A Scotch for the Road - Part 14

[flighty_dreams]

TITLE: A Scotch for the Road - Part 14
AUTHOR: flighty_dreams
WARNINGS: Slavefic. NC-17.  F/m.
WORD COUNT: 5,457 (this chapter)/ story so far (over 35K)
SUMMARY: A slave enduring a party encounters more than he bargained for.
NOTES: Thanks to aurila for her assistance. Sorry for the delay between updates.
FEEDBACK: Always welcome, even if it's just to say that you read it.

 

Part Fourteen

 

Brett hesitated on his way out the door.

Since receiving his travel permit, he usually went out once a day whenever Jenna was working. Whether it was to do some grocery shopping, run errands for her or just to take a walk, it felt nice not being completely trapped in the apartment. Jenna lived in Elina, a wealthy neighborhood of Setis with low crime, so Brett felt relatively safe there. After all, considering the class of people that lived here, he was far from the only slave out on their owner’s business during the day.

But today was Monday, two days after their awkward visit to her parents’ house. Remembering the way Jenna’s father had ruthlessly spoken of revenge made him nervous. Brett suspected he was fully capable of hiring someone to abduct a slave. If the man was so keen on avoiding scandal, it would be an easy solution to his problem.

No, it wasn’t conscience that would stop Victor Vanlean-Warren Sr. Brett was just a slave, but he might be wary of Jenna’s suspicion. She’d have only to consider who would have a motive to steal him, and her father would be the top suspect. And likely Victor Sr. was well aware, especially after her yelling at him the other day, that his daughter would not take the offense quietly.

Her reaction would lead to scandal of a different kind. It was likely the best protection Brett had at the moment. Besides, it was too soon for her father to make such a move; it would be ridiculously obvious he was the one behind it. Her father was devious, not clumsy.

Bracing himself, Brett left.

Although he wanted to buy some fresh fruit, he stopped by the nearby park first. It was a clear day, warm enough to sense that spring was giving way to summer. Finding a patch of grass far away from any free people—he didn’t want to be harassed by anyone—he sat down, taking in the scenery. It was mid-morning, and the people around him were mostly other slaves running errands or housewives out with their small children.

Watching a mother across the way fiddling with her daughter’s hair ribbons, Brett didn’t sense the stranger until the last moment. His head snapped up, but he checked the instinctive urge to bow it when he caught sight of the slave collar. Upon a closer look, he recognized the young man; he worked at the corner bakery. They’d spoken briefly a few times, beyond just the basic taking and receiving of orders, but still no more than the casual chatter strangers sometimes engaged in.

“Mind if I sit?”

Brett shook his head.

They sat quietly together for a minute before the other slave stretched and sighed. “Didn’t mean to intrude. Been on my feet since four this morning.”

“I understand.” Brett smiled in sympathy.

“I’m Ty.” The slave grinned. “Master sometimes calls me Flash though.”

Ty’s good humor was infectious. “Fast worker?” He had that air about him, of someone who gave whatever they did their all.

“Yep.” He laughed, winking. “When I want to.”

Ty had a bland face, his nose a little too big for it, but his smile made him glow. He’d brown hair, darker than Brett’s, and more closely cropped. Brett suspected it would be more flattering if allowed to grow out more, so his ears wouldn’t stick out so much. But there was still something appealing in his youthful face.

“I’m Brett,” he said, realizing he hadn’t introduced himself.

Ty’s hands were stained with flour, Brett couldn’t help noticing, as he reached into a pocket and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter.

The cigarette lit, Ty puffed on it and then held it out towards Brett.

He declined. “My mistress wouldn’t approve.”

Ty tilted his head to read the initials on Brett’s collar. “Three letters? Looks fancy. One of the Families?”

Brett nodded, and Ty took another drag on his cigarette. “Don’t see any of them around right now.”

