No.
I risk another glance at formerly-beautiful It. She was probably a real person once, in the before times, prior to being subjected to this monster’s horrific attentions. Look what he’s reduced her to. A terrified and scarred obedient punching bag who despite her perfect compliance is being sentenced to what sounds like a fate worse than death in the mines or the Pit.
Shock, terror, and a bolt of anger swirl through me, but I’ve always been a pragmatist. I don’t have the luxury of rejecting reality. I’m in space, a long way from home with no way back. A walking snake has informed me he owns me.
As much as I don’t want to believe it, it’s true. I always thought I was strong, but I see with perfect clarity that I don’t have the courage to live through this hell like It has.
My jaw firms and I make the tiniest nod as I confirm to myself that I don’t wish to play Ryone’s game. My life on Earth was good. I don’t think I was built to live in the harsh reaches of space as someone’s abused pet. I’m ready to check out.
“No!” I say firmly, assuming one of the six armed males will blast a hole in me. I square my shoulders as I feel a blanket of calm descend over me—I’m ready.
“That’s what they all say at first,” he cheerlessly informs me, the muscles around his eyes tightening in anger.
His hand grabs my wrist so fast he has me in his grip before I notice he moved. Pulling my arm toward him, he draws his index fingernail from the inside of my elbow down, ending at my wrist.
I watch, both fascinated and numb, as a thin red ribbon blooms along the path his nail just took. Turning my arm slowly, almost like an animal on a spit, he makes a series of three more lines, almost perfectly straight, that now stripe my arm. Each pass along my flesh cuts a little deeper, hurting more. The last two are dripping blood down my jeans and forming a small red pool near my left foot.
“This could go on all day, human. I won’t kill you quickly. I’ll make you suffer. No one is coming to save you. Your planet isn’t capable of space flight, and the Federation turns a blind eye to the human slave trade. I own you. You will do as I say.”
The growing pain breaks down the numb detachment that has protected me until now. I don’t believe I’ve ever come to such an important decision so quickly or with such finality, but I know what I need to do and I’m prepared to do it.
I grab his hand and slash his nail against my wrist. Vertically, as he just did, but with every intention to cut deep enough to get the job done. As if from afar, I watch as blood spurts from the gash, bathing my tormentor and myself in thick red liquid.
“Cunt!” he says as he slaps my cheek with such force my head ricochets to the side and back. I again wonder if this is a dream as blackness descends.
~.~
Shit. I think as I return to consciousness. I’d hoped my stunt would work. I didn’t want to wake up. I’m not built to be anyone’s slave.
I’m lying on a couch in the living room where I made my suicide attempt. My cuts are bandaged and six laser pistols are aimed at me. The room vibrates as the ground shakes, glass tinkling in the chandelier overhead. A small earthquake?
“Sir,” one of Ryone’s snakelike guards calls, “she’s awake.”
My captor stalks into the room, now dressed in a different silken jacket, blood-red this time. Leaning over me, he slaps my cheek so hard white dots dance in my field of vision.
“If I hadn’t already paid more than you’re worth, I would have let you die. As it is, I’ve got a creative means to bring you to heel.
“I’m going to throw you in the mine where you’ll be used by whoever wants you. It’s a pity, when you emerge your . . . working parts will never be quite as tight as I enjoy. But you will be compliant.
“It won’t be all fun and games for you, I’m afraid. In addition to your nightly duties servicing the entire unwashed crew of miscreants and barbarians, you’ll be expected to mine your share of green salt ore. Since you’re going to need that left arm to produce the ore I demand, I’ve had my staff treat you with medication and cover your arm in plas-film. Your arm will be healed in an hour and the film will dissolve. I expect full production or you’ll taste the guards’ lash for every dextan you come up short.
“The radiation from the ore will take years off your life, but that’s of no concern to me. It takes years off the end of your life. I’ll have replaced you with someone who pleases me more and you’ll be long gone from my household by then. I guarantee if you make it out of the mine alive you’ll return above ground a much more cooperative pet. Perhaps even eager.”
A guard prods me out of the well-appointed living room and outside into the gusting red sand that stings my flesh. I trot in stunned disbelief to keep up with the contingent of six armed guards escorting me on the three-hundred-yard walk to the mine.
My mind searches in vain trying to figure out a way to escape as I force down the terror that clenches every muscle in my body.
Escape is futile. The guards clearly got the message I’m to be kept alive, I’ll just be beaten and forced to work under even more of a handicap.
There are a few males outside
