Page 48 of Servitude to Serpents

“And you’ll do your chores later?”

“Y-yes, Master.”

“You came very prettily for me this morning.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve beengood, little pet. I’m proud of you.”

She gives me a shaky, fake smile, and I find myself disappointed it’s not the bright, unsettling one. “But my hands… They’re ruined.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your hands.”

She sniffles, tucking them into her lap.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

She winces as she gets to her feet, lingering as I turn away to grab her bike. “Sir?”

“Yes?” I ask as I jerk it up, kicking the stand into place.

“Thank you.”

I don’t respond as I snap at one of my security staff who stared openly for most of the encounter. “I recommend making yourself useful before I put a bullet in your skull.”

“Yes, Basilisk.” He swallows before scrambling over to grab my bike as I wheel the one I ordered for her back toward the garage. Pointedly ignoring her, I wonder if she liked the teal and white colors I picked out for it, the little wickerbasket in the front.

What thefuckis wrong with me?

****

It’s not until I bring the sponge over her shoulder, watching the steamy water cascade over the smooth, soft planes of her skin, that my sanity well and truly snaps. Pup has been quiet, holding her good eye closed as she stares at the water, for the last ten minutes. Where I’m usually grateful for her silence, at the moment, it only serves to aggravate me further. I want to know why her hands are scarred. I want to know who inflicted each mark. I want to know how the fuck a concert pianist ended up being sold on the skin market.

For obvious reasons, Bloom omits most information about their so-called flowers. Fewer strings, the better. I’ve never had an issue with it before. I shouldn’t now.

“Pup.”

She opens both her eyes, lifting her head off her knees as she turns back to me.

“I need your name.”

She pauses, looking at me like I’m trying to trick her before she goes back to staring at the steamy water. “It is whatever you see fit.”

“I seefitthat you answer my questions.”

“My name is Chloe.” She whispers it like it’s a forbidden word, and I suppose it is.

Chloe.

This is fucking madness. “Your last name.”

She stares at the water.

I give her a warning, a simple gesture in her line of slight. The idea of her hiding anything from me makes me want to shove her head under the fucking water. Iwatch her doe eyes follow the movement before she relents. “Tyson.”

“Social security number.”

The fear in her eyes is evident. Her hands lift from the water to grip the edges of the bathtub. “Why?”

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