Caging Liberty, page 7
Her eyes raise to look at me. “Why would you believe me over one of your own people?”
I shake my head. “He isn’t one of ‘my people.’ I don’t work here, I just live on the island, and I’m friends with Sawyer. Julio means nothing to me.”
“Okay,” she drags out the word, eyeing me skeptically. “You keep saying I’m a manor whore. Why would I mean something to you?”
I open my mouth, then close it once I realize she has a point. I’m not supposed to know Lib. I don’t know Julio either, but I know that the kind of men Sawyer hires aren’t the kind the world needs.
But to kill him for this? For a woman I’ve supposedly just met? A disobedient one at that. And with no proof.
It does sound drastic.
But I don’t really care. I’m not going to be able to sleep knowing what the piece of shit could possibly do to Lib. Sawyer has already proven I can’t trust him to stop it. So, to me, that only leaves one option. Like I said, no one leaves the island.
I blink. “You just do.”
Lib picks at the loose thread some more, and I watch the comforter slowly unravel. It probably cost over a thousand dollars.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, not looking at me. Her cheeks redden, and I lower my eyes to her chest that expands with each inhale.
Her nipples pebble through the silk, and my mind drifts. I feel a tension I know is one-sided, and all I can do is hope she doesn’t sense it radiating from me. It’s become clear in this conversation what she needs from me. Trust. She needs to trust me.
And I want her to.
“Can you do something for me?” I ask, my voice low.
She raises her eyes but doesn’t respond.
“Believe me.”
Her head tilts, and her forehead wrinkles.
“I’m not going to bullshit you. I promise. If it seems like I’m trying to sell you on this life, it’s because I don’t want you to be so afraid of it.”
“But why?” she asks. “Why do you care how I feel?”
When I don’t immediately answer, she continues. “Just be honest with me. Did Sawyer ask you to convince me to do what you people say?”
“No. Sawyer isn’t even sure you can be convinced.” I huff. “And please, stop saying ‘you people.’ I know what you mean, but I don’t like the implication that I’m one of the rapists you seem to be referencing when you say that.”
She seems to consider that for a moment, picking at the comforter. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
I have to think for a second before I realize what she’s talking about. Why do you care how I feel?
That’s a tough one. I hold my tongue, unsure of how much to say.
“Because you’re different,” I settle on.
Her hands move to rest in her lap. “What do you mean?”
I shrug like I’m unsure, but I’ve had a long time to think about this.
“I think you’re gorgeous,” I say, underplaying it. Every woman in this building is gorgeous. Lib is something else. Something magnetic. She pulls me in, and I’m helpless to it. I saw the look in Sawyer’s eyes when he first laid eyes on her, and I could tell then that she had a similar effect on him. I’m guessing she’s had a similar effect on Julio, and it’s cost him his life.
“And you’re stubborn.” My lips lift into a slight smile. “It’s frustrating how stubborn you are, but I also think it works in your favor.”
“How so?” she asks, pulling her knees up and resting her hands in her lap.
“I think it helps you get what you want. You don’t settle, and you don’t negotiate. As annoying as it’s been for me when I’m trying to help you, I also like that about you.”
“You don’t even know me,” she says, sounding unconvinced.
I move my gaze over her face and study her uncharacteristically relaxed expression for a few moments. “I know you a lot better than you think.”
Her cheeks turn pink, and she looks away.
I fight the urge to laugh at her embarrassment but allow myself a small smile. “What is it?”
“Sawyer told you about me, didn’t he?” she asks, a hint of contempt in her tone.
I gently clasp her chin between my finger and thumb and tilt her head up. “What do you mean?”
She meets my gaze and gives me a look I don’t understand. “Did he just tell you about me, or did he let you read the messages?”
“What messages?”
“From the chat site,” she says, irritation growing. “The one he used to extract every intimate detail about me before plucking me from my life.”
My hand, lightly lingering on her chin, tenses. Slowly, I pull away, no intention of responding.
“How does it work exactly?” she asks. “Does he talk to a bunch of different women, weeding through them until he finds one he thinks will make a good fit?”
Yeah, pretty much.
Her nostrils flare, and I put my hand on her knee. Her eyes instantly dart to it.
“You’re getting worked up again.” I slowly draw my hand back. “Take a breath.”
“Just answer me,” she demands.
I hesitate but end up sighing with resignation. “Yes, that’s how it works. And yes, I’ve seen some of your messages.”
Her eyes remain constricted, but her stony expression cracks. She wasn’t expecting me to say that.
“Breathe,” I say, reaching out again. She jerks her knee away when I touch it. “If you need to be angry, be angry. But stop letting it get you into trouble. Get your emotions under control so you can get to the women who understand what you’re going through. Then you can talk to them.”
“What if I never make it that far?”
I pause for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“You act like a good attitude is going to be enough for Sawyer to let me out of this room. Julio made it perfectly clear that isn’t the case.”
“You think you have to have sex with someone before you’ll be let out?” I ask with fake skepticism. In reality, that’s exactly what Sawyer will want. He’s careful about managing good behavior amongst the women, and a spirited woman like Lib would no doubt create chaos. He won’t allow Lib to be with the others until he feels she’s properly broken in. She’ll need to prove she’s going to obey. Not just say it.
