Chapter 1
Master
Aug 5th
Slave Veronica has repeated signs of improvement. The nightmares have decreased and she appears to be responding to the current treatment. If all continues to go well, she’ll be stable enough to leave. And I’m happy for it.
The need to start at the beginning, to receive slave Diane, is leaving me on edge. This one is different. Her circumstances, her need to die…I’m looking forward to the challenge she’ll bring. My heart races every time I try to imagine how she’ll take to being here. To seeing her new room. To being thrown into my dark world. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into. The information may have been provided, but she truly doesn’t have a clue.
To convince her to want life, I will let her glimpse death. The slow painful process of facing her fears and becoming stronger for it. I expect her to fight more than the others. I want her to…
The melody from the piano stopped, changing from one Beethoven piece to another. I looked up into the monitor giving me full view of the parlor. Veronica’s fingers were gracefully moving along the keys, slowly at first, only to increase as the notes did. The time on the screen read a little after eleven in the morning. I stood, putting down the pen.
It was time for the final test. One that was sure to tip the scales, allowing me to know where things stood.
At twenty-two, after three suicide attempts, she came to me, a hysterical mess. She had thought I was here to help her die after all the pain she harbored over her life of rape from her father. The process was to take four weeks and she agreed to the deal — even if it did consist of her being my slave. Not a sexual one, but a compliant subject, nonetheless. What she and the other thirty-two slaves hadn’t understood coming into this, was that they were all here for the same reason. They truly didn’t want to die. Had they, a gun would have sufficed. Help was what they were seeking, even if they weren’t sure what led them to my door. My methods were fucked up in the eyes of most, but I’d brought them back. Every single one.
The light sound of my footsteps were barely audible as I headed toward the dark room where I kept everything for my tests. I pulled the key from my pocket and slid it into the lock, opening the thick wooden door. The tray I needed was sitting right on the counter that rested against the far wall. A razorblade, a dagger, a gun, and a bottle of pills were displayed on a white cloth covering the silver metal. The choice would be hers.
Cold seeped into my fingers while I made my way to the front of the house. The music grew louder and I passed the threshold, my throat clearing in the process. Veronica’s hands lifted and she rose, moving around the bench and lowering her head as she came to kneel before me.
“Master,” she said lowly.
I knew she was waiting for my command. Possibly more missions or lessons she assumed I would give her, but we were at the end.
“Stand, slave.”
She obeyed, only then looking at the tray I held. The gasp was followed by her eyes slowly rising to mine. Where there once would have been fear mixed with temptation, I saw nothing but shocked confusion.
“It’s now or never. Your choice. Choose wisely.”
Veronica looked down, each weapon waiting under her gaze. And me; I was waiting, too. She might think she had a way out, an escape to her death in this very moment, but she was wrong. If I’d miscalculated, I wasn’t about to let her succeed.
There was no hesitation. No contemplation. “No.” Her head shook, sending strands of loose, golden curls falling over her shoulders. But her gaze flickered to mine before she dropped back to her knees. “I’ve changed my mind. Ms. Templeton needs me. I…” Silence settled around us while I bit against the insides of my cheeks to hide my satisfied smile.
“You pack tonight. Dinner will be at the usual time. I’ll take you to your new home in the morning.”
There was the fear. It cloaked around me, making my breath deepen. But I wasn’t affected like before — not like the first few days. Veronica swallowed, her eyes lowering the smallest amount before she nodded. I knew it would be hard for her to adjust back to society. Back to living without someone making all of the decisions for her, but she had resources. Ms. Templeton, for one. The forty-five year old owned a bed and breakfast nearby and had recently lost her husband to cancer. They quickly became friends when Veronica accompanied me to help out there. And, of course, she had me, if she ever needed help like before.
“It’s settled. Continue playing. It sounds lovely.” My hand gestured toward the piano and I spun around, heading to put the tray back. Thirty-three slaves saved. I only let the smile come when my back was to her.
“Master?”
I turned, noticing she was still on her knees.
“Yes, slave?”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Bringing Veronica back to life had been a piece of cake compared to some of the others. She only had to learn her worth. That she was someone to be treasured, not used, like she’d been since she had turned twelve. There was no begging to be beaten. No close calls that left me on my toes. No need for affection. Just encouragement. Self-esteem. But most importantly, I made her see the bad. A view of a life she’d never been exposed to. It was something I showed all of them. But with her, she was scared straight within the first hour. Most took days, sometimes weeks. Not her.
“You’re welcome.”
I disappeared then, unable to take the pleasantries. It wasn’t who I was. Not even before, when I was at my happiest. At thirty-six and well taken care of from my early successes, I was thrown into this life under circumstances that left me exactly where the survivors were themselves. I went from having everything a man could dream of — success, security, and stability — to suddenly realizing it was all nothing. The loss I experienced pulled at the deadness I’d tried to hide in my everyday life until it was all I knew. Although I never attempted to commit suicide, the thoughts were there. Every day.
