Chapter 2
Violette POV
I observed as Madam Proché’s men struggled
with my bags down the stairs. I was originally responsible for handling my own
luggage, but I stood my ground. If they wanted me out, they should do the
necessary work of removing me.
The floorboards were cold and unyielding,
despite the constant traffic of girls and boys going up and down them. Each
day, someone was sold off, never to return. As for me, I had been sold before,
and it would likely happen again and again.
I had grown up in the brothel, starting as a
frail girl in my early teens, shuffled from businessman to businessman. My
longest "master"—a term they preferred for its air of superiority—had
kept me for three years. When I learned the art of defiance, they grew
frustrated and returned me. It had always worked, and it would work again.
Madam Proché’s eyes, as narrow as an
alleyway, scrutinized me. She stood with an ostentatious posture, almost like
an Ostriches, chest thrust out and naturally prominent backside on display. She
watched me with an air of disdain as I made my way slowly down the stairs, as
if I were the one burdened with the many pieces of luggage.
A fortune in her shoes, Madam Proché flaunted
her wealth with every step. Her clothing and meals were extravagant, while the
girls and boys like me were discarded without a second thought. I knew I had
been sold for a significant sum, and she would barely spare a fraction of her
wealth to support the remaining girls and boys.
"Faster, faster! Pick up the pace!"
she barked, her impatience evident as she released her grip on me. I smirked,
remaining resolutely on the stairs but lifting one foot slowly. "Not now,
Violette. Your new master is waiting, and she's not someone to be trifled
with." Her concern seemed almost genuine, but I knew it was more about her
own predicament than mine. I slumped against the cold, unappealing wall.
I had been here when the brothel was still in
its prime, before the world took a darker turn. The poor were sold off, and the
rich grew richer. What a beautiful world we live in—a world I’m eager to
introduce my child to. Just perfect.
"Come on, move it!" Her flabby arms
waved impatiently, urging me to hurry.
"Then stop telling me what to do,"
I retorted, still plastered against the wall like a snail stuck to its surface.
She sighed in frustration.
“Please, come and meet your master out
front,” Madam Proché insisted.
“No,” I replied firmly. “I told you a long
time ago to set me free. This feels like a scam. Your no-refund policy is just
another way to keep people trapped.” Her policy was clear: no exchanges, no
refunds. If a man had issues with a girl, he could return her, but she kept all
the money. I suspected she was relieved that no master had found me worth
keeping—my defiant attitude likely didn’t help.
“We’re not having this discussion. You were
born at the bottom of the food chain, like a worm, and that’s where you’ll
stay.”
“Then I’ll stay here,” I shrugged.
“Please. This woman is not someone to be
trifled with.”
“You’ve said that already. Do you want to
repeat it?”
“Don’t make me call Gilbert and Wilson,” she
threatened.
I groaned at the mention of the two imposing
men who had previously broken my wrist to force me into submission. I knew I
would have to comply if they were summoned. I reluctantly descended the stairs
and stood before her, who wore a smirk of victory.
“I hope this new master breaks you beyond
repair,” she said with a hint of satisfaction.
“A woman as my master? Really? You’ll see me
by the end of this week. I want my cut of the money. Deal?”
“Mind your place,” she warned. “You won’t be
back here by the end of the week—you’ll be dead. So, be on your best behavior.”
“Well, I’ve been wishing for death for quite
some time,” I said with a sardonic edge. “I’m glad you paired me with someone
who might fulfill one of my dreams.” My other dream was to become a social
worker, but I could feel that aspiration clinging to me, despite the
circumstances.
Madam Proché reached out and adjusted my
dress, making sure it fit properly on my slender shoulders. “Please, this time,
be on your best behavior.”
“You know I won’t, so don’t bother with this
conversation,” I replied.
“It’s for your own good. At least until she
might let you go, and you could pursue your foolish dream.”
“It’s not foolish,” I countered. “It’s about
helping boys and girls avoid falling into the same trap I did.” I had once seen
Madame Proché as a mother figure, someone to look up to. But I soon realized
she was nothing more than a ruthless businesswoman. The first time she sold me,
I felt nothing but betrayal. Since then, it had become a grim routine.
