Until You're Mine: Requested Trilogy - Part Two Page 2

  Ryker leans against the wall behind me, out of my line of sight as the doctor continues. He draws blood. He takes swabs. He listens to my heart and my lungs and records the pressure of my blood.

  “When was her last cycle?”

  Ryker clears his throat. “She’s been here for ten days. Nothing in that time.” His voice is low and gruff.

  The doctor merely nods and presses a needle into a bottle, drawing the liquid into the syringe.

  When he goes to inject it into my arm, I jerk away. “What is it?”

  The doctor doesn’t answer and instead wraps his fingers around my upper arm, holding tightly and pulling me back toward him. I tense, resisting his grasp and the doctor turns to Ryker.

  “Hold her still, would you?”

  It is only then that Ryker actually looks at me. His eyes lift slowly, and I’m once more struck by the torment they hold. Dark clouds are gathering in their depths, but I don’t know what they mean. He swallows once and turns his gaze to the doctor.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  Letting go of my arm, the doctor passes him a note. “My list of instructions,” he says. “Now will you hold her?”

  Ryker scans the note then nods and walks around to the head of my bed, lowering his hands to hold me in place. I try to move away but the pain stops me.

  Tears prick my eyes. “I just want to know what it is.”

  Ryker shakes his head, but when his fingers wrap around my arm to pull it toward the doctor, his touch his gentle. Almost apologetic. The needle pierces my skin and the liquid is pushed into my flesh. I feel nothing but a cool sensation in my arm.

  Placing everything back into his case, the doctor gets to his feet, his eyes falling over me as though I’m nothing more than a body on a table.

  “She will be fine. It will take a while for everything to heal but as long as you regularly apply the cream, I don’t anticipate any scarring or permanent damage. I will leave you with more painkillers and some cream and some bandages to attend to her. But I would suggest you use a less aggressive method for submission in the future.”

  I expect Ryker to protest at the doctor’s words and insist that it wasn’t him who inflicted this, but Ryker merely nods and follows the doctor toward the door.

  “Ryker?” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

  He stops for a moment, but his back is to me and he doesn’t turn.

  “Ryker, please look at me.”

  My words get caught in the base of my throat, as though Marcel’s fingers are still there and trying to stop them from escaping. There’s a slump to Ryker’s shoulders that I haven’t seen before, but he still doesn’t turn.

  And I’ve never felt so alone as when he walks out that door. I want to beg for him to come back. If I could handle the pain, I would kneel before the camera in perfect submission and hope he saw. Anything just to make him come back. Anything to feel the safety of him. Because if he is here, Marcel can’t hurt me.

  No one can.

  Except for him.

  He gets stuck in my mind and I can’t escape him. I wonder who he must be outside these walls, if he has people that care about him, a person who is waiting for him to come home. I wonder about his childhood and what sort of life he must have had that has made him forget. From the hesitation in the way he treats me, I know he is battling something within. Something that torments him.

  When the painkiller begins to work and I find a few moments of sleep, it’s Ryker’s face that haunts my dreams. But in them we aren’t trapped in a cell. We are free. We are together. And we are happy. And when I wake, I’m not sure which hurts more. The pulsing thud of pain dulled slightly by the pills, or the realization that my dream will never be true.

  But when the hushed hiss of air enters the room with the opening of the door hours later, it isn’t Ryker who appears. It’s Star. My heart starts pounding, scared that Marcel will follow, but the door eases shut behind her and I let out a sob of relief.

  She doesn’t look at me as she walks over to the bed, tray in hand, her eyes trained obediently to the ground even though it is just the two of us. She’s dressed in a night slip like I am. Like I was, before Marcel tore it from my body.

  I’m trembling under the blanket. Ever since his attack, I can’t seem to get warm. The room is kept cool at all times, but my body had become accustomed to it, regulating itself to adjust. Now, it is as though the cold has seeped into my bones, although my skin is on fire.

  Star kneels beside the bed, lowering the tray to the ground. “I’ve brought you some food.” Her voice is soft and gentle, barely a whisper. “And some cream for your wounds.” She still doesn’t look at me. I want her to. I need her to.

  “Star.” It feels like years since I’ve spoken. My voice is broken and torn. The bruises around my throat make it hurt. “Star,” I say again, begging her to look at me. I need someone to remind me that I’m still here.

  The bruises on her sides have faded to yellowish-brown. Remnants of black circle her eye. The left side of her upper lip is still slightly swollen, but the cut is healed, clean from blood.

  She plays with the food on the tray, rearranging it so none of the fruit touches. “Are you hungry?” she asks. And then she lifts eyes so pale it’s as if they have no color at all, and they lock on mine. There is nothing behind them. No emotion. No desperation or fear. Nothing but acceptance.

  A sob lodges itself at the back of my throat. I cannot become like her. She’s given up. Accepted her fate.

  “You should eat.” Gingerly, she picks up a slice of apple and holds it out to me. It hovers in front of my mouth, waiting for me to open. All the fruit has already been sliced. Ryker usually brings a knife. My dreams have often been stuck on it.