Glancing over at him, Brett saw that his mouth was twitching. Ty wasn’t seriously pushing him, just making a point. So Brett answered honestly, “I’m just not interested.”

“Fair enough.” After a minute of silence, Ty added, “See a lot of people come into the bakery. You I noticed.”

Brett frowned. “Why?”

Ty laughed. “You’ve looked in a mirror, right?”

Flushing, Brett said, “I’m not so young anymore.”

Ty blew some smoke out into the air. “Rich assholes. Usually want their personal slaves younger. You look just right to me.”

Brett looked away, his face still burning. He’d been slow to pick up the vibe; it had been so long since a stranger flirted with him.

“Lots of the young, pretty ones around here,” Ty continued. “Nice to look at, sure, but usually not much to them. Even if you were young as them, you’d still be different.”

He rose to his feet, stamping out the cigarette. “I gotta go. Break’s about over.”

“Ty, wait,” Brett said, looking up at him. “What do you mean by different?”

The slave paused, all humor gone from his eyes. “You look happy.”

 

 

“How do you like the bakery?” Brett asked two days later.

Ty shrugged, another cigarette in his hand. “Not bad, I suppose.”

“A lot of work?”

The younger man nodded. “Hate getting up so early. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. Long hours too. Four to four.”

Brett grimaced, aware of how lucky he was. He couldn’t call much of what he did work, and most importantly, he had Jenna.

“Master’s not so bad though. He works hard too, and gives breaks. Even some rewards too,” Ty added, indicating the cigarette.

Ty had his break at ten each morning. Feeling surprisingly disappointed at not catching him yesterday, Brett had found himself entering the bakery early today. Inside, as he ordered some bread he legitimately planned to use, Ty had stealthily mouthed ‘ten’ to him.

“So what’s your story?”

The question startled Brett, and Ty apologized. “Sorry. I talk too much. Ask too much too.”

Brett smiled. “I noticed the talking part.”

Ty laughed. “Suppose you did. Don’t mean to pry. Just curious, I guess. Wanted to know how come you’re happy.”

It wasn’t so simple. While just the thought of Jenna could make him smile, Brett still had worries. There’d been no scandal so far, but it was only a matter of time. He wished Donovan were dead, no longer a threat.

“Okay, maybe not so happy.”

Pushing troubling thoughts away, he smiled at Ty. “Sorry. Everyone has problems.” Sobering as he thought of Ty’s long workdays, he added, “But mine would probably sound stupid.”

“Try me.”

“It’s a long story,” Brett told him, shaking his head.

Ty frowned. “Don’t have much more time today. Got fifteen minutes each day though, if I eat quick. You can tell me in parts.” He held up his hands. “If you want. Don’t have to. Can just talk about other stuff.”

Brett usually didn’t open up, even to other slaves. He’d always found it better to be cautious, so he wasn’t sure how much he’d tell him. But there was something about Ty’s good humor—which he knew hid unhappiness beneath it—that he liked. If spending his break with him could make Ty’s day a little brighter, why not do it? Besides, the idea of being able to talk to someone about Jenna was incredibly appealing. He’d no one to talk to right now but her.

“You work every day?” Brett knew the answer, but felt compelled to ask anyway.

Nodding, Ty said, “Get one day off a month.”

“What do you usually do on it?”

“Oh God, I sleep.” Ty looked ecstatic at the thought, and Brett chuckled.

“What about evenings? After you finish work?”

Ty frowned. “Bakery don’t close til six. I do the baking in the morning, so I get to finish early. Usually have a couple hours free. Then dinner and sleep. Why?”

“Just wondering.” His mistress probably wouldn’t mind having Ty over sometime, but he wasn’t sure how Ty’s master would feel about it. Better not to bring it up until he’d at least asked Jenna first.

Ty was still looking at him curiously. “Figured you’d be busy evenings.”

“I am. Weekends too.”

The other slave turned away, but not before Brett caught the flash of disappointment.

