Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today had been trying. When he was interested in his work, he might go days, even weeks, without sleep. But paperwork made him instantly exhausted. He knew the problem. He had no goals. At least, none that had yet proved themselves to be unattainable. His recent promotion was proof of that. Winning that particular elevation in status had not been easy. The strategy of it had kept him awake, made him feel alive.

Now, it was an act of patience to move through each day.

He made lists, scratched things off as they were accomplished. When he was done for today, he would go out in the city. He would find a willing woman to take to bed, lose himself in her body until he was exhausted.

Then he might be able to sleep.

He finished signing a series of documents that determined the fate of several hundred million dollars. He typed out an email on his own secure server, letting his assistant know what to do to decisively handle three new recruits who had proved themselves to be too stupid to adequately protect the secrets of the Judicature under the influence of alcohol. Then, he spent ten minutes flipping through a series of files in his ongoing quest to learn the names and histories of every person who worked under him. It was tedious, but it was that kind of thoroughness that had brought him to where he was.

Even if where he was, in an immediate sense, was buried under a fucking mountain of paperwork.

He switched tasks again, reviewing a stack of contracts that his assistant, Jessica, had marked urgent. The last document signed, he pushed the neat stack of papers to the edge of his desk and consulted his list.

Ormond--difficult Eight

One of his direct reports had called Jessica that morning to complain about a recalcitrant Level Eight. The man had been assigned to serve in Ormond’s home, which meant he had been classified low-risk. Apparently, Ormond had already enacted all of the usual protocols to control the man--withholding food, isolation, even physical punishment. He had reached the point where he wished for the problem to be reassigned. In fact, he had submitted paperwork suggesting that the man should be assigned a heightened risk level. It was unusual for a Level Eight to cause trouble like that.

It was unusual for someone to be classified Eight in the first place.

The classification meant that someone who had joined the Judicature willingly had since decided that they wanted to leave. Unfortunately, service to the Judicature was a non-negotiable lifetime appointment, something that was made abundantly clear from the moment a recruit took their first dose of Bitter. Or, Roman reasoned, their second. After the powerful pangs of withdrawal had been felt for the first time.

Bitter, after all, was not just the reason for the Judicature’s existence. It was also an insurance policy. Once someone took the drug, there was no going back. Addiction could be maintained but it could not be overcome. Level Eights were reminded of that fact and assigned to someone higher up in the food chain who would have the task of administering their dose. It was hard to consistently maintain thoughts of escape when you were only ever twenty-four hours away from a mind-melting withdrawal.

With that kind of influence in hand, Ormond shouldn’t be struggling to maintain control. If someone down the food chain had seen fit to assign Roman the evaluation, it was as likely that they had concerns about Ormond’s fitness to lead as any danger from the Eight.

Roman sighed and ran a hand over his face. Likely, the man just required a firm hand. Ormond was probably relying on force and threats without creating any kind of emotional investment. Rebellion lay in the mind, not the body. The body was simply a vessel with which to root out the problem.

He expected to make quick work of the man and then end this mind-numbing day.

He pressed a button on his desk phone to summon Jessica. A moment later, her cool voice came down the line. “Yes, sir?”

“Ormond is here with the Eight?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jessica. “For the past hour.”

“Send him in,” said Roman. “And you can go home.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir,” came the businesslike reply. Jessica only worked for him in the city. It wasn’t where he preferred to spend his time, so he was not often in her company. He had selected her from among a handful of candidates -- all Level Five -- for her pleasant speaking voice. When he wasn’t in the city, he called her every morning for a report and, when the reports were predictably boring, he enjoyed the husky sound of her voice and imagined taking her clothes off.

Incidentally, he had enjoyed doing just that a handful of times. She was an acceptable choice of companion. The woman was too shrewd to be clingy. She was inventive, if a bit too cool. He had never seen her lose her calm demeanor, whether she was describing an urgent work situation or nearing orgasm.

After a brief delay during which Roman resisted the urge to scratch his initials into the top of his ridiculous desk, Ormond opened the door. He entered the room alone, performing a deep and elegant bow.

“Lost track of your charge, Ormond?” asked Roman.

“No, sir,” he answered. “I only wanted to take a moment to encourage you to take this threat seriously.”

“You imagine I would not?” asked Roman, raising an eyebrow. It was almost enough of an insult to constitute a formal challenge to his authority. Almost.

Under the desk, he flexed his hand open and shut, longing for the feel of his knife. His background was well known among his subordinates. Most of it. Some thought that the fact that he hailed from the medical side of the Judicature’s operations meant that he was soft. Roman enjoyed disabusing people of that notion when it suited him. Although Ormond was hardly worth the trouble.

“Of course I trust your judgment, sir,” said Ormond, bobbing a quick bow. “It’s only--I feel that this case is a bit complicated. Obviously, the Judicature did not discern any particular threat. But this--this creature is no Level Eight.”

“And you’ve left this dangerous bastard alone in the lobby?” asked Roman drily. “You know, I’m rather fond of the artwork out there. It was gifted to me by a friend.”

“I took precautions, sir,” said Ormond. “But I’ll just--I’ll just fetch them.”

“Wonderful,” said Roman with a mocking nod of his chin.

Ormond slipped out of view, leaving the door slightly open. A moment later, he pushed the Level Eight into the room. Roman could barely make out the man’s form under all the chains. Even his face was hooded. Yet, he saw in an instant the reason that Ormond had felt the need to preface the man’s entrance. The man was of a slight build, his thin body nearly hidden beneath ill-fitting clothes. Ormond had no trouble tossing the man into the room where he landed with a soft cry on the plush carpet in front of Roman’s desk. He looked as if he could easily be crushed under Ormond’s boot. It was laughable to think the hefty Level Two needed help with the creature.

Roman was intrigued.

If Ormond would risk this kind of embarrassment, there was obviously something about the Eight that frightened him. Ormond was likely to win out when the contest was one of brute strength, but he was not particularly intelligent. If this man was intelligent--well, the idea of an intellectual challenge was the first thing that had interested Roman all day.

