Page 17 of The Price Of Possession

“Ahh, Clara Vane,” an older male voice echoes down the darkened hallway. I spin on my heels. Mortensen Grimshaw stands before me. He's tall, well dressed, and radiates power.

“Mr. Grimshaw. What do I owe this pleasure,” I purr. Might as well milk the situation for what it's worth. This guy holds my future in the palm of his hand. He has the ability to shape the horizon; to pave the way of my success or failure.

A wry smile makes the creases of his eyes wrinkle. “My dear, walk with me?” he motions down the empty hallway toward his office. All the other students have cleared out. I nod, batting my eyelashes. Mama always says flaunt what you've got.

Manipulating situations can be all we have to stay above water in times of desperation. He pulls the double doors open to his office. He motions me inside. I settle into the chair with my bag resting on my lap. The cold leather kisses my bare legs. He snicks the door shut. The room is eerily quiet. He roves over my exposed legs across the room. Slowly, he approaches. “I have a proposition for you, Miss Vane.”

I tap my platform shoes on the crimson rug. “Oh?” I act surprised.

He chuffs and does the same half smirk Kieran does. It makes my mouth go dry. Like father, like son, I guess.

“It is my understanding you received a scholarship. Correct?” His gaze turns predatory. I know that look. The look of a starving man. The fact he even has to ask is laughable. Vesper already gave me the 411. He approves all scholarships. He controls every aspect of this school. Of course he knows.

I fling my blonde hair over my shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

His shoes slap against the floor as he strolls across the room. He jams his hands in his slacks. His eyes carry a glint of curiosity. I have a feeling he can see right through me. “I'll be frank with you, Miss Vane, do you want to retain this scholarship?” I raise a brow. My fingertips dig into the strap of my backpack on my lap. “Oh, of course. I have worked incredibly hard to make it this far.” I glance around his office. How neat, meticulous, and expensive it looks. Everything in this room cost more than I can fathom. A globe perches on his glass table. The carved, glass statue in his display case. I feel like an outsider in a den of wolves. All my self-doubts come slamming into me. As if at any moment the wool will be pulled from my eyes, and everyone will see how much I don't belong.

Get it together, Clara.

“And you would continue to work hard, yes? Do what is asked of you without complaint?” He circles me like a hawk. My eyes snap back to him.

I sink my teeth into my lip. Why all of a sudden does this seem harder than I imagined? I've lived this life before. I'm not sure why this feels different than my drugged sexual encounters. All I have to offer is…me.

I blink, staring up at him. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes shine with nefarious malevolence. He strokes his crisp tie and stops abruptly in front of me. His hands grasp either armrest, caging me in. His mint aftershave slaps my face. I remain calm. The first rule Mama taught me: don't show weakness. Ever. “You'll make a beautiful addition to the Void, Miss Vane,” he whispers against my neck.

Saliva drips from my chin onto my bare thighs. Darkness paints my vision. I cling onto the illusion of safety. I never imagined I would be blindfolded, tied, and gagged while naked. At least not outside of the bedroom. I shouldn't be surprised. The Elites are the upper tier of society. Letting an outcast in, even if they're an offering, isn't something to be taken lightly. Vesper told me how secretive this entire society is. I'm an outsider. A temporary toy. They can control everything with their high status and endless bank accounts full of more dollars than they could ever spend.

Every bump of the car digs the gag deeper into my open jaw, cutting into the corner of my mouth. My hands have gone numb at some point. I've lost track of how long I've been restrained. Time seems to warp together. The nylon rope cuts into my wrist, flaying my skin. It's now raw from the burn. I try to swallow through the gag, but all it does is pool in my mouth. My throat is scratchy from trying to scream. As if it would do any good.

I go limp against the cool, leather seats. Goosebumps stamp my skin from head to toe.

Hold it together, Clara. Just a little longer.

I cling to the reward at the finish line, but darkness creeps into my mind, punishing me with lacerating self-doubt. It becomes so hard to focus. I'm fighting the current of my mind. I'm a hair away from being pulled under.