“But I’ll see you tomorrow,” Brett said, trying to cheer him up.

“Yeah.” Ty sent him another odd look before glancing back at the bakery. “Probably need to get back.”

Brett pulled out the mobile Jenna had bought him. He’d protested the extravagance, but giving phones to slaves was common enough among the rich. After all, it provided another way to communicate orders.

Of course, Jenna had had another reason: If you’d had a phone at the mall that day, we could’ve called each other.

He’d been given a mobile before, but he’d certainly never dared to call his owner for anything other than an emergency. If he’d information to pass on, he texted it. That seemed less… forward. It could be answered at his owner’s convenience.

“Nice, you got a phone.”

“Yeah.” He flipped it open, and it displayed 10:28 as the time.

“Shit. Gotta go.”

Ty bolted off, dodging a car and some pedestrians as he crossed the street. Brett shook his head at the younger man’s energy, feeling old.

 

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

The sound of shared laughter coming from the living room made Jenna smile.

She was lying in bed, a book in her hands. It had been her decision to give the two slaves some space; she could see that her presence in the room made Ty uncomfortable.

Earlier she’d gone to the bakery with Brett to place an order for her cousin Teresa’s bridal shower tomorrow—and to get a look at Brett’s new friend. After some persuasion, and the dangled carrot of more business from her family, the bakery owner had agreed to allow Ty to spend a few hours with them. Unbeknownst to him, she intended to make this a regular occurrence.

It shamed her to admit she hadn’t realized how lonely Brett was while she was working. Oh, he would never say as much, but she’d seen the added liveliness in him when he’d told her about Ty. It would be wrong to keep Brett all to herself. Everyone needed friends. So even though it was Saturday, she didn’t resent Ty for intruding on her time with Brett. How could she, when she saw how happy her gesture had made them both?

She put her book down, wanting a peek at them. Her bare feet kept her passage quiet, but when she reached the end of the hallway they were no longer in the living room. Instead they were on the balcony, Ty leaning over the railing to stare out at the streets below. As she watched, Brett grabbed Ty’s shirt from behind and shook him, startling him. Turning, Ty punched him in the arm. Brett rubbed the spot in mock hurt, laughter lighting his face.

 Smiling, Jenna retreated back to her room. It was nice to see Brett in such a playful mood. Not that she planned to hide herself away each time Ty visited, but she’d give him some time to get used to her. Sadly he didn’t know how to interact with a free person who wasn’t giving him orders.

A while later the phone rang, and although Jenna reached for the bedroom extension, Brett answered it faster. His footsteps approached her door a minute later, and she called out, “Come in,” before he could knock.

The strained look on his face told her who it was even before he said, “Your mother, Mistress.”

She held out her hand and Brett passed her the phone, an apology in his eyes. He closed the door behind him, giving her privacy. “Hi, Mom.”

“I was calling to see whether you’d come to your senses yet, but considering who answered…”

Jenna’s temper began to simmer. “Nagging me isn’t going to change my mind.”

“I do not nag!” Yeah, right. “I’m worried about you. I don’t wish to see you making such an unwise decision.”

Sighing, Jenna sat down on her bed. As much as her mother drove her crazy, Jenna knew she did it out of love. “Mom, I’m quite capable of making my own decisions. I’m not ten years old anymore, as much as you’d like to think otherwise.”

“Jenna, I know you are, but I hate to see you being like this. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Releasing another sigh, Jenna murmured, “I know.” She hated how guilty her mom could make her feel.

But her mother ruined it by adding, “Sell him to someone else, Jenna. I’m sure we can find someone that will take good care of him.” The argument fell as flat as it had the first time, but her mom continued on, oblivious. “I’ll help you. In fact, I know a couple of people that might be interested in him-”

“What?” Jenna wrestled with her sudden, overwhelming fury. “You’re already asking around?”

