LUCIEN

 

I SIT IN front of the computer in my office still feeling apprehensive from the turn of events that have taken place since my newest purchase arrived three days ago.  Number Seven had seemed to not understand where she was or why she was here.  Now, granted, she looked like she had a nasty bump to the head, which Jackson had noted might have resulted in a concussion and loss of consciousness.  Also, she was drugged, as they all are, before being brought here.  But her confusion and the terror I saw in her eyes still have me perplexed, because it all seemed so real.

And when I'd mentioned her handler, her expression told me nothing but pure and utter bewilderment.  Does she truly not know why she's here and what I want from her, or is this simply all an act?

It wouldn't be the first time a girl tried to change her mind.

But I can't remember ever wanting one so much that I desperately didn't want her to.

Sighing, my eyes flit to the wide computer screen in front of me that is currently displaying multi-camera angles of Seven's quarters.  Before I even brought the first girl in, I had cameras installed in that specific bedroom.  Like watching a science experiment, I study their reactions, their moods, the way they talk and act when I'm there versus when I'm not.  Every girl has behaved in the same manner, had the same responses and actions.  It's almost like it's the same girl every time, just a different name.

For the most part, their initial reaction is to get in the shower, at my suggestion, and then get dressed and wait.  They sleep and eat and interact with the staff and wait for me to return, to explain what's going to happen and when it's going to happen.

I do not communicate with the women after the initial introduction for a period of three days.  It's not because I want them to go crazy with anticipation or worry.  On the contrary, I would love to take what I paid for on the first night and send them on their way.  But there is the matter of tests that must be done.  Every girl is subject to a thorough screening for drugs, STDs and communicable diseases before I will ever lay a finger on them.

Jackson draws blood from the women the moment they arrive on my property.  And then it takes him three days to take the tests to a private lab and come back to me with the results.

And so, during my three-day wait, I sit back and bide my time by watching my purchases, studying them and thinking about the moment I'm going to take what's mine.

All of my prior experiences have been exactly the same, and I've come to expect every single reaction…except for now.

As I watched Seven that first night, I noticed small idiosyncrasies and differences between her and the others.  The time she spent in the shower was mesmerizing and hypnotic, the way she washed her hair and body over and over and over, getting as clean as possible.

Her predecessors showered, but they never took any special or extra care in doing so.  They were in there for twenty minutes tops.

Number Seven showered for exactly two hours and forty-seven minutes, and I was glued to the monitor for the entire time, hardly blinking and not able to tear myself away from the image of her perfect body.

And knowing how clean she was when she emerged from the bathroom made me want to rush in there and take her at that very moment.  Fuck my rules, fuck the test results.

I fucking wanted her.

Consequently, I have spent the past three days agonizing and locking myself in my office so that I wouldn't go to her.  I've never wanted any of the other women as much as I want this girl.  I like to think that having a picture of her ahead of time caused a buildup of almost excruciating anticipation, but I don't know if that's truly the real reason.

She's different.  I can sense it already.

When Jackson finally returned with the blood test results this morning, I felt relieved but also anxious.  Even when he assured me everything was normal, I still read the tests over and over again, memorizing every word.

And as I look down now to read over the results for what must be the fifteenth time today, a small grin forms on my face.  She passed.  With flying colors.  And I couldn't be happier.  I didn't want to have the misfortune of ending up with someone tainted again, and I shudder at the memory of how I had to send a few girls home soon after they arrived because they didn't pass my tests.

I notice movement on the smaller window on my screen, and I see Jackson punching in the code to my office, a code that only he and I are privy to.  All of my electronic equipment, the phone system, files and documents are kept in this room, and I make sure they are kept safe and secure at all times.

He swings open the door with a smile on his face.  That's the thing about Jax.  He's always in a good mood it seems, always finding the silver lining in everything.  He's a lot like his father in that aspect.

My uncle was a great man, and I miss him dearly.  That man saved my life, but I could not save him from the cancer that ate away at his body until he was nothing but an empty shell of his former self.