The car skids to a halt. My face is still basked in darkness. My body falls forward smacking the seat in front of me. The door clicks open beside me; the cold air assaults my skin. I shiver. A rough hand wraps around my upper arm in a bruising hold, wrenching me from my seat. The snow-covered gravel beneath my feet dig into my bare heels. My feet instantly turn numb, but I stay quiet. My throat is raw enough from my pleas and cries. It's cold; so algid. This is a cruelty on its own. Naked in January. “Take her inside. Prep her.” A deep male voice says. The only indication anyone heard him is how forcefully I'm yanked forward. I'm guided without any sense of direction. The wind whips against my skin. It takes all my willpower to refrain from dropping to my knees and giving up.

“Inside.” Another voice bellows. I’m blindly led inside. The creaking of a metal door reaches my ears. I breathe a sigh of relief when my feet hit solid ground. The deafening crack of a door slamming behind me makes me jump. A plush rug lays at my feet. I dig my toes into the fabric for warmth.

“What a beauty this one is.” A stray hand brushes against my nipple, chuckling. “She's pierced,” he growls menacingly. I clamp down on the gag. His touch repulses me. My mother's words slam into me. “You have a woman's body now, Clara. They want to touch. To see. To use. A woman has no worth if she cannot use her body. We are a gift to man. Never forget, we have the upper hand. You can use it as a weapon if you're strong enough. We allow them the illusion of power. You just need to have the mental fortitude to handle the abuse, and you'll come out on top.”

I fight back the tears. I feel so degraded. Kieran had to have pierced me for their sick pleasure, right? He wants to watch me be passed around. He never had any intentions of saving me. Vesper fell for a lie. A carefully crafted one. My heart pounds in my chest.

You're strong. Use your body to your advantage. Don't be weak.

I'm led through the room through another set of doors. They creak open. Laughter, moans and chatter fill my ears. Vanilla cigar smoke slaps my senses. The blindfold is ripped away from my eyes. I wince at the harsh light; it stings my eyes. I blink a few times to adjust. The man who has a hold of my arm unbuckles my gag. It falls at my feet with a loud thump. The noise attracts unwanted attention. I snap my jaw shut to regain feeling, but it is short lived. The cruel man jams two fingers in my mouth, forcing my jaw wide. He deposits a pill down my throat. I fight the urge to vomit. Above me hangs a chandelier with flickering candles. The room is bathed in low light now that my eyes have adjusted. The damp stone walls remind me of the harrowing halls of Grimshaw. Endless streams of Elites—young and old—fuck on wingback couches and anywhere they can get their cock wet. Sweat sheens down their erotic dancing bodies. They move in slow motion. Hands trace down their exposed skin. The women writhe under their touches like wontons. Bodies cling together in an exotic display. A bar with assorted alcohol and liquors is tucked near the entrance. Videos play on the big screens of what I've guessed to be private rooms. Tears, blood, and other sick twisted fantasies play out for all to see.

A dark haired, older woman approaches us through the mass of people. She looks out of place in essentially a pleasure house. Wrinkles sink under her eyes. Her cheeks are hollow like she's had a rough upbringing. Keys jingle on the side of her long, maroon skirt. “Bring her into the dressing room, Mr. Hexwood. We need to ensure she is proper and cleaned before we display her.” She waves wildly toward the back.

The man, Mr. Hexwood, drags me along as if I'm replaceable cattle instead of a human being. Of course to these people I'm an object.

My bare feet slap against the cold concrete floor. All eyes follow my naked body as I'm paraded through the Void like a prized horse. I should feel more humiliated, instead I hold my head high and block out the hungered stares. My clit throbs. I have no idea how long these things take to heal. I should have taken the stupid thing out.

The woman leads us to the back of the Void. A dark, olive-green curtain rests along the wall. She flicks it to the side, and motions for me to enter. Mr. Hexwood shoves me forward, knocking me off balance. My hands brace against the wall frame to steady myself.

“Inside. The drugs will hit soon, and we need to clean you up before then,” the woman huffs.