“Well, the sooner the better, darling, before word gets out. And I knew you’d be hesitant to search on your own, but I thought if I found someone suitable, and set up a meeting so you could see them for yourself…”

Her mother’s gall left her speechless. In her current state, anything she said would come out very ugly.

“Jenna? Are you still there?” As usual, her mom had no idea how much her highhandedness had upset her.

Jenna gritted her teeth, trying to remain diplomatic while still making her point clear. “Do not bother setting up any of these ‘meetings,’ mother. I will not attend them.”

“Jenna Claire, you’re being unreasonable-”

“No, you’re being unbelievable.”

“Jenna.” The sharp words had shocked her mother. She recovered all too quickly though. “Don’t talk to me that way. It doesn’t hurt to give this a chance.”

“Until it does.”

Her mother ignored the remark. “This will work out best for everyone, you’ll see.”

“You mean for you. No daughter embarrassing you.”

“Jenna!” she exclaimed. “Do you really think so little of me? I’m trying to protect you. I care about you.”

Jenna relented. It’s true, it’s Dad that only worries about image, not her. “I know.”

“Then why are you rejecting my help?”

“Because this isn’t the help I want from you.”

Now it was her mom’s turn to sigh. “Jenna, I don’t doubt that you care about him, but he’s a slave. He’ll always be dependent on whoever owns him. So it’s natural for him to feel attached to you. Him showing affection for you isn’t anything more than that. He could just as easily feel it for another charitable owner.”

“That’s not true,” Jenna denied, fighting to keep her voice at a normal level.

“Jenna, I know you’d like to pretend otherwise, but-”

“Am I so unlovable?”

“What? Of course not! There are plenty of men who’d love to marry you.” She’d caught her mom by surprise, but any hope that she’d cornered her was quickly squashed. “This Brett is too well trained a slave to dare express such improper feelings, Jenna. You own him. He’s your slave, not your boyfriend. You might be confused, but he should know better.”

Ironically, her mother’s harsh words showed Jenna something. She suddenly better understood that hesitance Brett often displayed, that fear of showing his feelings. It wasn’t just the normal anxiety everyone had of making themselves emotionally vulnerable to someone else; it was also Brett’s training telling him he shouldn’t be having those feelings in the first place.

Her poor Brett. Her gaze drifted to the door, towards where he was.

“Are you listening to me?”

“What?” Jenna asked, wanting to get under her mother’s skin.

An impatient huff. “He can’t feel love for you. Loyalty yes, but not love. And it has nothing to do with you personally, Jenna. It’s simply the reality of his position.”

“You don’t know him, Mother.” Jenna defended Brett on principle; she had no illusion of actually convincing her mom otherwise.

“I don’t need to. I know what he is; that’s enough.”

Jenna bit back a nasty retort, enraged by the arrogant words. “I have to go.”

She could sense her mother frowning, debating whether to push more before thankfully declining. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After she hung up, Jenna threw the phone onto the bed. No doubt her mother planned to continue the conversation at the bridal shower tomorrow. Jenna was already dreading it. It was much harder to remain diplomatic in person. Her mother could piss her off like no one else.

She stepped out into the hallway, still fuming. When she reached the living room, both slaves rose hastily from the couch, Brett standing while Ty nervously knelt. The neutral expression on Brett’s face was belied by the worry in his eyes. “Mistress, is there anything you require?”

An automatic denial formed on the tip of her tongue, but she paused. She studied him, searching for the feelings behind the question, comparing them with her mother’s argument. No, it wasn’t just attachment to an owner; he knew speaking with her mother had probably upset her, and he was concerned for her. He wasn’t just worrying about his mistress’s bad mood spelling trouble for him. But she hated that her mother’s words had seeded enough doubt for her to feel the need to check.

Now she was angry with herself as well as her mother. “No, I’m fine,” she told him, turning away. She went to the kitchen and brewed up a pot of tea. Brett not showing up to scold her for making it herself revealed how uneasy he was with her current mood. Not that she was sure she would’ve welcomed the intrusion—she was in a foul mood—but him being too wary of her to risk disturbing her did bother her. It illuminated the part of her mom’s words that was true: the reality that he was her slave, not her boyfriend, and would always be afraid of angering her.