I don’t see that happening.
Lib doesn’t humor me with a response.
“What if I told you I knew a way you could be out of here tonight?”
The bridge of her nose wrinkles as she glares at me.
“Not by letting me fuck you.”
Her glare softens but doesn’t let up fully. “How?”
I glance around the room until I find the closet. I stand and walk to it, hoping Sawyer stocked it instead of just giving Lib one set of clothes. I open the door and am relieved when I see a few items, one of which will work perfectly.
I take the gold, sequin dress off the hanger and walk it over to Lib. She stares at me suspiciously, and when I lay the dress on the bed, she glances between it and me.
“Put it on,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to come to the playroom with me.”
“The what?”
“Just trust me.”
She stares at me like she’s trying to see inside my soul while I wait for her to come to the obvious conclusion. If I wanted to fuck her over, I wouldn’t need to trick her to do it.
“Why would I trust you?” she asks.
Because I’m willing to kill for you.
“Maybe you shouldn’t.” I shrug. “But what else are you going to do?”
She bites her lip as she considers this.
“Better question, who do you think will give up first, you or Sawyer? Do you want to know what happens if it’s Sawyer?”
She looks away.
“Let me give you a hint… You’re not going to be shipped back to your old life.”
“I get it.”
“He isn’t going to send food to this room forever.”
“I said I get it,” Lib grates out, yanking the dress into her lap.
She glowers at me and points just over my shoulder. “Turn around.”
My lips lift into a smirk, but I turn around before she has a chance to see it.
9
Liberty
I can feel the vibe of the playroom before we ever enter it.
Voiceless pop music makes my skin vibrate, the sound intensifying as a couple bursts through the set of wooden, double doors. Or not a couple... A man and his victim. You wouldn’t know it by the way she beams up at him, stumbling in high heels while hanging onto his arm for support. It’s the collar that gives away the situation.
That triggers another thought. Are there non-captives on the island who are okay with this? Is anyone married?
“Don’t overthink,” Mr. A says, his cinnamon breath hitting the shell of my ear. A tingle spreads down my neck and shoots goosebumps over my shoulder from the sensation, and, frustrated at my body’s betrayal, I step away from his touch the moment his hand splays on my lower back.
I turn my head to Mr. A and find him smiling at me with perfectly straight teeth. “I see that brain of yours churning. Just relax. I’ve got you, I promise.”
When he takes my arm, I pull away but follow him to the door. I tug my dress down my thighs, but that just causes cleavage to spill from the top, so I end up pulling it back up. I don’t know how he could possibly expect me to relax when he has me dressed up like this. I’m used to the six-inch heels, so I’m able to gracefully walk, but that’s the only small comfort.
Mr. A opens the door, the music blowing me back like a gust of wind. I follow him inside, and as soon as my eyes and mind have time to make sense of the place, I regret allowing him to bring me here.
Sex. So much sex. Lights flicker and people crowd the space, bare skin appearing with every flash. The room reeks of sex and sweat, and the sound of voices and groans somehow drowns out the music.
My lungs seize, and my eyes widen. I don’t think I can breathe let alone move. If my muscles would cooperate, I’d be running.
Mr. A either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he walks farther into the room without looking back. The doors slam shut behind me, and I whirl my head around. A man in a suit stands next to the exit with his hands clasped in front of him. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but I’d bet my life he can sense I’m contemplating running.
But where?
Anywhere but here.
I dart forward in panic when I don’t see Mr. A. My shoulder slams into a woman who turns toward me and scowls, but I don’t have it in me to pause and give an apology. There are so many people in here, and it’s hard to see more than a few feet in front of me, but I hurry forward anyway, my head jerking side to side in search of my ‘protector.’
A man with the first few buttons of his black shirt undone steps in front of me, his lips curved up. He touches my arm and leans in to say something, but when I jerk away, bumping into another person, he rears back like I’m the intrusive one.
“Are you okay?” he shouts over the music, but I don’t stick around long enough to answer. I hurry around him and let out a sigh of relief when I spot Mr. A up ahead at a bar. His back is to me, but when I catch sight of his blue suit and thick hair, I run toward him.
My eyes bug so that I don’t let him out of my sight, and when I make it to him, I grab onto his arm, looking over my shoulder to see if the man from before is following. A sharp exhale flees from my lungs when I don’t see him.
“Oh, so you get to touch me, but I can’t touch you?”
I snap my head back toward Mr. A, fire burning inside me when I spot the amusement in his eyes.
“What the fuck was that?” I grind out, still not letting go of his arm. We’re close enough that if the laws of matter would allow it, I’d meld into him.
“What was what?”
“You said you had my back!”
“Relax.” He chuckles. “I have eyes like a hawk. I knew where you were.”
I want to glare at him, but my eyes are too busy darting around. I land on a woman in a cage maybe twenty feet from us who’s rolling her hips to the beat of the music. She’s wearing nothing but a thong, and with the stage lit up underneath her, she’s one of the most visible people in here. There are another three stages I can see.
