Tender Mercies

Two


Eight months later, Grace had her answer. She’d regret it more if she said yes and things went south. Reality was perhaps a crueler master than Lucas, but not by much. The day she’d gotten on the plane, she’d mailed a letter to Lainey, the content of which still made her cringe:

I know you were only trying to help with Eric, but I want something real. By the time you receive this letter I’ll already be on the island. I’ll miss you. Maybe he’ll let me instant message you sometime.

But that never happened. She’d begged and pleaded, thinking perhaps if she were good enough, he’d let her use the computer, let her contact someone from the outside world. Lainey had been right. Reality hadn’t been what she’d wanted, unless it was a reality she’d orchestrated with the circumstances that turned her on. This did not turn her on.

She wished more than anything that she hadn’t been such a brat to Eric, that she’d just tried things with him. If she had, maybe she would have fallen in love. Maybe he could have given her something that would have made her happy. Having only lived in one 24/7 relationship, she hadn’t been equipped to judge them all. Eric could have been different.

This realization came far too late as she hung in the chains in Lucas’s dungeon where she was beaten and violated, moving from the nightmare of being awake to the nightmares of sleep on an endless loop. As it turned out, he had no other slaves, at least not at the moment, though she desperately wished he did. Anything to cause him to turn his attention and obsession onto someone else. Anyone else.

She shuddered as she thought of her first day in Eleu.

***

“You understand the rights you are relinquishing and that you no longer claim citizenship in any country?” The question came from an older man with kind eyes.

Grace nodded, her stomach doing a little flip from both excitement and nerves.

“You are here of your own free will?”

“Yes.”

“No one has coerced you in any way to come here?”

She thought for a minute. Had Lucas coerced her? Their last video call had seemed pretty high-pressure. Then again, he’d waited a year, showing a level of patience that had surprised her. And he’d spent a full month away. It was pretty hard to coerce someone when you weren’t even talking to them. If she’d been wired any other way she would have gotten back out there, started looking for someone else and given up the fantasy of the island.

“Miss?”

Her gaze shot back to the customs agent and she flushed a little. “No.”

His eyes seemed to delve into her soul, as if trying to determine if she spoke the truth and if she showed any signs of distress. After a few moments, he nodded and slid an official-looking piece of paper across the desk.

“Sign this and hand over all identifying cards and other similar materials that you have on you: driver’s license, passport, etc.”

She read the paper, knowing what it said already. Lucas had emailed her a copy of the form several months prior. Still, she read it again just to be sure. She hesitated for only a moment before scrawling her name across the bottom, making her now and forevermore subject to the laws of the island. Her hand shook a little as she slid the requested materials back across the desk.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “There are few laws that will protect you here.”

“I’ve known him for a year.”

That seemed good enough for the agent.

Once she was finished there, she was taken directly to Lucas who was waiting out back, dressed in an expensive, dark suit. His eyes practically glowed in anticipation of possessing her.

She’d goggled at the size of his house when they arrived and bent to scratch the Australian shepherd behind his ears. The dog jumped on her and licked her face.

And that was the end of normal and safety.

She was taken to the incinerator in the basement. He took the things she’d brought to the island and tossed them in. They were things that reminded her of home, things that gave her comfort.

Her hand flew to her mouth as her belongings went up in flames.

“That life is over,” he said gruffly. When the tears flowed freely down her cheeks he said, “I told you I’d be a hard master. You should have listened to me and taken it seriously. Strip.”

Grace felt numb. Her first instinct was to run, but even if she got out of the house, this wasn’t her homeland. There was no one who would save or protect her here. She’d be a runaway slave, punished in whatever way their law dictated. There was nowhere to go.

As if a switch had flipped, she went into survival mode. The idea of happiness and contentment leeched out of her like so much petty frivolity, replaced by a need to appease him, to do whatever it took to stay alive. She hurriedly took off her clothes.

“Jewelry, too,” he said.

She took out her earrings and handed them over, then looked down at the garnet ring on her hand.

“Please, not this one. It was my mother’s.”

He’d already tossed her clothing and earrings in the fire, and now his hand was out, waiting for the ring. “Now!” he barked. “You don’t want punishment on your first day.”

She struggled to get the ring off and gave it to him, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see it tossed in to be destroyed with everything else that held meaning to her.