Sighing, she laid her head on her folded arms, ignoring for now the steaming mug in front of her. She knew he had plenty of training and harsh treatment in his past to justify his wariness. His behavior was understandable, which was more than she could say for most men. She just hoped that in time he would trust her more.

She finished the first cup of tea and rose to get a refill. As she settled down at the breakfast table again, she heard a noise behind her. It was Brett, hesitating in the kitchen doorway. When he saw her looking he dropped to his knees, but just knowing he’d followed her made her feel better. With a tender smile she extended a hand to him.

She’d wanted him to take her hand, but he moved closer and knelt again, pressing his cheek against her palm. As she caressed him, she considered their situation. Yes, legally he was her slave, but she considered him more than that. He couldn’t help the status he’d been born into any more than she could.

Years ago she’d told him that in private he didn’t have to call her ‘Mistress,’ especially when she didn’t even officially own him. But after he explained, she’d understood. For him addressing her that way was a gesture of respect; part of his training, yes, but if he’d used such titles for people he loathed, how could he not do the same for her? Especially when he wanted to be hers.

And there was a deviant part of her that enjoyed his submission. She didn’t want him to be scared of her, but she wondered if she was a bad person for enjoying the way he addressed her, and the way he surrendered to her. In the end though, all of him, behavior included, was too tempting to resist.

She looked down at him, her heart swelling with affection. Those brown eyes she could sink into met hers, and she smiled at him again. “Brett.”

He turned his head, kissing her palm before leaning forward, until his cheek rested against her thigh. Her fingers combed through his hair, smoothing out the tangles caused earlier in the day by the wind.

“Thanks for checking on me,” she said at last. “I’ll be okay. You should go back to Ty.”

Brett ducked his head. “I forgot about him.”

She squeezed his shoulder, aware now just how concerned he’d been for her. She cocked her head; there was no sound from the living room except the low drone of the TV. “Go on.”

He pressed his cheek against her thigh again. “Mistress?”

“Yes, Brett?”

“If you’re up to it,” he began hesitantly, “would you like to come with me?”

Afraid she’d continue brooding, he didn’t want her to remain in the kitchen alone. She accepted his offer, pleased that he’d worked up the courage to ask her, rather than just worrying silently.

As she walked back into the living room, Brett just behind her, she spotted Ty on the couch again, his head drooping. Hearing their approach he jerked up though, his face reddening as he dropped to the floor once more. She sat down on the vacated couch, and Brett settled at her feet, between her and Ty.

She understood; hopefully Brett’s proximity would help ease the boy. “Brett mentioned you have to get up very early to bake,” she said, to show Ty she understood his drowsiness.

Unfortunately, Ty didn’t see it that way. Flustered, he bowed his head. “Sorry, Ms. V-Vanlean-Warren. Didn’t mean to doze off.”

 “You can just call me Ms. Warren.” She knew her last name was a mouthful. Trust her grandparents to insist on keeping both names when their Families merged.

“Ms. Warren.” He bowed his head again, eyes averted.

Tempted to tell him to relax, she restrained herself. Living with Brett had shown her firsthand that slave training was incredibly difficult to overcome. Only time would make him less uncomfortable around her; words of reassurance wouldn’t be believed anytime soon.

That didn’t mean she shouldn’t make any attempt at all though. “Nothing to be sorry about, Ty. Your master permitting, if you need to catch some extra sleep sometimes, you’re welcome here.”

“I-er, thank you, Miss,” he said, stuttering out a response to her offer. From the way she’d seen him handle customers at the bakery, and what she’d observed of his interactions with Brett earlier, she knew he was normally the cheerful sort. Determined not to let his awkwardness dishearten her—she knew it wasn’t personal—she sought a distraction.

