Page 4 of Dark OZ

Just me, the other girls were locked back up tight. That was the first unnerving thing, but the real headfuck was that Henry shouldn’t even be here. Heneverdid drop offs and shipments. The fact that his brutish hand was currently bruising my bicep was triggering every fear I’d ever had, because deep down I knew the kind of evil Em was capable of.

He sneered at me, which I swear showed a hint of amusement beneath his ire. “Almost there, brat. I’ve been waiting years to see your ass put in its place.”

I mockingly smiled up at him, then slammed my heel down on the bridge of his foot. If everything was topsy turvy, then I might as well take my hits where I could get them.

“Motherfucker,” he howled, immediately releasing my arm. The relief of the release was instantaneous. There was nowhere to go in the tight metal box, but that had really been about seeing the blood rush to his face and the momentary joy I got watching him hop in place. Plus, it distracted me from wanting to scream, so there was that.

It was short lived though. The back of his oversized hand cracked hard against the side of my face, his signet ring connecting solidly with my cheek bone. “Em might have tried to keep you pretty looking, but I really don’t give a flying fuck what you look like. We aren’t in Em’s territory anymore. Try something like that again, and I’ll ensure the first hole they stuff can’t be your mouth.”

I cradled my bound hands against my throbbing cheek, blinking away the tears and white spots still flitting across my vision. Henry Hickory was the worst sort of man, the kind who felt big by breaking those smaller than him. He’d been beating on me my entire life. If one good thing came from this day, it would be never having to look at his ugly face again. Not for the first time today, I pictured his death. Each time was more brutal and unique than the last. What I wouldn’t give to make just one of them come true, although where I’d get honey and fire ants at this time of night was beyond me.

The elevator slowed, shifting with a gentle stop. The doors slid silently open revealing a sleek black hallway. Offices with glass walls lined either side of the corridor, distorted beyond them were the twinkling lights of a city.

“Where are we?” Em never dropped in cities, there were too many security cameras and people. It was always in the outskirts of Oz that she made her trades.

Henry gave me a push. “If you value your life, then don’t fucking try anything.”

“Was thatconcern?”I pressed my cuffed hands to my heart in shock.“Be careful, Henry, your humanity is showing. Are you going to answer my question? Where—thefuck— are we?”

He huffed, making his beer gut jiggle. I got my answer as we passed the painting at the end of the hall. It was of two women, tall, standing in neat pant suits, trademark glittering emeralds hung at their necks, and the confidence on their faces made it impossible to miss that they owned the world. By all rights they did, or at least half of it.

Eastin and Westin Witcher were media darlings on the surface. Upstart entrepreneurs and philanthropists, but beneath it they were two of the four tyrants that had carved up Oz. Or rather three ruling tyrants. A couple of years ago the North was seized by more of a syndicate. Together the Witcher cousins controlled the entire criminal world of the eastern and western quadrants.

The question was, why the hell was I here?

We turned a corner, fear halting me dead in my tracks. The silhouette behind the glass door shifted.

“No…no. No. No. No. No.” I scrambled several steps backward.

Henry chuckled a deep rumbling laugh that never fully left his chest. “You haven’t looked at that photograph in your pocket yet have you?”

Honestly, I’d forgotten about it. It was too dark to look at it in the truck, not that I could reach it with my hands bound to the side of the container. Henry had pulled me straight into the elevator. Even if I had remembered, there hadn’t been a chance to look.

He slipped his hand into my pocket, gripping a handful of my breast in the process. I grimaced and looked away, not wanting him to see how much his hands on my body disgusted me. Looking at the opened photo held before my face, goosebumps pebbled over my skin and chills ran down my spine.

“As of 9am yesterday, you are now the property of Eastin Witcher.”

“Why?” It was all I could think to say, staring dumbly at the stock publicity photo.

“Who fucking cares?” With a grin that looked like whatever was about to happen next was a treat for him, Henry pulled the door to the office open and shoved me inside.

The woman standing at the window turned to us. The cut of her angular face was interrupted by her long nose, which had a slight bend to it that said it had been broken at least once. She studied us for several long minutes, taking a slow stroll around me—marking my dirty clothes, matted hair, the cut at my bindings, and lastly the blooming bruise against my cheek. Normally cargo were cleaned up, and made to suit the tastes of the buyer, but bypassing distribution skipped that step of the game.

Eastin pressed a long fingernail into the sore spot on my cheek, forcing those white spots to streak across my vision once more. When I flinched, the slightest hint at a smile lifted the corner of her lips.

“She was to be delivered untouched.” Eastin grabbed the hem of my shirt, lifting it over my head until it sat gathered at my still bound wrists. More fingers prodded against the dark purple marks along my ribs, and I hissed in pain.

“That’s rather tender,” I tried to say with a laugh.

Eastin increased the pressure along my rib, forcing me to bite my lip to keep from crying out. She leaned down low, hissing in my ear, “You are not to speak until you have earned the right to do so.”

She snapped at Henry. “Remove her pants. I need to see that the rest of her is untouched, since apparently I can’t trust the delivery service to make their shipments intact anymore.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Err, Sir. Ma’am.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at Henry’s ignorance. Bruised pride on full display, he made his handling rougher than necessary. I tried not to meet his eyes as he slid my jeans down my legs, and ignored the hand passing between my thighs to grab hold of where the fabric had folded.

With a quick step, I pulled my feet free of the cuffs. Henry’s hands brushed along my thighs when he stood. I swallowed down the crawling sensation that made me want to scour every place he’d touched me.

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