Roman came around the desk, noting the way the hooded prisoner shrank back from the vibration of his footsteps. He knelt in front of the man, preparing to remove the hood. Ormond flinched, as if the wretched creature might turn into a dangerous beast at any moment. The hood came away and for once, even Roman was unable to hide his surprise.

The prisoner was a woman.

A girl, really. She couldn’t be older than mid-twenties or so. Her long, dirty blonde hair tangled around a pale face dominated by a pair of rather startling green eyes. She was more than passably pretty, even considering the dirt and the bruise blooming under one eye.

“This is your recalcitrant Eight, Ormond?” Roman asked. “Really?”

“Her looks are deceiving, sir,” said Ormond. “I don’t think there is any safe way for her to be contained. I would suggest she be reassigned Level Ten.”

The girl stiffened. Only the slightest bit, but Roman was close enough to notice. She knew, of course, what Level Ten meant. It was the most severe rating a member of the Judicature could receive. A declaration that there was no hope of regaining their loyalty or of controlling them. Level Ten was a death sentence.

“That’s a serious charge,” said Roman, rising to his feet. He tested the girl by giving her a light nudge with his polished shoe. She shied away but did not lift her eyes. “You really believe the situation is so dire?”

“She’s attempted to escape three times,” said Ormond. “At the last, instead of leaving the grounds, she crept into my bed and threatened me with a knife. She’s devious and calculating and deceptively strong. I suspect she’s trying to bring us all down from the inside. The best thing to do would be to remove the threat entirely.”

“I see,” said Roman. “All that because she held a knife to your throat?”

Ormond paled and shifted on his feet. “It was not, um….my throat. No.”

Ah.

“Sir--I--I will not have her back in my household.”

It was a bold declaration, revealing the extent of Ormond’s fear. To be assigned the custody of a Level Eight or Nine was a serious responsibility. Some members of the Judicature truly welcomed it -- even took advantage of the situation, considering that it was thought reasonable to control a Level Eight or Nine by any means necessary. Training an eight or nine for sexual service was not uncommon, although Roman himself had never had the need. But even those who were less interested in the responsibility pretended that they could easily handle it. To suggest otherwise was to show weakness.

“If she is such a threat, I feel she should be more closely evaluated,” said Roman. “I relieve you of custody. I will make my own assessment and decide what is to be done.”

“You’ll take her, sir?” asked Ormond. Relief suffused his expression before he made an effort to smooth his features back into an impassive mask more suited to a Level Two.

Roman nodded. “For the time being.”

He nudged the girl again with his boot. An experiment. The girl did not protest, although she did shift slightly on the carpet to keep her balance--a task made more difficult by the chains around her hands. Of course, she might have chosen to act docile to make Ormond look like a fool. If that was the case, he rather liked her for it. And if she really was as innocent as she looked, confirming it would give him important information about the fitness of one of his highest-ranking officers.

“Thank you, sir,” said Ormond. “I know--I know she doesn’t look like much.”

“No,” said Roman, looking down at the prisoner. “She doesn’t.” He saw the faintest bit of color tinge the girl’s ears at the insult. She was listening.

“Ah, yes. But, please, sir--be careful.”

“I always am, Ormond,” said Roman dismissively. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I trust you will be content to leave the problem in my hands.”

Visible relief flooding his features, Ormond nodded and practically leapt for the door. He didn’t give the wretched girl another glance. Roman realized too late that Ormond had likely departed with the keys to the chains threaded all over the girl’s body. But that problem wasn’t insurmountable. And he might as well leave her chained for a bit to study what she would do.

He had a feeling she would prove biddable. He entertained himself with an image of her following meekly beside him the next time he visited Ormond’s home. He was confident that he could handle her. He could only hope that she might provide some kind of challenge.

Leaving the girl kneeling on the floor, Roman gathered his things, shrugging into his expensive wool coat and locking a few key documents into his briefcase for perusal later in the evening. All plans of finding some city woman had fled. His attention was now fixed on the girl, eager to test her out and see if he could catch a glimpse of whatever it was that had made Ormond so jumpy.

“We’re leaving,” he said, stopping next to where she was still sprawled on the carpet. “Come along.”

Without looking at him, she started to struggle to her feet, her movements hampered by the heavy chains. After watching her struggle for a moment, he reached down and dragged her up by the back of her shirt, slipping one arm around her waist to help carry some of the weight. “Thank you,” she mumbled, eyes still downcast. Her voice was pleasant, though strained. None of the seductive smokiness of Jessica, but with a soft, musical quality.

He decided now was as good a time as any to begin. “Do not speak without permission,” he said. He waited for her to protest. It was unfair to chastise her for the quiet acknowledgement of his assistance, cruel to remind her of her position when she was already covered in so many chains she could barely stand. When she stayed silent, he smiled to himself and began to propel her along beside him, turning off the lights in his office as they passed through the door.

By the time they reached his car, he was almost convinced that Ormond was an idiot. Almost. He considered what to do about the chains--he wasn’t stupid enough to drive around with a woman chained up in the back of his car. He could put her in the trunk, but that was a rather extreme subjugation considering her performance so far. When his private elevator opened into his equally private garage, he was still contemplating the situation, the girl leaning into his side. As he walked her into the garage, he realized that she was leaning more heavily than before. Concerned, he pushed her away from him to assess her condition. She swayed slightly, her eyes glassy. He glanced down and saw that she had left a spreading stain of blood shining bright reddish-black against the more muted tones of his expensive coat.

Ormond had failed to mention that he had beaten the “dangerous” creature bloody.

Swearing, Roman bundled her into the backseat of the car after all, settling for throwing a blanket over the chains, and checked her pulse and pupillary reactions. The Judicature’s medical facility was only a short drive away, just outside the city limits. He decided she could handle the drive and that would be the best place to assess the situation further.