Flipping through the TV channels, she spoke to Brett of recent news items, carefully keeping to topics Ty might know something about. She wouldn’t talk about people he didn’t know—she’d never liked talking over slaves as if they weren’t even there—but in this case moving the focus away from him helped diminish some of Ty’s discomfort. He could just listen, without being totally lost.

She talked with Brett a while longer before leaving the slaves alone again. Curious about Ty’s background, she’d still refrained from asking him any questions. She suspected he’d misinterpret it as some sort of interrogation.

By the time his new friend left, Brett’s obvious contentment ensured that she could in no way call Ty’s visit a waste of an afternoon. But having Brett to herself again brought her great pleasure as well. Or would, very soon.

She dragged him into bed and out of his clothes in short order. Then she rested on top of him, nuzzling and licking along his collarbone before moving upwards. Kissing him until the drunken buzz of passion was quickening her pulse, she pulled back at last. It was only early evening. “I say we stay in tonight. What do you think?”

“If it please you, Mistress.” His knowing smile said more than the formal words.

She nipped his ear, drawing a shudder. “Oh, it pleases me.”

“And me.” Faintly said, but she caught it.

Smiling, she reached between them, the heel of her hand rubbing downward along his shaft. Her fingers cupped his balls, his breath catching from that healthy anxiety any man had for having them handled. She shifted lower, her fingers stroking the sensitive skin behind them, eliciting a low groan.

He tugged at her shirt, a silent request for its removal. She was dressed but he was not. Pushing his hands away, she denied him. “Not yet.”

He sighed, giving her a mournful, hungry look. She bit back a smile, especially when he smoothed out her shirt before placing his hands above his head, already sensing where she was headed.

“So good,” she whispered, touched by his willing surrender. A smile curved his lips; not smug, just happy to have pleased her.

How could she not reward him? She worked her way down his body, taking her time, licking, caressing, kissing. From the whimpers and pleas he made, she was causing just the right kind of torment. When she reached his shaft she took his head into her mouth, swirling her tongue on it. Struggling to stay still beneath her, his body was as rigid as his cock.

She sat up, her gaze meeting his needy eyes and vulnerable expression. No, she didn’t want him to stay completely still tonight. “I’ll be right back,” she said, as he bit his lip on a plea for her to remain.

She went to her closet, quickly finding what she wanted. Hiding it behind her back, she climbed back onto the bed—and him. She let the long, soft scarf drape over his chest for a moment, before she skimmed it upwards.

“Put your hands together,” she murmured into his ear. She smiled; he was tense, the pent up desire still burning.

He obeyed, and she wrapped the silk scarf around his hands as she sat up. She knotted it carefully—snug, but not too tight. She hadn’t done this in years, not since… Before. Tying the other end to the headboard, she studied it with satisfaction. There. She wanted to watch his muscles flex as he pulled at the restraint, and give him some outlet for the desire to move, to reach for her.

But when she looked down at his face, his expression was shuttered. The need in his eyes had changed, replaced by something else. Uneasy, she glanced from him to the scarf, the only new factor. But in the past she’d tied him sometimes, and it had never bothered him. Had something else happened while she was gone?

“Brett, what’s wrong?”

He turned his head, and it struck her that his skin was pale too. “I’m fine, Mistress.”

“The hell you are.”

The harsh words made him wince, and she regretted her tone. He was still as rigid as before, but it was a different tension now.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he said, his voice weak. “Please continue.”

She stared at him. How could he think she would blithely keep going when he was obviously upset? Because some people hadn’t cared whether he was getting any enjoyment out of what they did to him. But she had never been that way.

She knew he didn’t think he had the right to voice preferences; to him it sounded like complaining. So she’d prompted him before, early on, to make sure she didn’t do anything he disliked. He’d been tentative at first, but he wouldn’t disobey her order for honesty. Being tied hadn’t been among the list of things he disliked.

