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"Of course I do. I'm a collector." He poured one more cup of tea. Swallowed it down like a sailor on shore leave having his first whisky of the night. Without missing a beat and without any snapping of ancient knees or anything I'd have expected, he stood and hurled the teacup at the fireplace where it shattered into a million fragments.
I was halfway off the couch before realizing I'd moved. My mouth open, I gaped at him.
He grinned and his teeth looked horror movie sharp. "I like breakable things," he said in the same tone of voice he'd been talking: Sweet. Innocent. Safe. "I like precious, fragile, irreplaceable, breakable things." His voice went completely cold and he looked directly at me. He patted his lap. "Come here."
My heartbeat ratcheted into overdrive. I thought of the windows, all barred, and the door, locked on a keyed deadbolt. There was an upstairs, but while earlier I'd have thought even my slow running style could beat him up the staircase, his rising from the couch without an ounce of knee-cracking effort threw that idea into question. I didn't know if there were other people in the house. Like security.
Strike that. I didn't know if security was inside or outside but I was pretty damn sure they were somewhere.
The kitchen would have sharp knives somewhere but I wasn't even positive I was looking at light from the kitchen. There was a wall between me and where I thought the kitchen was. Light came from it but that didn't mean anything. I could see the dining room from where I sat. That didn't mean the next room over past the loadbearing wall was the kitchen. It could be a sub-dining room. It could be a den. It could be the fucking pantry, big enough to qualify as an apartment unto itself in some cities. I just didn't know enough about my surroundings to make decisions that relied on being able to navigate my surroundings.
So I did what he said.
He watched me as I stood up and smoothed my clammy hands over the school girl skirt. I crossed slowly to him, hyper aware of the changes in his demeanor. The slightly pleasant, somewhat befuddled smile was gone. He was still lined as ever but the black eyes behind the silly round glasses had hardened. I stopped within arm's reach because there was no point not doing so. There was nowhere to go.
Somewhere onsite, theoretically, there was a harem. Girls all the age I was said to be, the oldest probably still younger than I was and I was willing to bet not one of them was here even as voluntarily as I was. Trafficked, sold, hurt, eventually killed. There was a reason I was here.
I could do this.
The instant I dropped my hands from their useless hesitation around my waist, the second I tried to let my shoulders drop from defensive to neutral, he moved snake fast. Long, bony fingers circled my wrist and dragged me to him. My body tightened automatically, trying not to fall into him, trying to keep distance. In real life, in my life, I'd always been that way. Social huggers made me nervous because I didn't approach other people automatically. I watched everything around me as I walked up to people, even those I knew well when we were in private situations. I kept well back. So when they dragged me into enthusiastic hugs, I stayed kind of where I was, and leaned stiff as a board into the embrace, like a board leaned against a wall. Sometimes it seemed like if they didn't catch and support me, I'd just crash down to the ground. Huggers never learn, but I always felt awkward for them.
Bevington grabbed me and pulled me down to his level and part of me was still trying to be polite and follow my own beliefs on proper behavior. Pulled close and off balance by the person himself, I still tried not to violate his personal space with my face, my head, my entire body.
He had no such qualms. Despite my tight, locked muscles, he gave another yank and tumbled me into him. His mouth covered mine and he forced his tongue into my mouth.
Instinct rose instantly. No matter who or what Erin Trace was, there wasn't an eighteen year old alive who wouldn't push against the old fuck, trying to free themselves from ancient garlic breath and a tongue that managed to be cold.
I shoved myself back from him and he erupted into a rage, though I couldn't have been the only one to instantly fight my way free. He still had hold of my wrist and now he pulled me off balance across his lap. One hand easily clamped over my wrists, surprisingly strong. I fought, flat out, no holding back and just started to fight my way free when another pair of hands covered Bevington's and his released my wrists.
Twisting, snarling, I looked up into the face of the first security I'd seen in the place. Black shirt. Clean blue jeans. Ex-military look. Muscled. Enormous. Implacable. He met my eyes, blinked one time, cold and uninterested.
Bevington had been moving nonstop. He pulled my skirt up and made a sound of delight. The thong Evie had dressed me in offered nothing by way of protection.
"Oh, their product is always so – " He broke off as if he'd just thought of something. I was still struggling, tears falling, my hands going numb under the guard's grip. Now I redoubled my efforts, gagging as he slipped one finger under the elastic of the thong and felt between my legs.
He sighed. "They think of everything. Clean, smooth. Bare."
I screamed.
He leaned close to my ear. "Music to my ears, sweetheart. There's no one for miles. Best just to enjoy."
Then he ripped off the thong and hit me so hard with one hand I lost my breath. For the next impossible interval he spanked me with his hand until he complained it hurt and a second guard I hadn't seen handed him a wooden hairbrush.
By the time he finished my hair was stuck to my face, my ass was buzzing with pain and more to come when the rest of the feeling returned. He seemed to get pleasure from pulling the thong back up, pulling it into place and then higher and higher and tighter and tighter, twisting the back of it and pulling it up to my waist, until it cut into sensitive places.
He let go of me completely, placed his hands against my ribs, and shoved until I fell to the floor.
"Put her with the others."
"You don't want her services tonight?" the first guard asked.
Bevington rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "No. Not tonight." He gave me a long look and winked.
I gagged again, sat up and pulled my knees into my chest, arms wrapped around my legs.
"Tell the girls to wash her. I'll take her tomorrow." He reached out with one cowboy booted foot and nudged me hard in the ribs.
My face went rigid. I didn't fall or even waver. My nails dug into my forearms. I kept myself still. I wanted to spit on him but I didn't need to be injured. Instead, I watched him like I'd watch a wild animal, something of the variety that likes to eat things my size.
Without another look at me, Bevington left the room. The first guard started toward me but the second moved past him and helped me to my feet. "Can you walk?" He was also ex-military I thought, but not much taller than me.
Of course I can walk, I thought, but any consideration or care here mattered. "Yes," I said, and still allowed him to put an arm around me and help me up the stairs.
I'd made it exactly where I needed to be.
I'd never in my life wanted to be somewhere I'd worked so hard to get to.
