
"Same way I know about the Institute. About Gabriel.
About exactly what he did to turn you into this perfect victim.
" She yanked me closer. "There's a whole network of us, you know.
People who've figured out what the Institute produces.
Where they send their finished products. How to... acquire them."
Horror washed cold down my spine. "You're not from Gabriel."
"Clever Bunny. Though not clever enough to avoid answering your door to strangers.
" Her free hand produced a phone, showed video footage—me in the coffee shop, frozen while that man touched me.
"This has been circulating. Do you know what people would pay for someone like you?
Fully trained, completely conditioned, unable to resist? "
"No." The word came out small, powerless. "No, I belong to—"
"To a man who abandoned you. Who left you gift-wrapped for whoever figured out the pattern." She stood, dragging me with her. "Time to go, Bunny. Your new owner is waiting."
New owner.
The words shattered something. Not my conditioning—that ran too deep. But the last fragments of trust, of faith that the world contained only people like Gabriel who would hurt me carefully, with purpose.
I went limp. Complete dead weight, trained response to distress. She cursed, tried to haul me upright, but bodies were heavy when they didn't cooperate.
"Fine. We do this the hard way."
She dropped me, and I scrambled. Not far—my body still wouldn't fully disobey a direct command—but enough to put the coffee table between us. Pathetic defense, but all I could manage.
"This is adorable." She circled like a predator. "Where exactly do you think you're going? You can barely function in public. You think you can run? Hide? Fight me?"
She was right. I couldn't do any of those things. But I could scream. Maybe. If I remembered how. If the sound could bypass trained quiet and—
Her phone rang. She answered without taking her eyes off me.
"Yeah, I've got her. No, she's being difficult. What? Now?" Frustration colored her voice. "Fine. Twenty minutes."
The distraction was minimal but enough. I bolted for the door. Made it three steps before she caught my hair, yanked me backward. Pain exploded through my scalp, familiar but wrong because it wasn't his hand, wasn't done with care, wasn't—
"Should have come quietly," she hissed.
The last thing I saw was her fist descending. Then darkness swallowed me, and my final thought was relief.
At least unconscious, I couldn't obey the wrong hands.
Awareness returned in fragments. Movement. Engine noise. My head pounding rhythm against something hard. Leather seats that smelled wrong, felt wrong, weren't his car.
I kept my breathing even, stayed limp. Let her think I was still out while I tried to process. She'd taken me. Was taking me somewhere. To someone who'd "acquired" Gabriel's abandoned project.
The horror of it should have sparked rage. Should have ignited whatever remained of the old Lilah who'd have fought tooth and nail. But all I felt was grief. Not just for what was happening, but for what it revealed.
He'd truly abandoned me. Left me so thoroughly that predators could identify me by the shape of my damage. Could track Institute "products" through some network I'd never imagined. Could claim ownership of things that should have been protected.
"I know you're awake." Her voice came from the front seat. "Your breathing changed. He really did train you well—even unconscious, you try to hide. But I've handled enough Institute girls to know the tells."
Enough Institute girls.
"How many?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
"Oh, she speaks." Amusement colored her tone. "How many what? How many girls like you are out there? How many has Gabriel personally destroyed? Or how many have I collected?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. The implications made me sick.
"More than you'd think, to all three. The Institute is good at what they do. And Gabriel? He's their best. His projects always fetch the highest prices. Broken so perfectly they can't be fixed, only maintained."
"I'm not broken."
"No?" She laughed. "You let me into your apartment because I said the right words. Sat next to me despite every instinct screaming danger because I gave you an order. You can't even run properly because he trained the fight out of you."
All true. All horrible. All evidence that everything I'd thought was love had been systematic destruction.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To someone who appreciates Gabriel's work.
Who's been waiting for one of his to become.
.. available." A pause. "You lasted longer than most, you know.
Three weeks. Most give up after a few days.
Kill themselves or break completely. But you kept trying.
Kept forcing yourself to function. Made you easier to find. "
"He'll come for me." Empty words. Desperate hope. "Gabriel will—"
"Gabriel has already moved on to his next project. That's how this works. They break you, study the process, publish papers on innovative conditioning techniques. Then they release you to see if the programming holds without reinforcement. You're not a person to them—you're data."
"You're lying."
"Am I? Then where is he? Why hasn't he come for his precious Bunny? Why was it so easy for me to find you when he could have kept you hidden?"
I had no answers. Only the growing certainty that she was right. That I'd been an experiment from start to finish. That all his promises had been part of the process, designed to make me compliant enough for complete reconstruction.
"Almost there," she announced. "Be good when we arrive, and this might not be completely awful. My client has specific tastes, but he's not cruel. Not like some. You'll be fed, housed, used but not abused. Could be worse."
Could be worse. The kind of thing you said about prison sentences. About chronic illness. About fates that fell short of death but nowhere near life.
"I won't—"
"Won't what? Fight? We've established you can't. Run? Where would you go? You can barely order coffee without falling apart." Her voice gentled with false sympathy. "This is what you were made for, Bunny. To be owned. Might as well accept it."
The car slowed, turned. Gravel crunched under tires. My window showed trees, isolation, the kind of place where screams wouldn't carry. Perfect location for keeping acquired Institute girls.
This was happening. This was really happening. And everything in me that might have prevented it had been carefully removed by the man I'd trusted with my transformation.
"He'll come," I whispered one more time. Not to her. To myself. To the universe. To the possibility that somewhere, Gabriel was watching. That this was another test. That rescue waited just beyond this nightmare.
But as she parked, as doors opened, as hands reached in to pull me out, I knew the truth.
He wasn't coming.
He'd never been coming.
And I'd been rebuilt specifically to be unable to save myself.
The perfect victim, delivered directly to the wolves.
All according to plan.
Just not the plan I'd believed in.
"Welcome to your new home," she said, guiding me toward a house that looked normal from the outside. Looked safe. Looked like the kind of lie I'd been swallowing for weeks.
My legs obeyed, carrying me forward. My body complied, following commands. My conditioning held, keeping me docile despite the screaming in my head.
He'd built me too well.
And now someone else would benefit from his careful work.
The door closed behind us with the finality of a coffin lid, and I understood with perfect clarity what I'd become:
Not a cherished possession.
Not a transformed woman.
Not a loved submissive.
Just product. Successfully manufactured. Functioning as designed.
Ready for market.