brothers. I mean, would it kill them to ask how I am?”
Ariane couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Despite the gravity of their situation, Susan was showing signs of sibling jealousy. How petty could someone be? “Don’t take it personally. I’m sure your parents are paying them more attention because they feel they need it. You’re older. They probably figure you can handle things by yourself.”
Susan wiped the moisture from her face. “Great! You’re on their side, too.”
“It’s not about sides. It’s about-”
“Just get away from me! I don’t want to hear it.”
“Susan.”
“Get away from me!” she repeated louder. “I don’t want to talk to you!”
Ariane pleaded for her to calm down, but the teen refused to listen. “Susan, if you keep making noise, the guards are going to come over and punish us.”
“Good! At least that’ll get you away from me!”
“Susan, I’m just trying to help.”
“I told you. I don’t want your help.” Susan picked up her wicker basket and began walking away. “And if you follow me, I’ll scream for the guards. I swear to God. I’ll scream.”
Despite the threat, Ariane was tempted to run after her. In her mind, she figured Susan wasn’t a bad kid. She was just a traumatized teen, one who was looking for someone to cling to. And if Ariane could be that person, she’d love to be able to help.
Unfortunately, the Plantation wasn’t the best place to make friends, so Ariane’s act of kindness would have to wait for another day. That is, if both of them could last that long.
CHAPTER 38
AFTER
waking from his nap in the plantation house, Master Jackson strolled into the field to check on the current group of slaves. As leader of the guards, he had many important duties at the Plantation, but most of them occurred before guests were even brought to the island. Jackson was in charge of training the guards, a task he shared with Ndjai since several of the men were straight off the boat from Africa. If it hadn’t been for the language barrier, Jackson would’ve preferred training the guards by himself, but as it was he didn’t really have a choice. He was forced to work with Ndjai, even though the African gave him the creeps.
Ironically, Jackson often elicited the same reaction from women, sending off a dangerous vibe that females instinctively disliked. It hadn’t always been like that. The bad vibe was more of a recent thing for Jackson. As a youngster, he’d been very effective with the fairer sex. He was suave, polite, and romantic. But all of that changed in a heartbeat, one misstep that altered Jackson’s life and his attitude toward women-and white people- forever.
He’d been a young associate at one of New Orleans’s top law firms, and as his friends used to say, he had the world by its balls. He was handsome, intelligent, and personable. People often confused him with Wesley Snipes, but he was quick to point out their mistake. No, he used to tell them, my name is Harris Jackson, and before long, people will say
looks like
. And he believed it, too. Jackson was on the fast track to success, and he knew in his heart that he was ultimately destined for greatness.
Until he met her.
A month before that fateful day, Jackson left his law firm to start his own business. The Harris Jackson Sports Agency. He figured that with his legal mind, quick wit, and black skin, he would be able to land professional athletes by the dozen. And he was right. Within two weeks, he had signed Levon Greene, a friend of his from college, and soon after several other stars in the world of sports started using his services.
As a token of his appreciation, Jackson invited his newest clients to New Orleans for a gala celebration and arranged everything that he needed to have a successful party: food, alcohol, strippers, and rap stars. Unfortunately, when he made the party arrangements, he didn’t count on the presence of a she-devil. Sure, she looked like a harmless exotic dancer-shoulder-length blond hair, great face, see-through dress-but underneath that beautiful exterior lived the heart of the Antichrist.
At the end of the evening, she begged Jackson for a ride home, and before he could say no, she was riding him in his limo. At the time, he figured it was just a one-night stand, a meaningless night of sex with a drunken vixen, but it turned into something more. It became the event that ended his career. Unbeknownst to Jackson, the girl was young. Too young. An uninvited sixteen-year-old who had snuck into the party to meet some of the celebrities. After sobering up, she regretted her actions and quickly told the cops everything that had occurred. The liquor, the nudity, the sex, everything. In a flash, Jackson was arrested, convicted, and disbarred. Before he knew it, his legal career was over, and all because of some white bitch.
After his release from prison, Jackson realized that he needed to experience the sweet taste of revenge if he was ever going to put the past behind him, and he figured the Plantation was the perfect way to do that. One white whore had taken everything that he’d ever worked for, and in his mind, this was his opportunity to get even with her and everyone like her.
Theo Webster had academic reasons for the Plantation.
Octavian Holmes had a childhood trauma to overcome.
But Harris Jackson had something different. He was in it for personal revenge.
As he scrutinized the female slaves in the dying sunlight, he tried to choose the one he wanted to play with the most. But it was a tough process, a lot tougher than the last group that had been brought to the Plantation. In order to prepare for Webster’s special group of slaves, the Plantation Posse abducted twenty-five homeless people for a trial run back in May. After practicing their kidnapping and transportation techniques on the vagrants, the Posse ironed out the kinks in the slaves’ housing setup. They perfected the guards’ work schedules and corrected any glaring errors in management strategy, guaranteeing that the real group of slaves would be handled as efficiently as possible.
Unfortunately for Jackson, the homeless group had only one good-looking female, a down-on-her-luck runaway, so he didn’t have many playmates to choose from. But the current crop of slaves was different. As far as he could tell, there were five females in the bunch that would please him immensely. They were young, pretty, and white-just how he liked them. It was just a matter of time before he chose the one that he wanted to break first.
After figuring out the girls’ names, Jackson spoke to one of the guards and told him to round up the following slaves: Kelly Metz, Jennifer Potter, Sarah Potter, Susan Ross, and Ariane Walker. As far as he was concerned, the other females were too old or too pregnant to mess with.
“Ladies,” he said to the five, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve pulled you away from your work. Well, I’ll explain that in good time. First of all, a question: How have you enjoyed working in this wicked heat?”
Not surprisingly, the women were too scared to speak.
“Ah,” he sighed. “It seems that you have forgotten the policy that was established on day one. When I ask a question, you respond, or you will pay the price.”
He looked at Susan, who trembled at his presence. She remembered how he had treated her on that first night: the sharp edge of his stiletto as it slid against her flesh, his erect penis as he rubbed it against the small of her back, his threatening words. The memory of it all made her wince in agony.
“So, let me ask you again. How have you enjoyed the heat?”
“We haven’t liked it,” Ariane admitted. “Not one bit.”
The comment made Jackson grin. “Thank you! Even though no one else had the courage to speak, I’m sure each of you agrees with Miss Walker’s statement.”
The women nodded their heads.
“Finally, a sign of life!”
Jackson moved forward, glancing at the bodies and the faces of the slaves, looking for the tiniest of