“I don’t understand . . . why . . . why are you being this way? You weren’t like this before.” She knew she sounded naïve and stupid, but she’d thought she’d been so careful, so smart about everything. But how smart was it to fly thousands of miles to give yourself over to a practical stranger to do with as he wished? Of course he would be decent online, where he had no power.

Her eyes focused on the ground, unable to look at him after she’d walked right into his trap. She jumped when he laughed.

“Sweet, little Grace. I like slaves who are careful, who agonize over the decision. You’re the one I had to fight hardest to acquire. I found several potentials to replace my last slave, but they were all too stupid. After a week they were ready to come here. But you . . . you were different. You were a prize worth owning.”

“What happened to the last slave?”

“Oh no, pet. You won’t have an easy slip into peaceful death with me. I sold her last week. I won’t be at all surprised if he kills her, though.”

The tears fell silently, and she had to take slow, deep breaths to stay quiet. She didn’t resist when he put her in a cold, dark cell and left her for the night.

***

He’d left her there three days, feeding her bland food through a slot in the door. It was as if he were sending her the message that she wasn’t all that important; he wasn’t so taken with her that he had to play with her right away. She was expendable and easily forgotten.

When he’d finally stepped into the room, she’d been so desperate to please him, to gain any level of favor at all to improve her situation, that she’d obeyed him without question. But nothing was ever good enough. Nothing had stopped his cruel words or his brutality. The words “good girl” hadn’t passed through his lips again.

The door to the dungeon creaked open, snapping her back to the here and now. She knew it would hurt worse if she tensed, but she couldn’t stop herself from holding her body rigid. If only she could just relax and let the pain wash over and pass through her.

“Have you had time to think about your mistake, pet?” Pet. The word was such a mockery. An endearment from before, a word that indicated some level of care and affection. And yet there was no care or affection between them. There was only sadism on his part and desperation and fear on hers.

“This slave begs forgiveness. She won’t be bad again.” She couldn’t stop trembling in the chains. No matter how many times this happened, the terror didn’t stop. She kept hoping she’d become desensitized to it, that by some miracle she could learn to hover outside her own body so that whatever damage was done couldn’t touch her but would only touch the body of that girl, the one that wasn’t really her. It would be bad enough to just watch. But if she could watch and not be, that would be better.

“Are you sure? I feel you should be past the point of breaking dishes when I bring you food. How do I know this isn’t some rebellion on your part?”

She remained silent because it was the smart thing to do. She’d long ago learned that when in doubt, just be silent. Her master loved hearing himself speak. When he wasn’t calling her pet or telling her she was a worthless piece of shit, he used the word you, as if only when he spoke to her did she have form or life. When she spoke of herself, it was always in third person, as if she were an inanimate object that could not have thoughts or feelings or needs. If she ever spoke the words me or my or I, the punishment was swift and severe. He’d broken her of the habit of seeing herself as a person in the first two weeks.

Even her name felt like some disincarnate thing that had long been separated from her being. Grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. Just a sound. An odd sound. She could barely remember what it meant. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. Grace was like pet. And she could only handle being slapped with one of those words right now.

The whip came down over and over. He’d stopped speaking, more interested in hearing her screams and begging. She always begged; she couldn’t help it. And it only made her more ashamed that she would give this monster anything he wanted, that she would continue to play into his hands so predictably.

She could feel the trails of blood flowing down her back when he stopped. Then he was inside her, f*cking her. She couldn’t bring herself to think the word rape, even though she knew. To heap that ugly word on top of everything else was the last little straw that would make her mind come undone.

“So wet,” he growled in her ear. “You like this shit, don’t you, pet?”

She shuddered as the tears fell harder. No matter what a sick f*ck he was, her body still responded. Her kink had never been something she’d seen as an aberration or something that was wrong with her before Lucas. But now, in light of how he’d broken her, how could she see herself as anything but disgusting? Because no, she didn’t like this shit, and yet, her body answered his as if together they were a symphony of something beautiful, the kind of something she’d hoped they could be but weren’t.

Lucas gripped her throat hard enough she knew there would be a bruise. “Answer me, slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she gasped out. Only because it’s what he wants to hear.

“Tell me you’re mine, you worthless slut.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “This slut is yours, Master.” Only because it’s what he wants to hear. She had to hold onto that thought and repeat it in her mind so she wouldn’t forget. Her body may have submitted to him, but she hadn’t yet lost her mind. She prayed she could hold onto that one secret space within her. The thoughts Lucas could never know about. The thoughts of him dead and broken before her. And somehow being free of him. He always kept her locked in the dungeon when he couldn’t watch her because deep down he had to know she wasn’t really his.