“It’s all good,” she said, smoothing my
mud-brown hair to reveal my face. “Now, follow me.”
********
I slid the dress back into place on my
shoulders and let a stray lock of hair fall across my face, nearly obscuring my
eyes. I preferred to do things my own way and resented it when my masters
imposed their rules on me.
“Violette, lower your head when
speaking to me.”
“Speak like this.”
“Sit like this.”
“You’re not allowed there.”
It was all incredibly irritating. As I walked
outside, the sun’s rays were bright enough to sting my eyes. A line of black
cars was parked nearby, and a man with a briefcase stood out.
“Remember to stay on your best behavior,”
Madam Proché’s voice echoed in my mind.
“I heard you the first time,” I replied
dully.
The rough gravel crunched beneath my
thin-soled shoes, making it feel as if I were walking barefoot. My feet nearly
buckled a few times before I reached the row of black cars.
As I drew closer, I scanned the men waiting
around. There was no sign of a woman—until the door of one car swung open. A
tall woman emerged, her height towering over everyone present.
My mouth fell open in shock. I had never
imagined my new master would be a young woman. All my previous masters had been
short, stocky, and unattractive—old, bald, and repulsive. They
were obsessed with BDSM acts that strayed far from its intended safe and
consensual nature. Instead of a safe word, I was subjected to violent and
unpredictable "play" that quickly escalated from minor slaps to
severe whipping.
The woman stepped out of the car with grace.
She gestured to the thin, elderly man in a suit, who promptly opened a
briefcase. The case sprang open to reveal crisp, fresh money.
“Wilson,” Madam Proché directed, signaling
him to take the briefcase. He brushed against me as he moved, his long legs
carrying him forward. He was not as tall as my new master.
Wilson handed the briefcase to Madam Proché,
who inspected the money with a wide smile. I had seen that smile before—eight
times, to be exact. Eight times I had been sold. I hoped this would be the
last. Perhaps after a year or two, I might finally gain my freedom. Or, if I
were sent back here, I would be too old for them to keep me. It had happened
before, and it could happen again.
“Gilbert,” she said firmly. He knew exactly
what to do, but I was already facing the woman before he could hand me over. I
turned to him, irritation clear in my voice. “I don’t want your damn hands on
me.”
The woman chuckled softly, while Madam
Proché’s face seemed to grow even paler, her composure faltering. I looked up
at the tall woman, raising an eyebrow. “You’re shorter than the photo made you
out to be.”
I rolled my eyes in response.
The woman grunted with amusement. “I love it
when girls roll their eyes,” she said, her breath tinged with the faint scent
of cigarettes and mint. Good; she smoked. I needed one myself soon. Her mouth
brushed close to my ear. “Especially when they’re eager to please.”
I scoffed at her remark.
“Get in the car,” she commanded, her voice
carrying a dangerous edge. Every aspect of her exuded a sense of threat.
I scoffed again, defiantly.
“Violette, please,” Madam said with a gentler
tone. “Listen to your new master and get in the car.”
“Sure. See, that wasn’t so difficult, adding
a ‘please’ to it,” I said, glaring up and down the unknown woman I was
now sold to. Her clenched jawline, as sharp as cut steel, emphasized the
definition of her face. She smelled good—inviting, even—but her mouth was
crude. Her ego seemed to be worth more than her suit.
I slid into the dark-tinted car and leaned
back, slipping off my ill-fitting shoes. They weren’t my size, and I didn’t
want them ruining my toenails during the ride.
The tall woman exchanged a few words with
someone before sliding into the car herself. Her imposing presence filled the
space, though her long legs seemed somewhat constrained. Despite her height,
she lacked noticeable muscle, which the black suit concealed well.
As the car began to move, the outside world
became a muffled blur. I glanced back toward Madam Proché, who was undoubtedly
watching. I felt an urge to give her the middle finger, knowing she could feel
my silent defiance.
I winced at the sharp slap on my hand and
turned my glare toward the culprit. My teeth ground together audibly, the
tension palpable.