“Don’t leave me,” I demand, turning back to Mr. A. My voice sounds more desperate than angry, and my heart pounds so hard, I think for a moment I hear it over the noise.
The amusement in his eyes eases as he pries my hands off his arm to turn and fully face me. “No more pulling away from me.” He takes my hand and runs his thumb over my skin. I don’t dare move. If anything, I wish he’d wrap me in his arms and hide me with his jacket.
This is too much.
Way too much.
If I thought I couldn’t live this life before, now I’m certain.
A stunning, middle-aged woman with diamonds the size of boulders in her ears sets two cocktail glasses in front of Mr. A. She meets my eyes, gives me a small chin lift of recognition, then exchanges a look with Mr. A-for-asshole.
“Thanks, beautiful,” he says to her, picking up both glasses. He hands one to me and motions toward a row of tables. “Come on.”
His large hand claims mine, and he guides me to one of the many tables running along the side of the room. I wring my hands while he drags a barstool over for me to climb onto. Once I’m settled on it, he hovers beside me, standing so close I can feel the heat emanating from his body. I watch his throat work as he takes a sip of his cocktail. Desperate for a jolt of liquid courage, I do the same. My taste buds light up at the sweet vermouth.
It's a Manhattan. My favorite drink.
Coincidence? Or did he know that from my messages? I must’ve told saltyshells what my favorite drink was months ago. How interesting could those transcripts be?
I don’t know, but I also don’t care right now. My eyes lock onto a woman whose wrists are tied to two different metal poles that spread her arms apart. She’s fully nude, and a man is kneeled in front of her with his face between her legs. It takes a minute for me to recognize the long, flowing, red hair, but when I do, my stomach drops.
“Anna,” I whisper. My voice is absorbed by the noise in the room like it never existed, but Mr. A hears me somehow.
He follows my line of sight to Anna, then turns back to me. “Friend of yours?”
Eyes welling, I hop off the stool.
“What are you doing?” Mr. A steps in front of me with a frown tugging down his mouth.
“I have to help her.” I try to go around him, but he grabs my shoulders and stops me. I jerk in his hold, but he only digs his fingers in deeper and leans in to talk in my ear.
“Stop.”
My body stiffens, and I keep my hands at my sides. His voice has so much authority in it that I actually obey the command.
He lets go of my shoulders and turns us so I’m facing Anna with him behind me. His hands hold my waist like he’s afraid I’ll try to run.
“Look closer,” he commands, his velvety voice softer now, but just as authoritative. “Does it look like she needs your help?”
I stare at Anna while biting the inside of my cheek. The man is still between her legs, and another one stands behind her, fondling her breasts. My stomach flips watching, but I force myself to calm and take in the scene.
Her head is tilted back, her lips parted. Her body doesn’t jerk like I expect, but instead, it undulates, her hips rocking against the man’s face. I move my eyes back to her face and see her mouth open wider as her eyes slam shut. I can faintly hear the scream she lets out, but it doesn’t make me jump toward her because I can clearly see that she isn’t screaming for help. She’s having an orgasm.
“See?” Mr. A coos into my ear, desire saturating his words. I feel it flowing from the hands on my hips. “There’s nothing sinister going on there.”
I breathe in the scent of sex, closing my eyes when it’s all too much. The heat at my back from Mr. A’s body, his hands on my hips, his erection subtly rubbing against me.
I can hear it now. The groans sounding throughout the room are actually moans filled with more pleasure than I’ve ever felt.
What is going on?
“I want to go,” I tell him, my eyes still closed. I open them and spin toward Mr. A. “I want to leave. Now.”
“Ivy…”
“Please,” I beg, my throat clogging.
He stares into my eyes a moment and must see the turmoil raging in my mind because his face softens with pity as he nods. “Okay.” He takes my hand and leads me through the crowd until we’re out into the hallway. Light blinds me, and when the doors shut behind us, it’s uncomfortably quiet.
Mr. A guides me down the hall and up a flight of stairs. It seems like we walk for a long time before he opens a bedroom door and steps to the side.
“What are we doing?” I ask, hesitant to step through the threshold.
“This is your new bedroom.” He gestures inside. “It’s okay. Go.”
I step past him and am relieved when he follows behind me, kicking the door shut once we’re both inside the large bedroom. Six beds total line the walls, only a couple of them made. Women’s clothing is strewn about, and the surface of a dresser off to my right is caked with makeup and has a mirror attached to it. A curling iron rests haphazardly on the end, still plugged into a wall outlet.
He guides me farther into the room with his hand on my lower back as I let my gaze roam over the cream-colored walls with magazine clippings tacked to them. When we come to one of the beds, Mr. A lifts a pillow as if to inspect it before tossing it down.
“I don’t know if this one is taken, but it’ll do for tonight. Sawyer will show you your permanent bed tomorrow.”
I squint with confusion and look around. “That’s it?” I ask, turning to look at him. “That’s all I had to do?”
“Well,” he drags out the word, “I had intended to stay longer than that, and it would’ve been nice to find Sawyer so he could see your obedience for himself. But yes, that’s it.”