She had no other ideas though. Reaching for the scarf, she untied it from the headboard and then brought his hands down, closer to her. She loosened the knot and slipped the scarf away from his hands.

The relieved breath he took told her a lot. A changed taste, not something overlooked. The possible reasons for why it had changed created a broiling anger that she pushed down for now.

She brushed some hair back from his face. “Brett, are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

He turned his head away from her, as if he had something to be ashamed about. “No, I’m sorry I couldn’t, Mistress. I know you wanted to…”

“Brett,” she admonished, “I only want to if you do too.”

He said nothing in response, and she sighed. He’d never understood why she wanted to know his preferences. He was a slave and had to obey; he thought that was the end of it.

She tugged his head into her lap and rubbed soothing circles on his back. “If you knew I didn’t like something, would you keep doing it?”

“Of course not, Mistress,” he said, sounding offended. “But… I serve you.”

“And your wellbeing is my responsibility,” she countered. “Emotional as well as physical.”

His arms tightened around her. “Jenna.”

“Brett, what happened?” she whispered.

Tension thrummed through his body, but somehow the answer when it came wasn’t entirely a surprise. “Donovan.”

She cursed the bastard, and he hugged her again. His head was sideways on her lap, and she watched his profile as he spoke. “He kept me chained up in the basement, whenever he… had no use for me. And when he brought me upstairs, he always tied me up again before he fucked me.”

Before he raped you, she corrected, trembling with rage. She reached around, tugging one of his wrists in front of her for a closer look. If he’d tied Brett up that much, there should be scars. She hadn’t noticed any, but maybe she had missed them somehow, or they’d faded with time.

“He used padded cuffs, or wrapped cloth around me first when he used rope,” Brett told her, hiding his face against her leg. “He said I wasn’t worth much, but I was worth even less with scars.”

“What?”

The foul string of curses that followed would’ve made a sailor proud. If she’d known at that moment exactly where Donovan was, nothing could’ve stopped her from killing the fucker. With her bare hands. He’d pay for every cruel word, every beating, every rape.

“Mistress?”

“I want to kill him, in various, excruciatingly painful ways.”

“Jenna,” he said, fear in his voice.

Shit, she’d scared him. “I’m not going to,” she reassured him. “But I’d really love to.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you…”

“No,” she said, voice firm. “It’s better I know.”

She looked at him, focusing on him rather than her anger. She’d seen it that first night, that the four years had changed him. His haunted, dimmed appearance had hinted that she wouldn’t like a lot of the things that had happened to him. But then they’d gone shopping, and after that he’d seemed to become more and more like the Brett she’d known. She thought he’d almost been able to put the bad things behind him. But now she wondered if he’d been putting on a positive front for her. Donovan—and who knows who else—had damaged him, and he wasn’t past it, might never get past it.

She’d have to try her best to undo whatever damage she could. Part of it was her fault after all—it wouldn’t have happened in the first place if she’d never handed him back over to Derrick. The trouble was, she wasn’t sure how to go about fixing it. There weren’t psychologists for slaves.

She drew him into a sitting position and put her hands on his shoulders, looking straight into his eyes. “Brett, you are not worthless. You are wonderful and special, and Donovan should be rotting in hell where he belongs for trying to make you think otherwise, much less everything else he’s done.”

The doubt in his face made her heart break for him.

Damn it. He hadn’t had such a low opinion of himself four years ago.

“Honey,” she tried again, “it’s okay not to be okay. I just want you to know that I value you. You believe that, right?”

He nodded. She hugged him, worrying her lip as she wondered how to help him. He hugged her back, and she just held him for a while. Then she wriggled out of her jeans and bra, curling up with him on the bed.

She found the scarf next to the pillow. He wrapped cloth around me first when he used rope. Her fingers clenched around the scarf, and she flung it away.

Fucking Donovan. She’d find some way to make him pay.

 Part Fifteen