Tender Mercies

Three


Asher sat quietly in his study, a glass of scotch in one hand. He’d been staring at the fireplace flames for a solid hour since he’d gotten back from the showing. There had been several slaves on offer this season, and although he hadn’t spoken with any of the owners, he’d hung back on the edges, observing.

It had been almost a year since he lost Darcy. Since I killed her, he corrected himself. It may not have been his hand that landed the fatal blow, but it was still his fault. His fault for not taking her complaints seriously and getting her help. Nothing would ever change that.

He hadn’t spoken to James since they’d buried the body together. As the dirt had covered her, his friend had made some offhand remark about going to live with the natives. Asher thought he’d been kidding, but then he didn’t return to his home.

Though they’d been best friends since college, doing everything together––including getting rich and coming to Eleu––after Darcy was in the ground, the cord was severed. Asher hadn’t been able to bring himself to turn his friend in, but he couldn’t look in his eyes or hear his voice again, either. It seemed James felt the same way.

For months Asher had stayed in, not receiving visitors. Gradually his need to possess a woman, the same need that had brought both he and James to the island, started to reassert itself. Now he was bargaining, making a list of rules and safeties so he could trust himself with another life.

He could own another woman. No, she wouldn’t be his Darcy. She’d be whoever she was. Maybe he’d love her and maybe he wouldn’t, but he still had needs, and right now the most powerful need he had was to move on. Perhaps atone.

One side of his mouth quirked wryly at the idea of atonement. As if anything could pay for what he’d done. The only thing that moved him forward was knowing that what happened with Darcy would never happen again because he wouldn’t leave his slave unmonitored after punishment, and he would mete out all punishments himself. He would take the responsibility, as he should have to begin with.

He shut his eyes against the memory of Darcy dying in his arms. The tight feeling he got in his chest when that memory came forward had dulled only slightly in the intervening time.

Asher set the scotch on the table beside his chair and got up to pace. Sitting still was impossible when he was on the cusp of bringing a pet into the house. He’d seen the one he wanted: Lucas Stone’s slave.

He’d watched from a distance, growing increasingly agitated at the way Lucas treated her and all the men who walked by to paw at her. Of course, nothing they were doing was illegal. Many had argued for anti-cruelty laws, but the policy changes always got shot down. After all, one slave’s cruelty was another’s happy existence. They had chosen this life after all. They’d known the risks. They were all questioned and psychologically assessed before being allowed to stay in Eleu, as were the men.

Lawmakers had argued that with cruelty laws, a slave would be able suddenly to appeal to someone to rescue her from this or that. Many would work the system to their advantage and end up the ones with all the control and power. Masters would fear punishing a slave as he saw fit because she might tell the authorities that she’d been cruelly tortured. And wasn’t that the world in which they’d already lived? A world of choices and freedoms submissives had wanted to hand over and dominants had wanted to take? Wasn’t this the utopia they’d always dreamed of, where they could each follow their own perversions without anybody else’s nose in them?

He didn’t entirely disagree with the current policies, but even so, there were slaves who had fallen through cracks, who were being brutalized in ways they’d never genuinely signed on for, who’d been victimized by monsters who had slipped through the psychological screenings at the gate. Lucas Stone’s slave was one of those victims. Asher had seen it in her eyes.

And the fact that her back had been bandaged on the night of a showing––by her from the looks of it––was bad form. Any master who would show his property with the intent to sell right after he’d left marks wasn’t fit to own another person.

He remembered when he’d lived in the States, how he’d witnessed animal cruelty, people who left dogs chained up for weeks with barely enough food or water, cats who had been left flea-bitten in crates. Why would one own a pet if they only intended to mistreat it? To Asher, slaves were the same as pets. Why acquire one if you were just going to abuse it? You could never truly own something that hated you. But some masters, like Lucas, were too f*cked up to get that.

Asher moved to the wall of books and pulled a green leather volume out halfway. The bookcase slid to the side to reveal a secret passage. It wasn’t that secret, of course. William was aware of it. He’d been quite amused by it, in fact. The island was a place where fantasies became reality: dreams of owning a slave, having a mansion, having a secret passage. Whatever he’d wanted so far in his life, once money became no object he’d been prepared to do anything to get everything on that list.

Some wealthy men bought jets, some liked to hide extra rooms in their house. He flipped a switch to turn on lights and descended the stone staircase. As nice as the idea of torches lining the walls had seemed, he’d opted for more practical dome lights that created a similar ambiance.

