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“Marnie,” Gabe said softly, then offered a hand to help me stand. He had several items draped over his arm, and one of them clanged and clinked against itself. I stood up fully and looked at it.
A chain. A chain with a thick, banded collar on one end.
“What the hell is that?” I said, my voice rising dangerously high.
Gabe shot me a warning look, and I repeated the question. I practically hissed it the second time, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Camouflage,” he said tersely. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a slave market, and unless you wanna be poached and put up for auction, you need to belong to me.”
“What?” I seethed. “You can’t possibly expect me to let you slap a collar on me!”
Okay, listen, if I was being honest, the idea of Gabe coming close to my throat with that thing was sort of… titillating in its own way. The idea of ownership as a sexy concept was hot, for sure. Listen, I will call myself a feminist all day long, but a super-hot guy laying claim to me in such a way had a primal ring to it that hit me right in the ovaries. Even if the aforementioned super-hot guy was dead, and I wasn’t exactly in a healthy place when it came to relationships. Come to think of it, my dating issues were probably exactly why the idea was a little appealing. A little… almost.
But a girl still had to put up a bit of a fight, especially when it came to being in actual Hell. I still had no clue of Gabe’s true intentions for me, despite how good-looking he was or despite the fact that he’d saved my ass once already.
“Here, there are also boots and a dress,” he explained. “I eyeballed your size, but I’m used to…” He bit his lip and let his words fade for a bit like he’d been about to say something uncomfortable. “I am familiar with how women’s sizes work.”
“What?” I teased darkly. “Slap on a skirt and a little rouge back in the day, Gabriel?”
“No,” he said, practically biting the word off instead of saying it. “But there are boots and a more… appropriate dress. People in Hell aren’t often in their pajamas.”
I looked down at my clothes. “Why not? I assume everyone dies in all sorts of outfits.”
He gestured at the surrounding crowd. “Look, the slaves who are owned are dressed depending on their master’s whims. The pre-bought slaves are more in Topside clothes. Fortunate slaves are given something a bit more fashionable, and unfortunate slaves are given nothing at all. You have no collar and clearly Topsider gear. If you’re mine, you’re going to look mine.”
I swallowed and tried to ignore the way my stomach flipped. Mine. What was it about that word?
Suddenly, a low, mournful wail cut through the scene, and both Gabe and I looked toward the nearest slave platform to see a middle-aged woman in a pantsuit brought to her knees by the crack of a whip. Below the platform, several demons jostled with bags of coins held high in the air. They were bidding on her. I saw how eager they were to purchase her, and my eyes drifted to the four other people on the platform with her. They all looked deceivingly normal, not at all like folks who’d end up down here.
I turned back toward Gabe, who now had the collar properly held in his hands. He had it open and held out like an invitation. Home, that’s what he felt like sometimes. I tried to remember the safety I’d felt during the fight with the demons, how I’d clung to him. I wanted to trust my instincts, but my logic was sending up alarm bells.
There was a sharp cry, followed by a whip crack. I turned my attention back to the slave platform and watched the auctioneer snap his wrist with a barely perceptible motion, and the black whip lashed out again like a shining snake. It arced through the air and hit one of the people on stage. The person screamed as the end of the whip fileted more than half of his cheek away. A small, scared sound escaped my lips.
“Marnie,” Gabe said, his voice almost a little pleading. He still held the iron collar in his hands.
“Put it on me,” I said hurriedly as I looked back at the awful stage. “Put it on me. I’ll be yours… I’ll pretend to be yours.”
Softly and slowly, like he might spook me, he snapped the iron collar around my neck with a hollow latching sound. I watched him take a single, skinny silver key and loop it around his neck. He tucked it under his shirt, holding my gaze as he did.
“I’ll keep it safe, Marnie,” he said solemnly. “I’ll keep you safe.”
11
GABRIEL
“Well, I don’t hate it,” she said sourly, running her hands down the bodice. She’d changed within the depths of the alley with my back turned, though I’d kept the chain firmly in my hand. I trusted her enough to lend her my blade in order to cut away the rest of her loose pajama top, and I had even made sure my eyes were shut tight. As much as I wanted to look, I didn’t. Even when I’d been invisible in the house, I’d still tried to keep her privacy intact. Ogling her felt uncomfortably close to something certain members of my family might do.
A small smile played on her lips as she ran her hands down the stiff bodice one more time. “In fact, I sort of dig the Elvira look.” She lifted up the hem of her dress to show off her leather boots. “Honestly, I sort of hate that I love it.”
“It’s very… Vampira,” I agreed. “Maybe a bit of Jayne Mansfield with your, um, shape.”
She eyeballed me. “Okay, the references, the James Dean look, the general air of bad boy-ness. You’ve got the sleeves of your t-shirt cuffed and motorcycle boots on. What… did you die in a drag race after a sock hop?”
“You guessed it,” I said dismissively. “Me and the homecoming queen went bam right on the asphalt.”
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not, but I know I’m right about the time period,” she replied.
I sighed, then let her have a small victory. “Sure, you did get that right. And I did like James Dean. I got to meet him once. He’s in another circle. He does well for himself down here.”