  I’m lying on the bed, resting on my side, unable or unwilling to move. I don’t open my mouth but stare into her eyes, searching for the girl who must be in there.

  “Eat whenever they offer food. You don’t know when it’s next coming.”

  Except, I did. Ryker appeared with food three times a day. But from the way Star’s skin was stretched over her bones, I knew it wasn’t the same for her.

  Slowly I open my mouth and she pops in the slice of apple. My jaw aches when I chew, and the sweetness starts gurgles of nausea in my gut.

  “Eat,” she says. It’s not a command. It’s a request. A plea.

  I chew and swallow, tears smarting as the apple slides down my throat.

  “You’ve got to keep up your strength,” she says. “There’s no place for stubbornness here. It will get you nowhere.”

  I swallow the last of the apple and open my mouth again when she offers another slice. I’m not sure why she’s feeding me, but there’s something comforting about it. Reminds me of Mum.

  “How long have you been here?” I whisper.

  She looks at the camera. The red light is on. But for some reason, she answers. She leans forward, so close that her breath hits me as she speaks.

  “I don’t know. It’s a while.” Her voice lowers even more, something I didn’t think possible and I have to strain to hear her. “No one wants me,” she says.

  There is sadness there, as though she wants to be sold.

  “You haven’t been requested?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, holding out another slice of apple. There is a hint of jealousy to the set of her jaw.

  “How many girls do they have here?”

  She shrugs. “It’s hard to tell.”

  I become desperate for information, firing questions at her as quickly as they form in my head.

  “Do you know where we are? Do you know who runs this place, any of the names other than Marcel? How did you get here?”

  But she ignores my questions, picking up another piece of apple and playing with it between her fingers, seemingly becoming transfixed with the redness of its flesh.

  I sigh, knowing my questions will go unanswered. “You can eat it if you like.”

  Without hesitation, she pops it
into her mouth, and it’s the first time I’ve seen any emotion from her. Pure bliss.

  “I was larger when I came here,” she explains. “Marcel controlled my food in order to help me lose the weight.” There’s no malice in her voice, in fact, it’s almost as though she’s grateful. “Maybe next auction I will be sold. Maybe it will be to someone kind.”

  I swallow my repulsion. “Does he hit you often?”

  She shakes her head. “Only when I need it.”

  “When you need it?” I just about choke.

  She nods, picking up another slice of apple and offering it to me. I shake my head and she puts it into her mouth without prompting.

  “It took a while for me to learn to behave.” She smiles sadly. “Don’t be like me. This will happen time and time again unless you learn to obey.” The apple seems to have given her energy. She smiles, her movements are less stilted. “Roll onto your stomach. I’ll put cream on those wounds.”

  I do as she requests and brace myself for the feel of her fingers on my broken skin. The cream is cold, but she is gentle. Once she’s done, she leans in close.

  “What did you do? Why isn’t he doing this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Marcel is always the one to look after me when I’m in pain. He’s always the one to soothe my wounds. You must have done something really bad if they are making me do it instead.”

  “It wasn’t Ryker who did this to me.” I move my head so I’m looking directly at her. “It was Marcel.”

  Her hand stills on my back. “Marcel?” There is a hint of pain in her voice. “Marcel did this to you?” Her eyes well with tears.

  I nod, watching her closely. She’s upset.

  She swallows, her eyes falling to the ground. “Did he touch you in other ways too?”

  With her words the feel of his erection pressing against me, his fingers inside me, come flooding back. A slick cold sweat covers my body and my heart starts to pound, the rush of blood deafening. I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When I open my eyes again, she’s staring directly at me, waiting for my reply. And that’s when it occurs to me. She loves him.

  So I shake my head, wanting to spare this girl any pain I can. “I wouldn’t obey. He was punishing me for disobedience.”

  She smiles.

  It breaks my heart.

  Gathering a towel from the tray, she wipes her hands clean, gathers everything she brought with her and gets to her feet. “The cream will help.” Walking toward the door, she pushes it open, then looks back at me. “Next time,” she says, “just submit.”

  “Star?” Her eyes narrow a little when I use her name again. Or, what I assume is her name. She hasn’t told me any differently. “Have you seen him?”

  She frowns, and her lips pinch together, turning them white. “Marcel?”

  I shake my head. “Ryker.”

  “He’s the one who sent me in here to look after you.”

  I shuffle up on the bed, propping myself up on my elbows. “So, you’ve seen him?”

  And that’s when I hear it. The eagerness in my voice, the desperation to hear about him.

  Star’s frown flattens. Her head tilts to one side but she doesn’t need to say anything. It’s all there in her expression.

  I’m just like her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MIA

  For days it is only Star who enters my cell. She brings me food, tends to my wounds, and supplies my painkillers, but she doesn’t speak like she did that first time.

  I miss Ryker. Something broke in him after Marcel’s visit. Something that gave me the courage to speak, to ask him why. I thought it had been some sort of breakthrough. I thought he had opened up, telling me about his past, his sister.

  But I am nothing to him.