Chapter Text

Allie hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

It helped that the man had made Ormond wait. He had been too afraid to sit next to her in the lobby, even with all the chains. The pretty secretary sitting behind the desk was busy, typing away and occasionally answering the phone in a low voice. It hadn’t taken long for Allie to work one hand out of the chains, preparing the knife.

She had intended to use it on Ormond. She didn’t want to kill anyone. Not even him. To do so would prove that she was no better than the people keeping her captive. But despite the trouble she had managed to cause for Ormond, she hadn’t previously been successful in getting him to take her outside his manor to somewhere that she had a better chance of escape. The idiot had bragged to her that he had managed to get an appointment with someone who could assign her to Level Ten and let him be done with her once and for all. Getting outside the manor was the opportunity she needed.

Unfortunately, Ormond had taken the unusual step of deciding that Bitter was not enough to ensure her compliance. The chains had been a surprise. Ormond alone, she might have been able to fight off. But he had used three of his thugs to ambush her. Strong, brutish men, one of whom had enjoyed feeling her up under her clothes while he helped Ormond secure the many chains. Luckily, he had been so concerned with her breasts that he had failed to stray far enough to find the knife tucked under her arm.

She had intended to use the knife to stab Ormond on the journey, relying on her medical training to ensure he would only be hospitalized, and taking the opportunity to escape. She hadn’t had an opportunity--the chains made the angle difficult. But in the waiting room, she had come up with another plan. She knew Ormond was trying to get her taken off his hands. If she could use the knife on herself, her new captor would be forced to take her for medical care. The same rules that kept her virtually enslaved made it a crime within the Judicature to let her die if there was a reasonable alternative. Injuring herself at Ormond’s manor had occurred to her, but she hadn’t been certain that he would seek help fast enough--or at all. Unwittingly, he had given her the perfect opportunity by bringing her to the city. She knew the Judicature had a medical facility nearby.

She knew because she had once worked there.

That had been another life. But she remembered enough. She knew where to cut to create a lot of blood without truly injuring herself. And the man--Roman--had fallen for it.

She woke up in one of the hospital rooms, a machine beeping softly at her side. Her wound had been bandaged and she was hooked up to fluids. She might have miscalculated a little--she hadn’t intended to pass out, and it made her incredibly nervous to find that someone else had dressed her in a hospital gown--but she had ended up exactly where she needed to be.

He hadn’t even chained her to the bed.

She sat up gingerly. There was no immediate pain. The wound had been dressed properly and they might have even pushed some pain meds through her IV.

Good. That would make things easier, too.

She walked barefoot across the chilly tile floor and peered out the glass window into the hallway. It was deserted, the lights dimmed. Of course, the Judicature facility wasn’t a busy hospital. Members were required to be evaluated once a year to ensure they were continuing to respond effectively to Bitter. And they would have a skeleton crew ready to respond to almost any trauma that would invite too many questions in a mainstream hospital. But on a slow night, Allie might be the only one here.

That suited her fine. She tried the doorknob and wasn’t surprised to find that she was locked in. Leave it to the Judicature to have hospital rooms that locked from the outside.

Reassessing, she scanned the room. Her pants and bloodied shirt were folded over a chair. Not exactly an outfit that would blend in a crowd but better than a hospital gown. Ally quickly changed, shuddering at the feel of the crusted blood as the she slipped the shirt over her head.

Dressed, she went to the small window at the far end of the room. It had a lock: good. It also appeared to lead to a small corridor instead of to the outdoors: not so good. Deciding to take her problems one at a time, Allie turned the lock and tried to force the window open. It stuck after about half an inch, so she scanned the room again for something she could lever underneath.

That led to the rapid demise of about ten tongue depressors before she figured out she could unscrew one of the metal chair legs and use that. As soon as the window was open enough to allow her to shimmy through, Allie dropped to the floor and did just that, leaving the debris of her efforts behind her. There was no point in hiding her escape--the empty hospital bed would eventually signal to someone what had happened.

She would move fast.

###

Roman was able to tend to the girl’s shallow wound with ease. At first, he haf suspected Ormond of causing the injury. He had been angry enough to contemplate relieving him of the duty of caring for any Level Eight or Nine in future...and perhaps dropping him a few levels down, too. Closer inspection had revealed that the girl was just as likely to have caused the injury herself in a poor suicide attempt. The angle suggested a self-inflicted wound and although the knife wasn’t present when he removed her chains, the wound suggested that the knife had been sized more for someone like Alianna than for Ormond.

That was her name. Alianna. Jessica had found her file swiftly, sending everything that was available to his phone. Interestingly, the records detailing her intake into the Judicature were sealed. Roman had already set in motion the process of unsealing them for his eyes only, but it would take some time. He doubted he would find anything out of the ordinary. Likely, her records had been sealed by someone higher-ranking who had wanted to erase their association with her after she lost status.

The records from her time with Ormond--three years--were almost as sparse, right up until he had applied to have her assigned Level Ten.

Ormond was an idiot.

If he had to guess, he imagined that the man had pushed her too far too fast, insisting that she serve him sexually. It wasn’t unheard of for an Eight or Nine to be used that way. Hell, it wasn’t uncommon for anyone of a higher rank to demand some sort of sexual favors from those below them. Still, there was a certain finesse required in these matters, especially if the subordinate was unwilling. All of this could be an overreaction.

He couldn’t entirely blame Ormond if his mistake had been to force her. The thought of the girl swallowing his cock was a pleasing one. She was a tiny, pretty little thing. Although he had focused on her medical care, he hadn’t failed to notice that when he undressed her. He intended to enjoy her fully once he had rooted out any signs of the rebellion that had so baffled Ormond and helped her to become resigned to her position.

She had chosen to enter the Judicature. She could not leave. And, as a Level Eight, she could not be trusted. It was her own choices that had brought her into his path and he would make the most of the opportunity.

He was still contemplating the possibilities when he unlocked the door to her hospital room.
It took some time for him to process what he found.

The room was empty.

###

Allie made swift progress through the building. It had been expanded since the last time she was there--she could see the more modern outpatient wing glittering with light against the dark lawn outside the corridor. The inpatient wing was more as she remembered--old-fashioned rooms, dark corridors.

