Master.

You will call me Master.

There will be no freedom, no escape. You will call me Master, and then you will be sold to someone new, and then you will call him Master. That is your future. Accept it. Say it.

Words invaded her mind. His words. Digging in like burrowing worms until they felt like they had always been there. A permanent fixture in her head. An absolute truth. She fought them through the haze, pushed back as hard as she could, but they were there, and she was so tired.

It was a choice. One of the only choices she had left in this hell, but making it would be worse than dying. It would be the death of her mind. The death of her self.

Saying it would finally make the first rule true — I am not my own. I am property.

The world around her felt distant, but she knew she was sitting up slightly, on a hard surface, which couldn’t be the drawer. She had been held flat inside that hole. Getting her eyes open took too much effort, they felt swollen, the light burned, but finally she saw white, and dark gray walls.

A bathtub. She was in the bathroom, propped up in the oversized tub, with its angled side, and there was a large towel draped over her skin. No restraints here, but as she looked around she saw a glass of water set on the edge and she grabbed it, spilling a little as she swallowed past an aching throat.

“Of course she’s alive, I don’t kill slaves.” His voice came from the bedroom, speaking to someone.

Was the other one back? Beth strained to listen, to clear her mind enough to focus, but there was no other voice.

“The IV took care of that, and I thought we agreed you would not interfere.” He was so calm, so empty, but she looked down at her arms, finding a pair of small, dark spots in the crook of her elbow.

He had given her an IV. To keep her alive.

He wouldn’t allow her to die.

Putting the glass down, she brushed the dots, traced the splotch of a bruise around them, and then she moved her fingers to her bruised wrist. Darker than before the whipping, before the drawer.

A shadow made her eyes lift, and he was there in the doorway. Dressed in a pristine pale button-down shirt, dark slacks, his shining shoes. He was holding the phone to his ear as his eyes moved over her, but there was something new in his expression.

Something terrifying.

There was a hint of anger narrowing his gaze, lowering his brows just a fraction, but as small as it was… it was still more expression than she’d seen out of him beyond his strange smiles.

His jaw twitched, and then he turned away, and a moment later she heard the door shut.

* * *

“You just had to have this one, didn’t you? Had to have the blonde California girl no matter what I said.” Marcus was ranting, but Anthony’s own temper was breaking through the cold he always felt. A rare occurrence.

“We both saw her on the beach, she drew both of our eyes. Do not pretend I made this decision on my own.” Pacing the hallway, he forced a deep breath into his lungs.

“I told you I needed to follow her, needed to watch her, you put her on the fucking list as soon as you found out her name!”

“I’ve been taking girls for years without your assessment of their submissive traits, and there has never been an issue.” Anthony felt his fingers form a fist, reassured that he’d turned off all the cameras so that Marcus couldn’t see his reaction. He needed to get this back under control, needed to get her under control.

“You could have given me a fucking week!”

“We both agreed that having this operation offline for the duration of your house preparation would be fiscally irresponsible, and you needed to go North.” Keeping his voice steady wasn’t a challenge, it was the irritation moving through his veins that was troubling.

“Then you could have picked another name off the goddamn list, Anthony! ANY fucking name, it didn’t have to be her!” Marcus shouted, and the volume of it was bothering him more than usual, getting under his skin faster.

He hated it.

“She was the highest potential profit on the list based on customer feedback.”

“Well, now you have her! Your high potential profit cunt. So, what the fuck are you going to do with her?” Another slam of something from his end of the line. Marcus was breaking things, and for a moment Anthony wondered if that would help ease these strange sensations making his fist tighten, his jaw clench.

What would he do with her?

The problem wasn’t a lack of ideas, he had too many things he wanted to do to her. Too many punishments in mind, each more severe than the last — but he didn’t want to kill her. He never killed them.

For a time the girl’s defiance had been entertaining, so much better than the more fragile responses of others they had taken. The quick slide into constant crying, fear. This one had felt like a challenge at first, and he had enjoyed pushing her, bending her further and further, making her suffer.

But by this point every other girl had called him Master. By this point they were desperate to please him. Working on their submission, their behavior, learning to be perfect dolls as he erased their sense of self one punishment at a time.

It was why he’d used the drawer. Kept her in it for days, except for the brief interlude when he’d drugged her and hydrated her to avoid seizures, to ensure her kidneys wouldn’t shut down.

The drawer should have worked.

The drawer always worked.

Yet, she had refused to say the simple word.

Anthony despised it when things didn’t work the way they were supposed to, and this slut was clearly malfunctioning. The drawer should have shattered her mind, left her hopeless and begging — and she had begged, and cried, looking pretty and desolate on the tiny night vision cameras — but each time he had pulled her out, she had defied him.

“I’m going to break her,” he finally answered.

Marcus laughed, broke something else, cursed. “How the fuck do you plan to do that Anthony? No girl has ever lasted this long without submitting, and you think you can fully break her?”

“Yes.” It was a quick response, almost too quick. He hadn’t even thought it through.

Was this his pride showing?

“HOW?” His brother yelled the word, and Anthony tilted his head, cracking the vertebrae in his neck in an effort to relax the tensing muscles.

“She thinks she wants to die… I plan to give her a taste.”

“A taste of dying? What the fuck does that mean?” Marcus was muttering curses, randomly shouting in his rage, but Anthony’s mind was finally clearing. A plan forming, organized and purposeful.

“Watch and see. I will let her recover for a day or so, allow her enough strength so that she can be aware, and then I will break her.”

“What if this fails too, Anthony? What will you do with her?” There was a thread of concern there, a nervousness in his brother’s voice, and it made Anthony smile.

“I’ll destroy her.”