Page 18 of Servitude to Serpents

“Mind yourself!” He snaps over my shoulder, no doubt to the woman I just purchased. I don’t bother checking.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Come now,” Stuart orders her again, and the gentle clack of her heels signifies her overdue obedience.

With that, I settle things with the Eatons and head out to a separate car, pinching the bridge of my nose as we head toward the hanger.

Chapter nine

To own is to… Master

Chloe

The drive to the plane is odd and silent, no trace at first of the handsome man who bought me as I’m ushered into a private cabin. My nerves shot to hell as my tears run freely. No amount of wiping or blinking seems to clear them. The gruff man named Stuart makes another deep-throated sound of disapproval as he rummages through the drawers in the room. “Calm yourself. Your master isn’t fond of whimpering.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“Here, dress in this.”

I accept the simple black dress he hands me, watching as the free-flowing, lily-adorned dress dances across my pebbled flesh. When he opens the door to the private room, my eyes dart to the main cabin, glimpsing the man—my master. His silver-brushed auburn hair is skillfully tossed. He’s typing away at the laptop resting on the table, reading glasses balanced low on his nose. He’s…achingly handsome. From what little I remember of last night, some of the most violentmen are. My body is free from outward wounds, but the pain medication I was given this morning has worn off, leaving me at the mercy of my aches. Every step feels like my core is being ripped open, my bottom throbbing with each pump of my heart. I was in a disgustingly sorry state when I woke up this afternoon, only to be hastily washed and groomed before I was made to say my goodbyes to Master and Mistress. Or—is that the proper thing to call them now?

My mind is spinning far too quickly to make any good use of the lavish room I’m left in, so I opt to dress quickly and scurry back to my spot on the bed. For the first time in almost a year, I have access to items of comfort. I avoid them like the plague; I don’t know his rules or his punishments. So, I ignore the bottle of water on the small dresser, despite being sure it's for me. When the minutes bleed into hours, I fight sleep, resisting the urge to even lie down, knowing that the moment I do, my say in the matter will be voided.

When the plane lands, my master is long gone by the time Stuart removes me from the private quarters. My legs feel like jelly underneath me as I exit the plane, expecting an airport, maybe a chance to notify someone, alert TSA, but would I? Given the chance, could I even? It doesn’t matter, I suppose, because what greets me is a small hanger and a sprawling countryside estate nestled against a vast wood line. My steps falter on the way to the waiting town car, desperately trying to take everything in. It’s the first time I’ve been outside without a bag over my head in so long. It's surprisingly devastating to be faced with so many illusions of options. I could run for the tree line, but I won't. I could try to beat Stuart to the car, but something tells me he’d just kill me. Which isn’t an entirely terrible option, but still, that lingering…stupidhope that maybe this could be nice…

He could be nice.

He bought you as a sex slave, Chloe. He’s not nice.

“Come.”

I flinch before hurrying toward the town car, ignoring the way my body screams in protest as I slide in. The press of the leather seat against my battered core is nearly unbearable.

“You will be expected to obey to the best of your ability while you’re adjustingto the new rules. You will address him as Master or Sir at all times. At social events, ‘Sir’ will not be used. You may call me Sir or Stuart, whatever you wish. Your master keeps his staff limited inside his estate. You will probably have very few interactions with them. You are not to leave your room without permission or escort until you are told otherwise. Most of your training will be very similar here. Healonewill handle your acclimation. This position is nicer than the one you are used to, but know that it can andwillchange if you are not well-behaved. Do you have questions that aren’t stupid?”

As he drives, I stare at the back of his head while the winding, solitary road weaves around the natural landscape, almost as though it was purposefully made in its gut-churning, twisty way to minimize any impact on it.

“Is he kind?” I whisper, desperate to find any relief from the anxiety battering me, driving words from my mouth when normally none would come.

“Thatis a stupid question. It does not matter how kind or unkind he is or is not to you. Your purpose remains the same: to serve him, make yourself worth the fifty million dollars he dropped on you.”

My chest flutters at the number, knowing there’s nothing I could do to make that an even adjacently worthy use of the obscene fortune. Even at the height of my brief career as a concert pianist, I wasn’t worththat.“Yes, Sir.”

A gasp leaves my throat when his dark blue eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror before I slam them back to my lap. “Stop crying.”

It doesn’t work like that. I don’t have the switch; I can’t just turn it off.

My chin wobbles, my fear bracketing in as we approach a massive, Victorian style estate. The early morning sun casts the dark black and brown exterior in rich golden hues. It looks like the type of house that the Cullens would’ve loved several centuries ago, managing to be both a relic and boasting all the modern luxuries you could imagine. It’s polished and groomed, giving the appearance of being finely aged without being anything close. My fingers run across my palm, trying anything to calm the torrent of emotions swirling in my chest, the smell of saltwater tickling my nose despite there not being an ocean in sight.

By the time we’re stopped and Stuart wrenches my door open, making itclear my presence here is a great annoyance to him, I’ve managed to stop crying, although my tears remain just under the surface, ready to spill over at a moment's notice. My bare feet pad along the paved circle drive. A massive black fountain displaying enormous snakes sits proudly at the center. The cool air is a far cry from the bitter winter of where we were hours ago. Somehow, I’d convinced myself that I wasn’t that far away from home. There’s no denying it now. That thought alone settles in my gut like a lead weight as we pass the threshold of what proves to be a lavish display of Victorian design. The grand entrance sports a wide staircase, everything dipped in dark, rich colors. My upbringing was far from modest, and even I feel sorely out of place here. It’s almost gaudy in the way it looks like a perfect set for a period movie. The modern elements blend seamlessly with the old. It’s stunning, the stained glass casting rainbows through the masculine darkness. Perhaps his wife designed it, if he has one.

“Don’t lag. You can take in the estate when your master is not waiting for you.”

I hurry behind him up the large stairs, leading to another two before we reach the landing he wants. My body is trembling with pain by the time we come to a stop in front of thick wooden doors. Stuart's knuckles rap against them in a cadence that matches my heart hammering in my chest.

“Come in.”

The doors open to a large office, ceiling-to-floor bookcases wedged between even grander windows on the back wall. Sitting proudly in front of it is a dark mahogany desk inlaid with rich emerald green. My master doesn’t bother looking up from the paperwork he's pouring over, his suit jacket discarded haphazardly over the sitting area in front of a roaring fire. My body jolts as Stuart pinches the tender skin on the back of my arm roughly, motioning with his head to the desk.

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