She was going to have to break into one of the windows further along the hallway. The floor to ceiling windows that protected the corridor on the side closest to the lawns didn’t open. Breaking the glass would risk alerting someone to her location. Instead, she was threading through the hallways at a swift pace, trying each window she passed to check for any give. Somewhere, someone would have forgotten and left a window unlocked.

It was maybe ten minutes before she heard the footsteps. The heavy, deliberate steps of a man--likely the imposing Roman, her latest captor. She kept moving, trying to keep her steps light, trying not to panic. Up ahead, the hallway diverged into a T shape. She had a fifty percent chance of putting distance between them if she could move swiftly enough to be out of sight by the time he reached the junction.

But his steps were picking up pace. Had he heard her? She moved faster, too, grateful, after all, for her bare feet. She didn’t have time to check every window manually, but she scanned them as she went. At the last window before the turn, she saw that the window wasn’t just unlocked, but open. It was cracked several inches on the bottom, the blinds on the other side rattling lightly in the breeze from the air conditioner.

Quickly calculating the odds, Allie decided to try for the window instead of the corridor. Whoever was approaching was too close. If she kept going, they might see her and she doubted she could outrun them. Luckily, the window gave way much more easily than the one in her own hospital room. In an instant, she had it wide enough to shimmy through, wincing as the blinds rattled louder at her passage. As soon as she was through, she pulled the window shut, careful not to let it slam into the frame. She backed away, conscious of any shadow she might cast into the hall below.

Although, the room she was in was full of shadows in which she could blend. The only light came from a monitor next to the hospital bed. A hospital bed in which an unmoving, pale figure slept.

Allie retreated further into shadow. She could still see the window and the blinds were still raised a few inches. Eventually, she saw her pursuer stride past, his form briefly blotting out the light from the hall. When he was gone, she ventured another glance at the bed. Perhaps this woman was another prisoner. Perhaps this door would be locked, too.

As if the thought had been spoken aloud, the woman’s eyes blinked open. “The door’s open, but I bet he comes back this way before too long. You’d better stay put and then retrace your steps. The emergency exit on the second floor is your best bet.”

“Are you trapped here, too?”

The woman laughed and the laugh turned into a cough which she silenced by pulling the sheet over her mouth, her thin shoulders shaking with effort. When she had recovered, she spoke, her voice shaky and strained. “I’m as much a prisoner as anyone in the Judicature,” she said. “But I’m not a flight risk.”

“Why not?”

The woman gestured to the tubes sprouting from her arm. “I’m dying.”

The medical doctor in Allie sprang to the surface. She approached the woman, forgetting that she had intended to stay in the shadows in the hopes that she wouldn’t be able to describe her later. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What did they tell you?”

The woman lay back on her pillow, watching Allie with a bemused expression while she placed a hand at her wrist and took her pulse. She went to the end of the bed, searching for a chart.

“There isn’t any paperwork,” she said. “Roman’s team has been taking care of me and his people are trained to remember everything there is to know. He says that writing things down just invites trouble.”

Allie stiffened at her captor’s name. “Roman? He’s a doctor?”

“Among other things,” said the woman. “He won’t disturb me unless he has to, but he’ll come check the room before too long. You should go.”

“You’re helping me?”

The woman tried to shrug, but it was more of a twitch. She was weak. “I can’t help myself,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get others out of the Judicature for a long, long time.”

“What do you mean?” Allie had never heard of any kind of sustained resistance from within. Perhaps this woman had been a solo actor. Perhaps she had been formidable before cancer ravaged her body.

“Just what I said. I was trying to get people out before I got sick. That’s how I know your best bet is the second floor exit.”

“Why help me? Or anyone?”

“I made my choices. I signed my life away and it was all for a stupid reason. I was in love.”

Allie felt queasy. Love. Wasn’t that what had led her here, too? She had made such stupid, stupid mistakes thinking that loving someone was worth it. “I could try to get you out, too.”

The woman sighed. “I’ve got cancer. He says I’ve got maybe two months,” she said. “And those chances are calculated based on me lying still in this bed, hooked up to these machines.” She gestured weakly at the set-up around her. “I’m determined to hold on to every second I have left.”

“Maybe I could get a message to someone outside?”

“There isn’t anyone,” she said. “That’s part of how I ended up inside in the first place.”

That was something Allie understood all too well. “Thank you for helping me.”

“It probably won’t be enough.”

With that encouragement, the woman gave her directions, her face more animated than it had been. Allie saw that she must have been beautiful before she got sick. And she was still young--forties, fifties at best. She didn’t deserve to die. She didn’t deserve to die trapped inside the Judicature. Allie repeated the woman’s instructions back to her at her urging. “I’ll try to find a way to come back for you,” she said. “I’m a doctor. I was a doctor. I could help you convalesce away from here.”

“No,” said the woman. “If you’re lucky enough to get away, don’t do anything so stupid as coming back. Two minutes after you leave this room, I’m going to pull out my I.V. The machines will go nuts and he’ll come here to check on me. That’s the best I can give you.”

“Thank you,” said Allie. She leaned in and gave the woman a kiss on the cheek. Her skin was paper-thin and soft, as if she were slowly crumbling away, wearing down into nothing. The woman’s pale blue eyes met her own as she pulled away and Allie thought for a moment that she recognized her from somewhere. It was possible. Allie had been in the Judicature long enough to meet a large portion of the membership, at least in passing. But despite the sense of familiarity, she couldn’t place her.

“Go,” the woman said. “You were lucky to choose this room to hide, but your luck could run out at any moment.”

Allie went.

###

Roman chastised himself he walked the hallways near Alianna’s room. She hadn’t left the hospital--all the exterior doors and windows were alarmed. But she had escaped her room with ease. Ormond had warned him that she was an escape artist. He had no one but himself to blame. He needed to recover her quickly to reestablish the power dynamic between them.

