Page 4 of Anorthic Anarchy

“Any questions?”

At least the lady seems genuine. Enough that I dare ask a few. “When will I meet my future husband?”

“When he chooses to honor you with his presence. I would behave as well as you can so he’llwantto meet with you.” Her shoulders ease their tension as she lowers her voice into a warmer tone. “I would do what you can to please him.”

She means like with the gross stuff… My face must make an involuntary curdle because her neck tightens again into a swan-like posture. “When will I need to, um, do that? Or marry him? Like, officially?”

“The master won’t touch you until you’re eighteen. His own rule. I believe your wedding is scheduled for the day before your birthday.” She says it almost with a sneer, like a human trafficker isn’tthatbad if he’s waiting until I’m a legal adult.

Some level of anxiety rises within me, thinking about being trapped here. If I’m his wife and if I please him, will I be able to stay in a nicer room? Maybe I don’t want to, if that’s what it will entail. “That’s a week away.”

Nodding, she appears bored, while I quietly flip out that there’s only seven days for Wyatt to find me. Surely, he knows I’m already here. I won’t give up hope. I can’t or I’ll lose it.

“Anything else?”

Shaking my head, I wonder how to tell her goodbye. Is she like my new mother? Like Ferona?

“Get yourself cleaned up. We’ll have dinner served shortly.” She spins to leave, and a raised brand on her shoulder catches the candlelight. It looks like a bull’s head. My body jerks as she slams the iron door closed with a clang. Keeping a steady gaze on my face, she slots a solid metal key into the lock. Dramatically, she turns it, then stalks away down the hall with a click of her heels.

Fortunately, the darkness provides me some privacy, so I can wash myself in solitude. Though I am concerned cameras hide in the corners. When I check the halls, I don’t see any.

Hot and cold water flow steadily from the taps when I twist them. Shoving my head under the spigot, I slurp it up like a camel. I think I’m doing pretty good if I can stay here until my brother finds me.

Dilan was right. Every personal item I could need is in the cabinet, including some soft towels, but I wonder where the bath is. Nothing can be used as a weapon, though I do test them out. The toothbrush is made of flimsy rubber and the mirror above the pedestal sink isn’t breakable. It’s coated with some type of plastic.

After I put on my shift dress, I shiver a bit and wrap the starched blanket around my neck, then fold up my dirty clothes. Maybe the bull thinks he’ll get to me by starving my attention,but he doesn’t know I was neglected after my parents were killed. Also homeschooled.

My imagination is my best friend.

I smell the food before I hear anything. It’s amazing how my nose knows exactly what’s approaching. Beef and bread. Fresh baked, too. When a voluptuous woman with black hair and high-arched brows appears with a tray, I sit up, ready to snatch it from between the bars. My head spins from hunger and I grip the bedding to keep steady.

“Get back,” she snaps at me, but I don’t even have the strength to walk toward her.

Steadying it on one arm, she holds the silver service, then unlocks the gate and steps inside. Her dress is also white, and her collar is the same type of metal as Chloe’s. She sets the food on a small wooden table and drags it toward me. Despite the rules Dilan laid out, I wonder if I should speak and ask her name.

Testing the waters, I say, “Hi.”

The woman’s dark brown eyes glare at me. “Here’s your food. Eat, Mrs. Strauss.” Standing over my tray, she hocks her throat and drizzles a long string of spit into the bowl. Her tongue clips it off as a nasty smile settles on her lips.

I don’t even care. All the aromas fill my nostrils until my stomach growls and cramps with urgency. Sliding behind the table on my cot, I snatch the silver spoon, try to toss out her saliva, then dig into the stew and side loaf of crusty sourdough laid before me. Next to the plate sits a large, covered tumbler of ice water with a straw. A real feast for a sex slave. No knives, though. Oh well. I need to get my strength up.

Moaning, I take my first bite and savor it, but jump when the black-haired woman shuts the cell door.

It seems I won’t be making many friends around here.

No matter.

Wyatt will be here soon, I’m sure of it.

Chapter 3

Strauss

Awet vacuum slurps on my shaft to awaken me and my nightmare ends. Leaving my mother’s dead body for another night, a sigh heaves from my chest.

“Sorry, sir.” Even her little voice irritates me.

Peeking an eye open, I catch her blinking rapidly with terror. “I don’t want you, Yasmina. Not in the mornings. Why do I have to explain this?”

---