Even at my uncle's funeral, Jax was cracking jokes and telling stories about his old man, making everyone laugh amidst all the tears from losing such a kind-hearted soul.

I wish I could share the same blue-bird-on-my-shoulder-shitting-fucking-rainbows attitude.  But, of course, I have more of a doom-and-gloom sort of temperament.

"You're still looking at the test results?" Jackson asks, but there is no real curiosity in his tone.  He knows my rituals and has, reluctantly, become accustomed to them.

I give him a simple nod and look up at him.  He reminds me so much of his late father, my uncle, since they both share the same dark hair and warm, steel-gray eyes.

I don't remember my biological father, and I've only seen one picture of him decades ago when I was a small boy.  We shared the same dark hair also, but I don't remember if we resembled each other in any other way.  However, who knows if my mother was even telling the truth about the man in the photo.

She liked to lie…about everything.

"How is she doing?" Jackson asks, and his sudden interest in one of my girls is unusual.  Usually he just goes about his business, helping me here and there with bringing them to me and sending them away.  Other than that, he minds his own business.

I think that's why we get along so well.

"I haven't been in her room since the first night.  You know my rules," I tell him.

He sighs and plops down into a leather chair not far from me.  "I do.  And I also know that you're keeping tabs on her from your little camera feed you have on your comp."  His fingers pick at the stitching on the arms of the chair, and it drives me up the wall.  When he notices my obvious discomfort, he instantly stops.  "Sorry," he says with a smirk.

My eyes narrow as I glare at my cousin.  "Why the sudden interest, Jax?"

He shakes his head and leans forward in his chair.  "It's not what you think.  I just wanted to make sure that bump on her head didn't give her a concussion or anything."  He rests his elbows on his knees.  "Was she acting strange when she woke up?"

I hesitate.  Strange?  Perhaps.  But it's not like I even know the girl.

Jackson can sense my apprehension, however.  "What's wrong?"

"She seemed…confused."

He considers that for a moment.  "That could be a sign of a concussion.  What was she confused about exactly?"

"Everything," I confess.

Jackson stands suddenly.  "Maybe I should go in there and talk to her.  Maybe I could ---."

"No," I snap, suddenly feeling very protective and…jealous over this girl I barely know.  "I will talk to her tonight.  At dinner.  I will find out how she's feeling and if she's aware of her situation."

He sighs, knowing that he won't be able to change my mind.  "Fine.  I'll probably be hanging out in the kitchen.  If anything happens during dinner, come get me.  I can check her vitals and everything in the matter of a few minutes, make sure she's okay."

"I will."

"And see if you can find anything out about the bruises on her body.  There were some fresh and some old.  Someone's been hurting her…for a while," he says, his eyes turning dark.

I'm taken aback by his sudden protectiveness over her.  A part of me wants to scream out to him that she's mine.  But I stop myself from telling him that.  Instead, I agree by giving him a simple nod.

I watch as Jackson leaves, and then my gaze locks on my computer screen once more.  The girl's still lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and inadvertently right at the undetectable camera concealed in the ceiling fan.  Tears stream down her pretty face, and I watch her full lips open on a sob.

She's been crying almost the entire time she's been here.  And while normally I wouldn't give a shit or even think twice about it, for some reason, with this girl, I feel…strangely guilty about keeping her here.

I think back to what Jackson told me about the bruises covering her back.  And even though I shouldn't care about what happened to her before she got here, I can't stop from wondering…and worrying.  Who was hurting her?

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I tell myself it doesn't matter.  And it certainly doesn't matter how Number Seven's reacting or how different she is.  After I get what I paid for, she'll disappear just like those before her, and I'll never see her again.

Perhaps she's second-guessing her decision for coming here, and that is what is making her so upset.  But one thing is for certain --- she's here because she said yes to my request from her handler, Giovanni Morello.  If she's regretting her choice now, she needs to realize that it's too late.  The deal is done, and she has to keep up with her end of the bargain that I paid so generously for.

Tonight, I will be explaining the rules of our little game to her, and then it's her choice when she wants to abide by them and ultimately leave.