Still, he had to admit that a small part of him welcomed the chase. The challenge. He could have gone directly to the security office and demanded that they search the cameras. The hospital, like any Judicature facility, was crawling with them. Instead, he was seeking her on his own, trying to decide what she would do and where she would go. She might not know that the exterior windows were alarmed with glass break sensors, but she would know that the sound of breaking glass would alert him to her location. Her best bet was to find a door and make a break for it from there, hoping to outrun him.

He decided to check the fire doors, starting with the second floor. They were the only doors that remained unlocked at night. He was halfway there when two alarms sounded almost at once. One, from the monitor at his belt connected to the room of his patient. One from the distant door. Cursing, he had a moment of indecision. Most likely, his patient was all right. She sometimes thrashed in her sleep, undoing the careful assemblage of wires and tubes feeding medicine into her body and checking her vitals. But--he would not forgive himself if it was serious and she was alone when she died. He had promised her that, although he could give her little else in the way of mercy.

Intending to go after his new pet at the first opportunity, he turned and stalked towards his patient.

###

Allie hunched over her drink where it sat dripping condensation onto the dark wood of the bar. The entire place was done up in an industrial theme--metal and reclaimed wood. The music echoed painfully off all the hard angles, adding to the pounding in her head. She hadn’t had a lot of options for where to run and at least the bar was dark.

Not dark enough to hide the fact that she was bleeding for much longer. If the stains on her shirt weren’t enough, her wound had opened up while she was running. She had stolen a heavy sweater off the back of a chair and she was wearing it now despite the heat of the bodies packed close in the crowded club. She had brushed the dirt out of her hair over the bathroom sink and used a pen to hold it up in a messy bun on top of her head. Most importantly, she had stolen a purse and used the makeup inside to hide most of the bruise under her left eye--and the money to buy herself the drink and, therefore, a reason to linger. But she could feel the blood seeping from the wound. Soon, it would seep all the way through and someone was bound to notice that. It would completely ruin her carefully stolen outfit.

At least she had shaken that bastard. She hadn’t made it very far from the hospital, but this was just one of several scummy bars near the airport. He wouldn’t know where to find her. As soon as her head stopped spinning, she intended to convince some loser to take her home. Then, she would knock him out with the syringe she’d stolen from the hospital and “borrow” some cash and his car to get out of range.

It had been her plan all along to get Ormond to ditch her. It hadn’t taken much. She’s escaped at every opportunity, but instead of trying to leave the grounds of his house--a likely death sentence--she took to appearing wherever Ormond was in order to threaten him. Then, when he went screaming to the rest of the household, she retreated into a weak, submissive shell, making the man look nearly insane for all his fear. The last attack had been the final straw for Ormond. She had joined him in the shower and held a knife to his dick. She would have actually cut it off, too, if it weren’t for the fact that he might easily have bled to death. She wasn’t looking to be branded a murderer, just a troublemaker.

But Ormond had surprised her after all. She had expected that he would be too embarrassed to bring her to the attention of anyone in the upper echelons of the Judicature. She had intended for him to send her away somewhere--a Judicature facility, like the hospital, from which she could more easily escape. Instead, he had brought her to the city and handed her over to that smirking idiot. Escape had still been within reach, but now she was nursing an injury.

Fucking Ormond. Even now, it was only a minor consolation that she had never allowed the fat bastard to fuck her. She knew he had intended to use her that way because he had told her. But he quickly became much too afraid.

The thought made her smile for the first time in days and she gave her drink a stir, wondering if she could stomach a few sips.

“I’d love to know what you’re smiling about.”

She turned around on her stool, intending to tell whoever was hitting on her that they could fuck right off. Instead, she almost fell out of her seat.

It was him. Roman.

Quickly, she gathered her wits. He wasn’t going to want to make a scene dragging her off in the middle of the city. Eights were supposed to be under control. Biddable. Secret. He knew now that she wasn’t willing to be any of those things.

“I was smiling because I managed to shake a bad date this evening,” she said, continuing to stir her cocktail, willing her hand to keep steady.

“Is that so?” asked Roman. “I can’t imagine the man who would let you get away.” He took in her stolen outfit, his eyes lingering long enough on her neck to make her uncomfortable.

“Most men find me to be more trouble than I’m worth,” said Allie, taking a careful sip of her drink. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I’d prefer to drink alone.”

“Funny, considering you chose such a crowded bar.” He leaned against the counter next to her, completely at ease.

He was terrifyingly handsome. He had ditched his coat and he was wearing a turtleneck that clung to his muscled chest and a pair of casual, faded jeans that had probably cost a fortune. His dark hair fell over one eye, giving him a deceptively boyish look. She guessed he was in his late thirties, at most.

“I was hoping to get lost in the crowd,” she said. “It didn’t work.”

“No,” said Roman, shaking his head. “It didn’t.”

Setting aside the witty banter, Allie placed both her palms flat on the counter. “I’ll make a fucking scene if you try to take me out of here,” she said, her voice a steady whisper. “I’ll rant and rave about underground criminals and slaves and war. I’ll make it incredibly convincing. It isn’t even worth it, trying to take me.”

“Oh, I have to disagree,” said Roman. “I’m very much looking forward to working with you, Miss Williams.”

Allie stiffened. Of course, he would know her name. Ormond would have told him. But having him offer it to her without any real introduction served to highlight the power imbalance between them. Before she could think of a comeback, he was talking again, leaning in and whispering in her ear with all the familiarity of a lover.

“If you were hoping to dissuade me, Alianna, you’ve done a terrible job. You see, I’m very loyal to the Judicature. But more than that, I deeply enjoy a challenge. And you seem to offer at least the possibility of an interesting couple of weeks.”

“Is that how long it will be before you have me declared Level Ten?” asked Allie.

“Oh, no,” said Roman silkily. “I don’t think that you’re nearly as dangerous as Ormond seems to believe. In a few weeks, I’ll have you broken to my hand. I’ll miss this fire, of course,” he said, reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “but having you under my thumb will dull any lingering disappointment.”

Allie snorted. “That will never happen.”