When he was finished with her, he unlocked the chains and let her fall. “Clean yourself up. We’re going out.”

The sound of his boots receded, and the door slammed behind him. Normally those were the sounds that made her body unclench and allowed her to relax, but not tonight. He wasn’t done with her yet.

She lay on the stone floor, catching her breath. There was a crude shower and toilet on one end of the room, as well as a sink and a cabinet that contained first aid supplies. Over the sink hung an old mirror, the one thing in the room that allowed her to witness the life slipping from her day by day. The only evidence she had that she wasn’t already dead.

Showering would hurt too much. She’d have to run water in the sink and clean off the best she could. The bandage supply was running low. She’d have to ask for more soon, something she dreaded. Asking for anything only meant more suffering for whatever it was that she needed. He always made her hurt before he gave her anything. He wanted her to remember he was God. But how the f*ck could she forget?

The one reprieve was that he wouldn’t beat her again, at least not across her back until it healed. He’d find other punishments to torture her with instead. Things that wouldn’t leave marks. Or he’d leave marks elsewhere. He didn’t seem to want to kill her or physically damage her beyond repair. It was a bad sign that she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

***

Lately Lucas had been taking her out a lot more to clubs and parties. She wasn’t sure what that meant. Each time, she was afraid he’d share her with another, but so far that hadn’t happened. Tonight it was a large brick building with a circular driveway. Cars were parked all the way out to the road. All black luxury sedans. It looked like the secret service was having a dinner party.

She huddled beside her master outside, nothing but a black velvet cloak and slippers to separate her from the chill in the night air. The palm trees towering overhead rustled in the breeze. Whispering about her.

The door opened and a butler took Lucas’s coat and Grace’s cloak and slippers. She looked down at the ground, wrapping her arms around herself. She’d never get used to being like this without clothing to shield her from strange, prying eyes. They went down a flight of stairs until they were in a large, dungeon-like room. There were many men down there––too many to count––and about five other slaves.

Lucas surveyed the room, and then picked a couch to sit on. He snapped and pointed at the floor. She knelt on the ground beside him, her breathing coming fast. Her master seemed to have a new sense of purpose lately. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but each time he brought her to one of these mysterious functions, he seemed more focused.

At previous gatherings they’d stayed on the fringes, observing. Now he seemed in the thick of things, and several men came up and spoke to him. Grace couldn’t follow the conversation because they were speaking in the language native to the island. Lucas had been careful to only speak English to her, obviously not wanting her to understand when he spoke to others.

She flinched and cringed away when several of them touched her. Some took her chin and forced her eyes to theirs, turning her face this way and that, running their fingers through her hair. Others stroked her breasts and between her legs. The latter action brought a chuckle. Though Grace didn’t understand the language, she knew they were remarking on how aroused she was.

Each time a different male approached and started touching her, she was afraid Lucas would allow the man to borrow her. But they simply conversed with her master for awhile and then nodded and walked away.

Hours drifted by. There was dinner and drinks in a dining room, followed by more talking. No food was brought to her. She knew something important was being discussed. Was she being sold? It was the only thing that made sense in light of the business-like way the men all behaved.

She tried to think what that would mean for her. To be sold. She’d given up her silly fantasies. The reality was that she was chattel and whether it was Lucas or someone else, it was going to be bad. It was never going to be okay. The best she could hope for was to survive, though she wasn’t sure survival was the best outcome anymore.

Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a figure standing in the doorway, a man who’d decided not to dine. Something compelled her to look up, and when she did she was met with the most brilliant blue eyes she’d ever seen, eyes that stared at her so hard she had to turn away. But it wasn’t fast enough.

Lucas had seen.

He rose from his chair and jerked her to her feet. The back of his hand came across her face so hard and fast she lost her breath. Voices that had been speaking ceased as he gripped her throat and pulled her close, his mouth pressed against her ear.

“Have you taken a liking to Asher Collins?” he whispered. “He’s the one I told you about last year. The one who killed his slave. Be thankful I’ve let you live, pet. You seem to have particularly dangerous taste in men.”

He shoved her back to the floor, and conversation resumed as if this were all no big deal. Just business as usual. Just how one treated a slave. She didn’t make another sound as the tears rolled down her face, so as not to call his attention again. Though she tried very hard not to, she couldn’t help looking to the doorway one more time. But the man was gone.