  My wounds are healing. I can sit without it causing excruciating pain. But no Ryker means no training and, as pathetic as it sounds, at least it gave me something to do, something to focus on other than myself.

  Other than Ryker.

  I cannot stop thinking about him. His face dominates my dreams. His body dominates my desire. Trapped in this room, all alone with nothing to distract me, I need to think of something else.

  Anything but Ryker.

  So I think about the ring of the register each time I keyed in a sale at the bakery. I used to hate that sound. It was the soundtrack to my nightmares back when my nightmares were only dreams. I think of the line of people that sometimes reached the door of the shop. I think about my mother and my father out the back, their hands buried in dough, their faces covered with smiles. I think of Roxy with her lips wrapped around a cream donut, the powdered sugar dusting her cheeks.

  I never thought there would be a day when I longed to be working at the bakery. When the sound of the register pinging open would bring comfort instead of boredom. But that was because I was innocent and naïve. It was before my dreams became nightmares.

  Five days pass before he walks back into my room. I am desperate for him, desperate for his touch, his attention. My eyes fly open. My heart leaps and without hesitation, I drop to the ground, kneeling in front of him. I don’t lower my head though. I sit with my neck craned upward, scanning his expression, needing to see him.

  I don’t want him to be angry. For the last few days I haven’t been able to get the memory of his lips out of my head. They were so soft and gentle, a contrast to everything else in my life.

  I want to taste them again.

  He looks down, his eyes dark and clouded, and runs a finger down my cheek, sending shivers of pleasure through me. Such a simple movement, hardly a sexual one, but it does things to me that I never thought possible in this place.

  “I haven’t given you the command.” He takes my hand, lifting me to my feet. “How are you?” he asks. “Did Star look after you well?”

  His beard has been trimmed close to his face, his hair cut shorter. I don’t want to talk about Star. I don’t want to talk about Marcel or my requestor. I want him to take me in his arms and kiss me like he did before. I want him to hold me to his chest, murmur words that rumble through me and make me forget everything about my life but him.

  “Where have you been?” I ask.

  Taking my hands, he toys with my fingers. “I needed to sort a few things.”

  “It wasn’t because you were angry with me? Because I won’t do it again. I won’t talk to you like that.” I wince as the words come out of my mouth, reminding me of the desperation of Star.

  He shakes his head and lets one of my hands go to rub his face wearily. “I needed a few days to clear my head. Figure things out.”

  “And have you?”

  He steps closer so there is only a fraction of space between us, his chest rising and falling heavily. There’s a pained expression on his face.

  “I can’t free you. I can’t betray them. It’s not that simple. You can’t just walk away from this. I thought it wouldn’t get to me. I thought I could do this and not think about what it means, about what happens next. I’ve always been able to sort of block things from my mind and never asks what happens to the girls when they become someone’s plaything.”

  It’s as though he’s looking for my approval, or at least my understanding, but right here in this moment, none of it matters. It’s like my mind has become numb, stuck on him and nothing else. All I can think about is how safe I felt when his arms were around me. The desire that twisted within when his lips pressed to my skin. I know it’s wrong. I know I should be pleading for my freedom, my escape. And I fight against the feeling, but it won’t dissipate. It’s there, like a thundering cascade of emotion that I’m trying to block with a feeble stone in a hole too large.

  “I’ve done many bad things. I’m not a good person. When I look at you, I see everything the world should be and isn’t. I see goodness and kindness, innocence and beauty. And I wish I could give you that world, take you back there as though this never happened. But your world is not my world. My world is fil
led with cruelty and fear, people who own everything and those who must obey them. I’ve always done what has been asked of me because the risk of disobedience was too high. So, in a way, I’m just like you. But my chains, the walls of my cell are invisible. And your world, this world of innocence and beauty, it’s gone. Forever. You can never go back there.”

  As I stare at him, I know tears well in my eyes. I hear the words he says, I understand the meaning behind them, but they are blurred by his beauty, his closeness. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I want to nuzzle into the warmth, lose myself in him.

  “I thought I could do this. But then…” He draws in a shaky breath, his body trembling as though he is the heart-shaped stain on the carpet and some unseen presence is slowly tearing him apart. “But then,” he whispers, his voice so raw, so broken, “it was you.”

  There is a storm of emotion in his eyes as he stands before me, his gaze unflinching. I move a fraction closer and feel the exhale of his breath. My insides are tossing and turning, caught in the undertow then rising to the surface only to get sucked under again.

  My memories scream. He chained me. He lashed my skin. He forced me into submission with his actions and yet, here I stand, longing to touch him. Longing to know what it would feel like to forget, just for a moment. Forget who he is. Who I am. Where we are. Forget the horror that faces me, the life I’ve lost, and drown in him.

  Lifting a trembling hand, I run my fingers down the side of his face, through his stubble. Under my touch, his lips are soft, softer than I remember even though it has only been days since I tasted them.

  There is a question in his eyes. Uncertainty mixed with pleading. I tilt my head to the side, my gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips, trying to resist at the same time as knowing it is impossible. I inch closer and kiss him. Softly.