“We’ll see.” Roman reached out and placed one hand at her side, right over the place where her wound had re-opened. He pressed down and Allie bit back a scream. Instantly, the pressure ceased, but he was still holding her. “You could make a scene, Miss Williams,” he said. “It would be a bit of an inconvenience, but you could do it. If you insist on it, however, I will be forced to take advantage of your injury, allowing you to bleed until you pass out--a circumstance that is closer to reality than you seem to think.”

As if his words had conjured the feeling, Allie felt the room begin to spin. She had lost a lot of blood and besides that, Ormond hadn’t fed her for almost four days.

Roman began speaking again, and Allie tried to focus on staying alert, staying awake. Somehow, the effort caused his voice to fill her entire world, acting as a kind of compass, a point of focus. His words drilled into her brain. “Beyond that, Miss. Williams, I have to imagine that a girl who would go to such lengths to defy the Judicature had a very good reason for catching their attention in the first place. Right now, my attentions are focused on you and you alone. And once you’re trained to my hand, I’ll have little reason to care where you’ve come from. You won’t care, either. You’ll think only of pleasing me. You won’t care if you’re worshipping my cock or licking my boots, as long as you’re doing my bidding.”

Allie tried to jerk away from his vulgar words, but his grip tightened on her arm again and it was all she could do to stay conscious as pain shot from her wrist to her shoulder.

“If you cause me trouble, Aliana, I will take an interest in whatever it is that brought you to the Judicature in the first place. I’ll find out what you wanted, what you were trying to gain or to protect, and then I’ll find a way to possess every inch of it. I’ll tear apart your life and make you watch it burn before I give you the release of servitude. It’s an ugly way to break someone, but I’m quite capable of doing it--if you push me.”

“I really don’t like you,” Allie managed, her voice thick.

Roman laughed. “A shame,” he said, not sounding as if he cared in the least. “I find you charming.”

Allie marshalled her wits, fighting back the haze at the edges of her vision. She turned to look at him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. “Is that a promise then? I go with you now, and you’ll try to make me your slave, but you won’t go digging around in my past or my reasons for coming to the Judicature in the first place?”

For a moment, Roman looked taken aback. “It will be a challenge, taking your past off the table,” said Roman. “But I think I would enjoy a challenge with you. Come quietly, and you have my word. My focus will be only on you. The rest--” He waved his hand as if to benevolently dismiss everything she had ever been, everything she cared about. Everyone she loved.

“Fine,” she said. “It’s a deal. I’ll leave the club quietly, you’ll leave my past alone.”

“I’m giving you an awful lot, you know,” said Roman. “In the end, if I had to drag you out of here screaming, it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.”

“Well, you won’t have to.” said Allie thickly. “Because I’m going to faint instead.” True to her word, she reluctantly gave in to the haze that had been threatening to claim her and fell into Roman’s waiting arms.

###

In the end, Roman did make somewhat of a scene getting the girl out of the club. More than one patron had been a bit concerned about the fact that he was carrying away an unconscious young woman. “My sister,” he explained, when the bouncer tried to stop him. “She’s underage, so I suggest you let us out of here before I call the cops.”

That had worked, but he would have preferred for things to be less conspicuous. The drug he had slipped into her drink shouldn’t have hit her so strongly, especially when she had only taken a handful of sips. He realized now that she probably hadn’t eaten much in Ormond’s care and he cursed the man for treating her so carelessly. Of course he hadn’t been able to control her--he had sought to dominate her without any respect between them. In Ormond’s care, the girl was dangerous, because the man was not capable of controlling someone so fiery and intelligent.

Roman, on the other hand, knew exactly how to handle her. If her escape had surprised him, it was only because he hadn’t forced her to show all of her cards. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Importantly, he was also aware that he would make new mistakes--he would plan for her to surprise him and soon she would be out of ideas, left with no choice but to show him obedience.

She stayed unconscious while he bathed her and dressed her wounds. He didn’t tie her--it hadn’t worked. Instead, he snapped a slim, onyx bracelet around her wrist. The jewelry was too close to her skin to be removed with anything other than a dedicated electronic key and it contained a tracking device as well as a recorder. He would not take chances. He could have relied on an implant for convenience as well as subtlety. But he wished for the girl to be reminded that she was under his control. He knew she would hate the feel of the cold metal against her skin. Perhaps, in future, he would have a collar made for her. She would hate it even more when he leashed her and forced her to crawl next to him around the grounds. Normally, he wasn’t much for crawling, but he relished the image of Aliana on her knees, doing his bidding.

There were all sorts of interesting things he intended for her to do on her knees.

First, he needed to tend to her, to allow her to heal. He would not take advantage of old injuries. At least, he would not use her weakened state to dominate her and then allow himself to be surprised when she rebounded. He had no real concerns about bringing her to heel even when she was well and he wanted her to be ready for his attentions.

It would be a battle and he relished it. To think, he had been feeling bored, not knowing that Ormond was about to deliver such a delightful parcel to his doorstep.

“Sleep well, Aliana,” he said, running a hand down the curve of her body. “We have work to do.”

###

When Allie woke up, she was surprised to find herself unbound. Ormond had been almost fanatical about draping her in ropes and chains. Of course, escaping those sort of things was one of the first things Crash had taught her all those years ago. The challenge had given her something to do.

Now she realized that it was almost more frightening to be unbound, as if she wasn’t a threat at all. She sat up and rubbed at her head. The movement made her want to be sick.

No, definitely not much of a threat.

“Good morning.” Allie moved her head towards the sound, groaning out loud when she saw Roman smirking at her from behind a desk set under the room’s only window. “You look like you have a hell of a headache.”

“It would appear that someone drugged my drink,” said Allie darkly. “You did, didn’t you?”

Roman nodded. “It wouldn’t have had such a dramatic effect if you’d eaten anything in recent memory. That tray there is for you. Eat before you pass out again.”

Allie looked where he was pointing. There was a small tray on the table next to the couch. It held a glass of orange juice and three pieces of dry toast.

