Page 20 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

“You were never going to set me free, were you?” I ask. “This was your plan from the start.”

Thomas is quiet for a moment and then he sighs into the receiver of the phone. “This is your freedom, MiKayla,” he replies. “I suggest you take it with grace. As long as you make your husband a happy man, you’ll have nothing to worry about. I imagine it’ll be easier on you to spread your legs for one man than for so many.”

“Why would it matter?” I reply. “I’ve already done it all for the sake of my freedom.”

Thomas chuckles again, and the sound goes straight to my temples—stabbing deep and making them throb. “Let’s be honest with each other, sweetheart,” he says. “This is the best ending you can expect. At the very least, you’re not like your mother. You’ll avoid the more … zealous clients you entertained and live a quiet, peaceful life as a very wealthy man’s trophy wife. If you don’t want me at the wedding, then I’ll simply sign away your new ownership virtually. As it stands, though, the contract is done. Happy felicitations, MiKayla or should I say, Mrs. Osman?” He laughs again, the sound of it growing further away until it’s completely cut off.

I look down at my lap where the phone has dropped and then glance back up as a shadow moves over me. Lex stands there, his brows creased with concern and hesitation. “He explained the situation?”

I nod, numb. Married. I’m getting married. More than that, to one of Thomas’ clients. I don’t know what I thought would come of this contractual relationship I had with Thomas Kincaid, but this isn’t the end I imagined. The one I’d imagined came in two parts. Somewhat bittersweet and downright pathetic. This is neither. In fact, Thomas is right … it’s better than anything I could’ve imagined. Still, I wanted to see … I hesitate to think of his name as I close my eyes, squeezing them shut until it hurts. I wanted to see him one more time. Now, I don’t think I’ll ever get that chance. Or if I do, I’ll show up owned by another man—much older. He’ll think … well, I don’t know what he’ll think. I don’t know if I want to know. Either way, it’ll hurt—not just him, but me as well, and I’m tired of being hurt.

“I … uh, I guess congratulations are in order,” Lex says awkwardly.

I hold up a hand, palm out. “Don’t.” The word comes out on a croak as I open my eyes again. “Please … just don’t.”

Lex’s face blanches and he nods as if he understands, and hell, maybe he does. At least, he’d seemed disturbed by my predicament when he’d walked in. Any of Thomas’ other clients would have seen my bound and naked body as an invitation—even if I hadn’t set it up that way myself. I turn my hand and sink my face into it.

I want to cry. I want it so badly that my head pounds with the need. Something to release the emotions pent up within me, but nothing comes. No tears. No screams. No denials. I’m over all of it. There’s no point anymore.

Finally, after what feels like far too long, I move the blanket away and stand up. Lex averts his gaze, but I don’t care. My body hasn’t been my own in so long I don’t care if he sees it. I walk past him and make my way into the bedroom. What few clothes I own hang in the closet. I go ahead and start to dress, pulling on a loose-fitting pair of cotton pants long enough to cover my bruises and then a long sleeve t-shirt despite the Georgia heat.

Lex appears in the doorway to the bedroom. “You don’t want to shower?” he asks.

“Not here,” I reply. “If we’re taking a plane, I assume it’s private?”

He nods.

“Then I’ll shower and change again on the plane,” I say, and hopefully there I’ll be able to use makeup to cover the worst of the bruises. It wouldn’t be right to show up to my husband covered in the markings of others. Then again, maybe he doesn’t give a fuck. He has to know that he’s not the only one who’s used me.

My chest throbs as I start to rip more clothes off of their hangers and hooks. I toss them all into the center of the bed before reaching under the bare mattress and box spring—no need for sheets when all that happens on it is fucking—and pull out the one suitcase I have. I pile everything inside of it and then quickly zip it shut.

“That’s all you have?” Lex asks, watching on with wide-eyed curiosity and an almost adorable amount of surprise.

I laugh as I shake my head. “What did you expect?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Most of the high-class whores I see have loads of shit,” he replies.

I’m not even offended by the assumption. That’s exactly what I am—a high-class whore. I gather my hair into a fist and hold it up with one hand as I walk into the bathroom and start digging through the nearly empty drawers. I find a worn out scrunchy and use it to tie my hair up and away from my neck.

“Everything I have doesn’t belong to me,” I say turning and meeting him in the doorway of the attached bathroom. I gesture to the room. “Not this house, not the clothes on my back, and not the food in my stomach. It’s all a part of my debt.”

I’ve been constantly tempted to say ‘fuck it’ and just buy everything I’ve ever thought about wanting or needing. There’s no fucking way I’ll ever overcome my debt anyway. It’s a part of me now. I always end up denying myself, though. I don’t ever want to forget. It doesn’t matter how pretty I dress up. How many jewels or clothes I have. It doesn’t matter where I live or what I drive. Nothing will ever erase that it was all bought and sold with my body.

Debasing myself in the most inhuman ways possible. Crawling on the floor at the feet of the wealthy. Sobbing as they fuck me in every hole or whip my back as they jack off against my ass. I’m not a person. Just a pet. An object. Something that lives and breathes but isn’t allowed to have a will of its own.

I can never forget that.

“Is there anything else you want from here?” Lex asks.

I glance around and consider it. “Do you have any paper?” I ask. “Or a pen?”

He tips his head to the side. “Yeah, hold on.” Lex turns and disappears into the living room. The house is so empty that I can hear his heavy boot steps move over the creaking wood floors and outside.

I grab my suitcase and drag it towards the living room. When I get there, he’s already back at the back door with a notebook and pen. “I had it in my truck,” he says handing it over.

“Thanks.”

He nods and grabs my suitcase. “I’ll be outside, waiting.”

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