Page 36 of Brutal Savior

She shakes her head. “I’m definitely not smart. I just watch a lot of horror movies.”

“Oh, you like horror?” I steer her toward the shop we need. “What’s your favorite?”

“Nightmare on Elm Street.” Not a moment’s hesitation. “I watched it when I was eight and almost peed my pants. I had to sleep with my…” Again, that hesitation. “...with my foster mom for a week. She almost killed my sister for showing it to me.”

“And that fun experience made it your favorite horror?”

“Yep. Nothing ever scared me quite that much again. I kept chasing the high but could never find it.”

Interesting.

“So you were raised in foster care? My grandad raised me. Mum was a druggie and lost custody when I was four.” I offer her the nugget of information about myself, hoping it’ll encourage her to open up.

She lowers her gaze and keeps walking. “My real mom was fourteen when she had me. Tried her best, apparently, but gave me up when I was one. I went to my foster family at two and stayed with them.”

It sounds like a pretty good outcome, but her flat voice gives a different impression. “Did you ever look for your mum?”

She shakes her head. “What would be the point?”

I don’t press her any further.

We reach the shop. It's a clothing store run by one of the Wards who was a fashion buyer in her previous life. Eve is friends with her and suggested it to me when I asked for help getting ready for Suzy’s arrival. I'll have to donate all the clothes I'll have no use for now.

“A clothes shop?” Quinn radiates skepticism. “I don't get it. Why do you bother with all this stuff to keep your sex slaves happy?”

She makes a point of referring to herself like that as often as possible, and I can't pretend I don't like it. It turns me on more than it should. Why Quinn keeps saying it, though, is a mystery. Maybe it takes the sting out of reality if she keeps repeating it.

“Happy sex slaves work harder.”

She pulls a face. “Gross.”

I shrug and push the door open. A bell rings, and a woman comes running out from the back with a big smile on her face. She's young and chubby, with masses of curly black hair, a tight black dress, and lots of silver jewelry.

The shop is small, but every inch of space is packed with clothing. It ranges from posh old-lady clothes to funky stuff I'd imagine Quinn might like. I suppose she wants to cater for everyone.

I don't have a clue about brands, but Eve tells me some of the stuff in here is designer and would cost thousands in the outside world. Not that cost means anything in the Compound.

“Hello!” The woman grins at Quinn, who takes a small step backward. “Are you new here? I'm Annie.”

“Um. Yep. Freshly kidnapped.”

Annie’s smile drops, and she glances at me. I step forward before Quinn can scare her off. “She got here yesterday. Bit unexpected, so we need some clothes.”

“Oh. Oh!” Recognition lands on her face. “You're the wrong girl. Uh, I mean. Sorry. The story got around quick.”

“The wrong girl.” Quinn’s sullen demeanor breaks, the corner of her lip quirking up. “If that doesn’t sum up my fucking life, I don’t know what does.”

Annie laughs, comes over, and whispers in her ear, loud enough for me to listen in. “Let’s get you out of that ridiculous outfit and into something nice. Then we can talk. What sort of clothes do you like?”

“Dresses and skirts only,” I cut in. Both women stare at me, their outraged expressions so similar I have to hold back a laugh. Quinn squares up to me, hands on her hips.

“Why? I like shorts. And jeans.”

“Because you’re a brat, and when I need to spank you, I don’t want to waste time with buttons.”

Quinn’s mouth drops, and Annie covers hers with her hand. Whether in laughter or shock, I’m not sure. Quinn’s pale cheeks get that pretty tinge of pink. I wave my hand at her. “Go on. Find some things you like.”

Quinn’s jaw works. Annie seems to sense the danger and grabs her arm. “I’ve got lots of cute things to show you. Come on.”

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