“I’d prefer something a bit more substantial,” said Allie. “Pancakes? An omelet?”

“Impress me by keeping that down and perhaps we’ll talk about that,” said Roman, refusing to rise to the bait. Allie realized that he was wearing glasses--thin, black wire frames that made him look, if possible, more rakish and handsome. Weren’t people supposed to look worse wearing glasses?

She didn’t want to obey him, but her stomach ached with hunger. And he was probably correct that if she tried to eat anything ambitious, she’d be sick. Even before Ormond had stopped feeding her, the food that had been on offer had been meager and bland. She hadn’t had pancakes since--well, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had had pancakes.

Of all the injustices that her life in the Judicature had brought her, she silently ranked that one somewhere up near the top.

Roman was deliberately ignoring her, so she studied him while she chewed the dry toast, washing it down with the watered-down orange juice. He appeared to be absorbed in whatever it was he was reading. Now and then, he looked up and typed something on the computer set up in one corner of the desk. To her amusement, Ali realized that he appeared to have to hunt and peck for the keys. Ali raised her arm to take another sip of orange juice. Perhaps it was the fact that she had finally eaten, but the motion made her aware of something that had escaped her grasp until that moment. Her side had been bandaged again. And she must have been given a painkiller, too, or else they would hurt a hell of a lot worse than the dull ache she was experiencing now. The next thing she realized was that the clothes weren’t hers--not the ones she’d been wearing when she left Ormond’s compound and not the ones she’d stolen at the bar.

“Did you undress me?” she asked, incredulous.

Roman glanced up at the sound of her voice. “Yes,” he said. “I dressed you as well. It didn’t seem prudent to do one without the other. And the clothes you were wearing were filthy.”

Allie considered the fact that he had seen her naked body. Twice, if he had been the one to put her in that hospital gown. “You didn’t take advantage of me while I was unconscious, did you?”

Roman, who had already returned his attention to his work, looked at her again, his lip curled in distaste. “I don’t enjoy unconscious women,” he said. “They don’t know they’re being dominated. Takes all the fun out of it.”

This time, he kept staring at her. Allie appreciated that she was no longer being treated like a breathing piece of furniture. But having his attention came with its own problems. Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to her. “What about my dose of Bitter?” She needed to take a dose every twenty-four hours. If Roman had forgotten…

“You had it in your I.V. at the hospital,” said Roman. “You’re not due until this evening.”

Trying not to let her relief show, Allie rubbed at a red mark on her wrist left behind by one of Ormond’s chains. “Why did you leave me unbound?”

“Because I’ve determined that tying you up doesn’t do much good,” said Roman. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” said Allie. “But that didn’t stop Ormond from trying it.”

“Ormond is an idiot,” said Roman. “And I have no concerns about you escaping while you’re in my care.”

“I did last night,” said Allie. Reminding him was probably unwise, but she couldn’t stand how smug he was all the time. How calm and domineering.

“Yes. That was a miscalculation on my part. You’re supposed to be eating.”

“You’re a bit controlling,” said Allie, eying the last of the toast. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Now, eat your breakfast. You won’t be able to spar for long if you pass out again.”

Allie’s hunger had faded, but she could see the logic in his threat. She took another tiny bit of toast and chewed it thoughtfully, casually casing the room for escape routes as well as possible weapons. When she didn’t find anything particularly promising, she decided it made sense to learn more about her new captor. “Who are you?” she asked.

Roman took off his glasses and folded them, setting them on the edge of the desk. “I didn’t expect you to wake up feeling so talkative,” he said. “Why don’t you start by telling me who you are?”

“You know my name,” said Allie. “You said it in the bar.”

“Yes,” said Roman. “But I don’t know how you ended up in the care of the Judicature.”

“You promised not to try to find out,” said Allie.

“I promised not to dig up your file,” said Roman, waving a hand dismissively. “I can still ask questions. You should have negotiated more carefully.”

She neglected to remind him that she had been on the verge of passing out. “I’m not anyone important,” said Allie. “Being assigned to Ormond ought to be proof of that. What I don’t understand is why I don’t know who you are. Ormond deferred to you. I’m willing to bet he would even have been a little bit afraid of you--if he weren’t busy being terrified by me,” Allie added, still pleased with her victory over Ormond even if it had ended her up trapped with this asshole. “I’ve never heard of you.”

“No?” said Roman. “How disappointing.”

He didn’t sound disappointed at all. “I’ve been in long enough to know that those in power aren’t likely to be quiet about it.”

“Perhaps I’m not powerful at all,” said Roman. “Would it disappoint you to be forced to serve a lowly secretary?”

“It would disappoint me to be forced to serve anyone,” said Allie.

“I’m the man who’s going to master you,” said Roman. “That’s all you need to know about who I am.”

Allie deliberately set down the crust of her toast. “Don’t you feel ridiculous saying that?”

“No,” said Roman. And the way he looked at her made Allie’s stomach twist with fear.

“I will never call anyone my master,” said Allie.

“Not very convincing,” said Roman.

Frustrated, Allie stood up. The door was only a few yards away. She wasn’t chained. Now was as good a time as any to figure out what it would take to make this asshole give up on her. Her hand was already twisting the knob before the warning came.

“Don’t open that door, Aliana,” said Roman.

Defiant, Allie pushed. She had time to take in the wood floor of the hallway, the stairs rolling away from her into darkness. Then, impossibly fast, he was on her. He dragged her back towards the couch, easily fending off every move she made to escape him. When they reached the couch, he sat down and dragged her over his lap, with her face pressed against the couch cushions.

“Let go of me!”

“Normally, I would whip you for that, but something tells me a spanking will be all the more humiliating for you.”

“No!” Allie twisted, trying to buck him off. He pressed one hand to her neck and when she moved again and a sharp pain radiated up and down her back.

“Pressure point,” said Roman calmly as she screamed. He let her continue to fight, but his hand didn’t move and eventually, she couldn’t stand the pain anymore. When she stilled, tears burning in her eyes, he reached down and slid her pants down over her ass. “I’m going to hit you five times,” said Roman. “But you have to count. If you refuse or if you stop, I’ll keep going.”