"Be a good girl," she said through
gritted teeth, her voice matching my own in its steely resolve. Unlike her, I
wasn’t about to simply accept her authority. I pushed back, striking her with
my palm, the impact resonating against her body or suit—either way, it was
felt. Her expression remained stoic.
"I won’t entertain your provocations. I
am Kaius Slade, and from this moment on, I am your master. Until I decide
otherwise—or until I kill you."
I gasped involuntarily. I had never
encountered a master who spoke so calmly about the prospect of killing me.
"I should kill you for overstepping your boundaries."
"But you don’t want to waste
money," I countered.
Her lips curled into a smirk. "You think
two million dollars is a waste?" she asked. "What I detest is having
my time wasted. If killing you is the appropriate resolution, then so be
it." She lifted her arm, adjusting the cuff of her suit, her large,
elegant hands poised. They could easily turn from seductive to deadly.
I couldn't ignore the weight of her threat. I
hated to admit it, but part of me was resigned to the possibility of death.
"You have until 6:15 p.m.," she
said, her tone unyielding. "Exactly 6:15 p.m. to be the rebellious
firecracker you want. Once we arrive at the house, you will be the submissive
you were born to be."
"I was born to be my own person," I
retorted.
"Once we reach the house, you will
comply. You will be courteous. You will be my toy, my possession."
"Blah! You’ll be my whatever," I
mocked, my fingers dancing as if they were puppets.
"We’ll have time to get to know each
other," she said coolly, brushing off my provocations. I hoped to provoke
her, to test whether her threats were real. I wanted her to break me. I leaned
against the door, propping my feet in her lap. She glanced down at them, her
brows knitting together. Her piercing blue eyes, cold and menacing, seemed to
cut through me, making me feel vulnerable and exposed.
I bit my lip, my gaze dropping to my toes as
they wiggled in her lap. "You want to get to know me, Kaius?" I said,
feigning a moan. I pressed my heels into her crotch area, hoping to forced a
reaction from her.
"Enjoy yourself while you can. It’s your
last chance."
I laughed, my shoulders trembling with the
effort. "I like the sound of that. 'It’s my last.' Sexy. Poetic." I
tossed my hair with a flourish. "Very fitting, Kaius."
"It’s Master Kaius to you," she
corrected.
"I thought you said I had eleven hours
to have some fun?"
"Very well."
"You don’t seem to be packing much, do
you? How many inches? Three? Four?" I giggled mischievously. "Or is
it just one?"
She glanced at me, and I gasped as her hand
moved with surprising strength, dragging me closer to her. Her fragrance, a mix
of sweet smoke, enveloped me, almost making me panic. I quickly regained my
composure.
She seemed to notice the flicker of fear in
my eyes, and a dark smirk curled on her lips. Her fingers, now rubbing my legs
in a strangely comforting manner, were warm against my skin. Her intense gaze
searched my face. "What are you afraid of, kitten?"
I tried to pull away from her hand as it
moved toward my face. "Let me go!" I shrieked, struggling against her
grip.
"Shh, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you,"
she soothed, her voice a calming whisper.
I couldn't help but think of the woman who
had so calmly threatened to kill me. "I just want to make sure you're
safe," she said, though her fingers were moving dangerously close to an
area I guarded fiercely. I swallowed hard, my resolve to protect my own body
unshaken. No matter her status or the power she wielded, my boundaries were
clear.
"Tell me, kitten, what are your
fears?"
I hesitated, her fingers inching closer to a
place I fiercely protected. It took every ounce of strength to keep her from
crossing that line.
"Don’t be shy. Tell me," she
whispered, her breath warm against my skin, making it difficult to focus on
anything but the fear clawing at my throat.
"I’m afraid of snakes, clowns, and the
dark."
"Good girl. Anything else?" Her
shoulder pressed me against the door, making it hard to breathe, though I had
faced such invasions before.
"Nothing else," I said, my voice
trembling. I pushed her away, my feet slipping back to the ground where they
belonged, but I couldn't ignore the unexpected response her touch elicited.
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