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“Kindly release my property, Mr. Evans,” a man calmly said from behind me. Louis dropped his hand and righted himself in his seat. “And I’ll ask no other marks be given to my pet. I’d like to use her soon and I prefer to do that without another man’s bruises.”
I slowly—not wanting to, but needing to see who’d stolen me—tipped my eyes up and to the side. I didn’t know who I was expecting but a very normal-looking, classically handsome man who didn’t look at all like the monster he was smiled down at me.
“Atlee, my pet, you are more beautiful when those pretty eyes are open.”
Gross.
Gross. Gross. Gross.
Warning bells blared; did that mean he’d watched me while I was passed out? Had he touched me?
The woman across from me surged to her feet, knocking over an empty wine glass.
“I’m sorry. He made me do it!” she screeched. “He has my—”
Before she could finish, a guard stepped behind her and slapped a hand over her mouth while Louis stood and pulled a syringe from his coat pocket.
Oh, God.
I was never getting out of this.
Tears filled my eyelids as I watched Louis plunge the needle into her neck. She immediately swayed and it was like I was having an out-of-body experience—thrust back to the ladies’ room when this woman had done the same to me. I knew what she was feeling—the hazy confusion. The desire to yell and scream, move, run away but having no control over her body.
“Take her back to her room,” the man who had yet to introduce himself declared.
He sat next to me and immediately began to speak to Louis as if I wasn’t there.
I guess owners didn’t speak to pets?
Not that I wanted to have a conversation with him, but them pretending I wasn’t there, or that I wasn’t worth their acknowledgement, made me want to scream.
Instead, I counted guards.
There were five I could see.
Plus eight men.
I knew without a doubt Louis would hurt me if I attempted to get up from the table. I wouldn’t get far enough for a guard to have to lift a finger.
What is this?
By all accounts save the silent, scared women, it looked like a fancy dinner party.
With no food.
Oh, God, would I have to eat? Would my food be drugged? Would my water? I’d only drank from the water faucet in the bathroom. I’d poured out the orange juice served with my uneaten breakfasts, same with the water with lunch and dinner.
I eyed the other women. Were they drugged or simply docile because they’d been trained to be such?
Trained!
We were women, not dogs.
Could I fake an illness? Maybe if I told him I was going to vomit he’d let me go back to my room.
I tried to think up symptoms of some horrible disease the Good Doctor had told me about but my memory was failing me. All I could think about was the man next to me and what he was going to do to me. What was he going to have these other men do to me?
I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. I’d fight, and they’d hurt me.