He remembered when Darcy had come over and how she’d squealed in delight at the secret dungeon room. She’d been fresh from a life of freedom living in Europe. Like many of the masters on the island, he hadn’t wanted to buy a pre-owned slave. He’d wanted someone fresh. Someone he could mold completely as he liked from the ground up. Perhaps he’d feared he wasn’t a brutal enough master, that his kindness would be seen as weakness by someone with more experience. And sometimes, perhaps it had been.

He’d allowed her to wrap herself around his little finger, showing her leniency when he should have shown her discipline. In the end, he’d lost control of her so much it had taken James and a bullwhip to right the balance. But then there had been nothing left to balance.

He crossed to one of many boxes of toys and implements of pain and dug around until he found it: the whip that had killed Darcy. The bullwhip still had a bit of her blood dried on the tip. He could no longer leave the weapon hidden away in a chest. He had to see it, every day. If he was to own another slave he had to be reminded of what his mistakes could cost him so he wouldn’t make them again. He hung the coiled whip on a hook at eye level.

His mind went to the slave. He didn’t even know her name yet. He’d know once he had the paperwork on her, assuming Lucas would sell to him. There were a couple of others who’d shown a great deal of interest––too much interest for Asher’s taste, and their reputations weren’t much better than the bastard she was with.

The longer he stood in the dungeon, the more obsessed he became with having her. She was so pale and seemingly fragile. How she’d survived under such brutality he had no idea. Her hair, like spun gold, had been long and covered a good portion of her back. But of course the edges of the bandages had shown, and when she’d turned he could see the blood that had seeped through.

Her body drew his eye, but he was ashamed to admit, it was her fear and desperation that had awakened him. His cock had jumped to attention immediately as he’d taken in the sight of her. She had delicate, pert breasts, which her master had neglected to pierce. No piercings below her waist, either.

It was an indication that he’d always intended to keep her to entertain himself for a while and then sell her for a profit. Unpierced slaves were easier to sell since most masters wanted to do that themselves. Piercings were personal, much like a brand, and not something many wanted secondhand. It would only drive the price down. Which begged the question of why he’d present her beaten like that. Such a thing was only going to appeal to the lowest common denominator––yet another hint Lucas had been genuinely mistreating the girl, not fulfilling mutual needs.

He’d broken her, possibly beyond repair, and if Asher didn’t get her, it was going to be a downward spiral until one day she disappeared. He could still see her brown eyes when they’d met his blue. He imagined at one time they’d been warm and had sparkled with wicked thoughts and fantasies. Now they were just hollow. Empty.

Why are you doing this? It won’t bring Darcy back.

Intellectually he knew that was true, but emotionally? He felt if he could bring this one back from the brink, if he could save her, he would balance some kind of cosmic scale. A life for a life. If he could do that, then maybe he could sleep through one night without Darcy haunting his dreams.

It wasn’t the only reason he wanted the slave, of course. He didn’t want another brat that would remind him of his last slave. Or someone who would be demanding. As broken as this one was, she wouldn’t demand or insist on anything. She’d warm his bed and do what he asked. It would be simple. Free of complication. Maybe her presence would quiet the mess his mind had become.

He turned quickly when he heard a sound on the stairs.

“I apologize, sir. Mr. Lucas Stone is on the phone for you.”

“Thank you, William.”

The butler made a little bow and ascended the steps. Asher took one last look at the bullwhip and followed.

“Yes,” he said, when he picked up the phone. He placed the mildest edge of irritation in his voice, knowing the son of a bitch might not sell her if he thought Asher wanted her too much.

“I see you took an interest in my slave tonight,” Lucas said, getting right to the point.

Asher made a noncommittal sound. “She was all right, I suppose.”

There was an amused chuckle on the other end. “You didn’t make an offer for her.”

“I’m just looking. Not sure I’m ready to buy.”

“I can see why you might hesitate, after your last slave was deemed a runaway.”

The way he said the word runaway made it clear Lucas was as aware as everyone else that she’d died, though the rumors were that it had been directly by his hand.

“Surprising that they never found her. How many places can there be to hide? Or maybe she swam off the island or escaped in a little boat.”

Asher volleyed his own false speculations back. “Perhaps someone without a slave found her and took her. Even with the legalities, it can be hard for some to get their own, either because the price is more than they want to pay or because they have trouble finding someone who’ll come over from elsewhere.”

