He opens the door and steps into the room first. The room is large and dark, filled with many males sitting at tables. I’m glad that I’ve already had the experience of being with Captain Ingzan and his rowdy regiment. His vile speech and violent tendencies have prepared me well for the atmosphere of the auction house.
The aliens whoop and whistle as I’m led around. Osyr tugs on the leash attached to my collar, making me stumble and struggle to match his pace. My hands are bound behind my back and it’s hard to keep my balance. As I pass through the rows of males, I feel their hands on my body. Most of them grab roughly at my thighs and ass, but one of the aliens reaches up and tweaks my nipple painfully—and then belches out a bray of sick laughter when I yelp from the pain.
One of the males tells the jailer to stop. “I like the looks of this one,” the male says. He’s old, his red skin hanging off his face like melted globs of wax. His nose is canted at an odd angle, and the nostrils are unusually flat against his face—like the slits of a serpent’s nose.
“Have a look,” Osyr says. “She is healthy and strong. Twenty-two years old. You might get ten or fifteen years of work out of her.”
Endless blackened void, did he say ten years? Is that what these randy bastards do? Of course it is. My parents knew. Everyone on Earth knows. These lustful creatures need fresh faces, fresh bodies.
We are disposable.
They consume us and throw us away.
“Bend over,” the old, waxy serpent says. He reaches up and gives my breast a quick, noncommittal squeeze. Osyr yanks my collar and pulls me down. My face is pressed against the table and my ass is sticking up in the air. The surface of the table is tacky and I’m sure that I could scrape my thumbnail across the surface and unearth a gummy wad of dark residue. Except, of course, my hands are tied behind my back.
The old, waxy serpent gets up from his chair with a belabored groan. As if it is almost too much trouble to inspect the wares. He grunts again, noncommittally. His affected disinterest reminds me of the old ladies at the market stalls, trying hard not to let their interest show, lest the vendor take advantage.
“Not pure,” he says.
“Unfortunately not,” Osyr says. “But her price is greatly reduced.”
“Hmm,” the serpent says. “That might be reasonable. Let me take her to the private inspection room.”
“Five minutes,” the staff says. He pulls my leash and I do trip this time. Without my arms free to break my fall, I land on the floor. “Get up,” he says, and prods my back with the toe of his boot. I manage to pull myself up. The three of us walk to the so-called private inspection room. The staff opens the door and I see that there is a small mattress and a wash basin. He gives me a little push and I step into the room. The old serpent follows me, a wide grin on his fat face makes me rethink things. Not a serpent. A frog. He looks like a frog. Maybe a toad.
“Let’s see how much she’s worth,” the old alien says.
Osyr hands him the end of the leash and closes the door. He looks at me one last time and says: “Obey all commands.”
The door closes behind me and the fat old toad tells me to lie down on the bed. I’m stunned. There is no way I’m going to listen to him. And, if he gets close enough, I’m going to bite him. Then I’m going to kick him in the balls.
Then I’m probably going to wish I hadn’t, because they will surely execute me for such behavior. No one wants to own a slave they have to worry about slitting their throats in the night.
“On the bed,” he repeats. “If you give me any trouble, I’ll stick it in your ass instead. It’s your choice.”
My choice? I haven’t had any choice about anything in my entire life. No choice when the Zalaryns Marked me. No choice when my parents decided to leave everything and go into hiding on a tiny dusty planet. No choice when they died, and left me stranded there alone. I haven’t had a choice about anything.
That’s not true, I think. I chose to leap out of the closet and try to stab Droka. And I whispered in his ear to put it in.
Maybe everything really is my fault. Maybe I deserve this fate.
Or maybe Fate is what made you leap out. Fate is what made you whisper in his ear. The only two real decisions you ever made in your entire life.
And maybe they are the two things you regret the least.
Maybe.
Then the old bastard takes a step towards me, his hands at his sides balled into fists. Though he’s fat and old, there are still thick cords of muscle in his arms. “Alright then,” he says, “up the ass. That’s the way a lot of our paying customers like to do it anyway. They like it better when you struggle and weep.” He pulls on my leash, but I stand firm. He’s not getting my obedience. That is one thing I will never surrender to these bastards.
That’s when the door pops open again. Hands clamp down on my shoulders.
“Come on,” he says. It’s Osyr. He pulls me out the door, the other end of my leash slipping out of the toad’s hands.
“Hey,” the toad says, sounding like a little kid who is told that not only is the game over, but that he lost.
“She’s not for sale,” the staff says. Not for sale?
“What do you mean?” I say. Is it too much to hope?
“We got another comm from Captain Ingzan’s ship. He says to hold you. He’s already wired the payment into the auction house account.”
“He bought me?” I say. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or not. Ingzan is cruel and sadistic—and he will want revenge for my escape.
“He is off-planet right now,” Osyr says. “But he’ll be back to claim you shortly. Apparently he doesn’t care if you have been defiled. He’s paying a very high price for you. The second-highest in our history.”
I say nothing. For a scoundrel like that, money would be no object. What he really cares about is making me pay. He wanted something and I thwarted him. He can’t get to Droka, so he’ll punish us both by purchasing me. He’ll probably send image files of my torture and humiliation to Droka, to show him who was the true victor.
Yes, I might be better off working in the toad’s brothel.