The tray clinked against the counter and I stared at what rested on top. The slaves kept me going. Gave me a reason to continue. It took a lot of life lessons to discover where I needed to be, but through it all, I pushed my personal life aside and focused on helping others. Jaime had been my first. The group I’d immersed myself in wasn’t for my benefit at the time. More so, it was curiosity to seek unanswered questions from what brought me down to begin with. I took one look at him and knew he was a goner. Always quiet. Never expressing the desire he had to end his life like the others. They didn’t mind telling their stories of what had led them to the group. Jaime didn’t speak, though. He just listened. Observed while everyone cried and hugged each other. I’d seen it before. I wouldn’t see the same result.
One night, after the group was over, I took him against his will; kidnapped him back to my home. The gun I found in his pocket was loaded, but with only one bullet. He’d later told me he had planned to kill himself that night. Weeks of breaking him down, only to build him up, changed both of our worlds around. He was a survivor and now ran one of my companies while I stayed here, doing what I needed. I never had to advertise my services. Word got around, but not the same version. One thing was clear with each slave and the ones who knew. People came here to die. They just didn’t know that I wasn’t willing to allow it.
I pushed from the counter, not able to look at the weapons anymore. There was still a lot to do. Slave Diane wasn’t a sure thing — at least, not from my sources. But they were trying like hell to convince her to come to me. Whether she would or not wasn’t a question I had to ask myself. If it came down to it, I’d do exactly what I had with Jaime. I’d done enough research on her to know how far gone she was. She might not want me to help in her supposed suicide, but I wouldn’t leave her a choice in the healing. I couldn’t. A child and a husband gone. No living relatives. A string of suicide attempts, only one at the beginning, but more recently. She would try again. And when she did, she’d be successful. I wouldn’t live through another one. And I would have to if she died. I’d been exposed to who she was. We were connected now, if only on paper. This time, I’d right the wrong I had made in the past.
Music continued as I locked the door behind me and headed back upstairs to my bedroom where I kept all the monitors. Cameras were in every room of the house. Even the restrooms. Privacy was nonexistent when it came to a suicidal slave. They were crafty — especially when death had set its fangs deep past their skin and into their very souls. Trigger objects were censored and even placed to test them. There wasn’t a moment I wasn’t aware of what they were doing. On the rare occasion I slept, alarms would alert me if need be.
As I made my way back into the room and to my desk, I picked up the file I had on Diane Saxton. A picture was clipped to the front and I slid it out, staring at it. Long, dark hair with caramel highlights hung next to a round face. Big green eyes were slightly narrowed due to the smile. She wasn’t beautiful in the Hollywood sense, but there was something about her that sent my blood coursing to parts of my body that I’d denied a long time ago. Intimacy was something I rarely came across, although there had been times. But never sex. That was something I didn’t let myself indulge in. Couldn’t, if I wanted to stay as detached as I liked.
Full red lips exposed perfect white teeth. She was wearing a matching sweater set with a black and silver scarf that was tossed back over her shoulder. The small amount of cleavage showed how well-endowed she was. Although I couldn’t see much further, I had a feeling she had a nice figure. Curvy hips and thighs. One hell of an ass…
I tossed the picture down, cutting off my thoughts, and moved back to the paperwork. The psychiatric hospital she was in had her on meds. If I knew anything, she’d stop taking them, and that was her choice. Seeing as I was someone who refused to take medication, I wasn’t going to force her to continue. But the first seventy-two hours would be crucial. It would take around that long for the immediate effect of the pills to get out of her system. After that, I’d need to be the most cautious. She’d fall fast and I’d have to be there to catch her, shake her up, and force her back to her feet. Fuck, it was wrong, but I couldn’t wait for that part. The satisfaction I received at bringing out their strength was two sided. One, because I enjoyed a good fight, and two, because it showed me what I was up against.
Along with medical records were copies of her birth certificate, marriage license, and social security card. The last paper I came to was the listing for the home she had up for sale. Pictures of the inside entranced me and I studied each one.
The two story residence looked to be the picture of perfection. Family photos hung on the decorated walls. A large wooden entertainment center sat against the back wall of the living room. A little girl’s room decorated in a pale pink and green. The master bedroom had white walls, but the comforter set was done in a deep red and gold. Multiple throw pillows were placed on top, little tassels coming from the end of the one centered. A large painting of an angelic couple brought out the shades and matched the colors perfectly.
I spun in the chair, moving to my computer. The copy of the listing wasn’t hard to find. I pulled it up, saving the picture of her bedroom and emailing it to Jaime.
I need this exact bed, nightstands, dresser, and the picture on the back wall. Code red.
As I hit send, I had to wipe my hand down my face from the sweat beginning to surface. Whether it was from the fight I knew laid ahead, or how dangerous this one would be, I wasn’t sure. Diane wouldn’t be pleased to walk into her old room, but it had to be done. She may hold onto the memory of her loved ones, but she had escaped everything that reminded her of them. That couldn’t continue. Until she faced what she was running from, she’d never truly heal. It was just the beginning, but a damn explosive one to come.