“I’ll sell her to you for a million,” Lucas said.

Asher swallowed. Don’t be too eager. “A million in island currency or another currency?”

“Island, of course.”

“Of course.” A million in island currency was more expensive than a million in any other currency. He was sure the asking price was higher than the other men had offered. Not that anyone would find her worth less than that amount, but it was a high price for anyone’s blood. The idea of giving a bastard like Lucas Stone that kind of money repulsed him.

“Seems high. Not sure I think any slave is worth that amount. She’d have to be very well-trained. How long have you had her?”

“Oh, she’s well-trained. I’ve had her just over eight months. She’s extremely easy to control.”

“Really? What works? What is she afraid of?” Asher steeled himself for the list. If he was going to have her, he needed to know exactly what would trigger her, so he’d know what to avoid. Building trust would be hard enough after what she’d been through.

A laugh. “You sadistic bastard. I knew I picked the right buyer.”

“I haven’t said I’m buying,” Asher corrected.

“Of course, but I think you will.” Lucas’s voice dripped like pond sludge over the phone. “Let’s see . . . the girl has almost no pain threshold. It doesn’t take much to make her scream. And yet, it all turns her on, on some level. I’ve never been inside a woman so wet. She’s afraid of isolation, darkness, cramped spaces, bondage if you leave her alone, hunger, any of the heavier implements such as whips and canes . . .”

If she was actively terrified of all of those things, it was only because Lucas had used them to torture her.

“. . . She’s afraid of dogs. So if you have one, I’m just saying.”

“Dogs?”

“What can I say, my puppy really likes p-ssy.” He laughed again.

Asher’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table. Bile rose in his throat.

“Of course she acts afraid of dogs, but she seems to enjoy it once he gets going,” Lucas continued, unaware of how much Asher wanted to kill him.

“Hmmmm. I still think a million is too high. I might offer half a million. You know that’s the going rate.” He held this breath, wondering if he’d pushed his feigned disinterest too far.

“Three quarters, and I’ll send the paperwork over for you to sign tomorrow evening.”

“Done.”

He snorted with disgust as he disconnected the call. His skin crawled just thinking of that girl with Lucas for so long. When he looked up, William was standing in the doorway holding a cup of coffee, an excuse to stand there and eavesdrop.

“How much did you hear?”

He crossed the floor quickly and placed the mug of steaming liquid on Asher’s desk. “Most of it. I apologize, sir.”

There was a look in William’s eyes that said he had a strong opinion but wasn’t going to be stupid enough to share it.

“You may as well just say it.”

“Well . . .” William hesitated only a moment before plowing through his prepared commentary. “If you’ll excuse me for saying it, are you sure you’re ready to bring a pet into the house? And one so . . . damaged?”

Asher stared hard at him, and William looked away, pretending his interest had been drawn to a vase of lilies.

“Is that all?”

“Perhaps you could take her off the island. Set her free.”

William always did have such a soft spot for pets, be they animal or human. He’d worked for Asher before they came to Eleu, and it had become clearer over the years that he only barely tolerated his employer’s perversions. The fact that he’d kept the secret of what had happened to Darcy that night spoke of his loyalty in the face of his distaste.

“Absolutely not,” Asher said. “In the first place, she’s costing me a lot of money. No way in hell am I parting with that kind of cash only to set her free. This isn’t Thailand, where you pay to release birds for sport. And those birds are never truly set free, are they? They’re trained to fly back to repeat the process all over again.”

William looked at the floor.

“She’s wired for this. As I am. If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t have come here. Setting her free won’t change who she is. If this wasn’t in her, she wouldn’t have made it past the scrutiny of the customs agents––”

“––But if she’s broken––”

“If she’s broken, she’s in far greater danger out there in the free world than she is in here with me. She’ll only end up with someone else who will hurt her. She no longer has the tools to pick well, and even if she did, she’ll never trust herself again. She’ll get desperate and lonely someday and fall prey to another abusive a*shole.”

“This won’t bring Darcy back.”

Asher suppressed a growl. “I know that. Do you think I don’t know that? I don’t have any illusions I can fix her. I just need . . .” He searched for a word or sentiment he couldn’t bring himself to say. Still, the word stole into his mind and bloomed into full existence in the silence of the room––forgiveness.