“Don’t do this,” said Allie, her face burning as he pressed his palm firmly against her bare flash. “Please, don’t. I won’t try to escape again. I--”

“Don’t lie, Aliana, or I’ll punish you for that, too.” With that, he raised his hand and brought it crashing back down. Allie hissed at the pain. Anticipating it, she had expected it would hurt, but it was worse than she imagined. She was already sore from being dragged around by Ormond. And despite all the indignities of the past few years, no one had ever spanked her before. There was a long silence and Allie tried to breathe, bracing herself for the next blow. When it didn’t come, she realized what was happening.

He was waiting for her to count.

“Aliana,” said Roman. “If you don’t count, we’re starting over.”

“Why are you doing this?” she said, hating the way her voice rose on a soft whine.

Roman hit her again, landing in the same spot already stinging from the last blow. “Why? Because it will be easier for you when you recognize your position. Because I intend for you to learn to be obedient, so that you will not even think of asking me ‘why’. Are you going to count?”

Allie stayed silent. Every ounce of her attention was focused on keeping back tears. They were tears of anger, but she didn’t trust him to know it. She wouldn’t let him think that she was ready to weep in despair.

In a distant part of her mind, she questioned her tactics. With Ormond, she had been careful to seem weak until showing her strength had suited her purposes. With Roman, she was rising to the temptation to fight right out of the gate. Worse, she was showing him almost everything she had and he was blasting through her meager defenses. Why was she losing sight of her tactics? Why--

She lost track of that line of thought when Roman’s hand came down again. And again.

She didn’t know when she decided to start counting. She heard her own voice, a harsh whisper, as if it were coming from across the room. Someone else. Something else. Nothing to do with this humiliating, pointless display of force by her latest captor. And if Roman seemed to take a small amount of pity on her and hurry the punishment to its conclusion, she didn’t notice that either. She felt him tug her pants back into place, wincing only slightly when the fabric scraped over tender skin. He lifted her, propping her up on the couch next to him, holding her left arm to keep her from shying away or lying down and curling up into a ball. He gripped her arm more tightly and used the other hand to lift her chin so that she was forced to look into his eyes. Even his gaze seemed to come from far away, a strange, fuzzy piece of a world Allie couldn’t quite access. He looked so young. And he almost seemed concerned as he looked into her face, as if he were searching for something.

“Interesting,” he said. And then he smiled.

Allie used what little sense of self she had left to shake off his hand and he let her. He stood up and went back to his desk, returning to his paperwork as if nothing at all had happened.

“You may sleep if you wish,” said Roman. “Someone will bring some more food in a few hours, assuming you keep your breakfast down.”

“Here?” asked Allie, beginning to surface. Did this psychopath really think she would curl up and nap on his couch after that? Was she supposed to think he was kind?

Roman ignored her tone. “I’ve decided that your training will progress more quickly if you stay in my company. We’ll be spending all of our time together until I decide otherwise.”

###

Roman was true to his word. He dragged Allie around with him like a disobedient puppy. Most of his time seemed to be spent in his office, but he had lunch on the terrace and Allie was forced to sit with him. She used the time to glare at him in between bites of the admittedly amazing food provided by his quiet housekeeper--Mila? Mina? Allie’s disdain did not appear to have any effect on his appetite.

At the end of her first full day in Roman’s care, he led her from the office to a large upstairs bedroom. When she saw the bed, she balked and he had to drag her into the room. Once they were inside, he reached for her and she flinched, remembering the spanking. As soon as she did it, she cursed herself. She would rather endure a thousand spankings than let Roman see that she was afraid. But Roman didn’t try to punish her.

“Here,” he said. He pressed a dose of Bitter into her hand. Watching him with disdain, Allie took it and placed it on her tongue.

“You will sleep in the bed so that I don’t have to worry about you sneaking off and getting up to whatever it was that scared the shit out of Ormond,” said Roman. “I’m a light sleeper.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” said Allie.

“You will and it’s only sleep,” said Roman. “On my honor.”

“Do you have any honor?”

Instead of answering, Roman tossed her a robe and told her to shower. “When you’re done, I’ll replace that bandage on your arm.”

Lying next to him later, Allie felt as if her body must have shrunk thanks to the tension in her muscles. But slowly, as Roman breathed quietly beside her, she found herself drifting and eventually she did sleep.

When she woke up, Crash was standing over her.

He was as handsome as ever, but his face looked cruel. “Cuddled up with the enemy, Allie girl?” he said.

Allie glanced at Roman. He didn’t stir. So much for being a light sleeper. “How did you find me?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” said Crash. “I was able to find you here and get to you despite a pretty high-tech security system. Yet, you had years on the outside to look for me and you never did.”

“I did!” said Allie. She sat up too fast and Roman stirred next to her. She knew she shouldn’t speak again, but she was desperate to make Crash understand. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged him close. “I looked,” she said, her voice an angry whisper. “I did everything I could. But the Judicature didn’t want you to be found. All anyone would tell me was that you were serving a sentence. I knew you were alive, but every attempt to find out where led to a dead end. Until--until it led to my own sentence.” She gestured at the room around her. A prison.

“This is supposed to be your punishment, Allie Cat?” asked Crash. He looked around, taking in the modern chandelier over the bed, the sleek, expensive furniture and the plush carpet underfoot. “My prison was a hell of a lot less cozy.”

Then, he was on her, his hands around her neck. Allie screamed. Or--she tried. All that came out was a choked kind of moan. She thrashed in his grip, trying to speak, realizing that she was still desperate to make him understand that she had tried. More desperate than she was for air. “Crash, please!” she managed, grasping at his hands where they were locked around her neck. “Please!”

Suddenly, Crash’s hands fell to her shoulders. He was shaking her, calling her name.

“Aliana.”

Crash never called her that.

“Aliana.” That voice--Allie opened her eyes, expecting to see Crash. Instead, Roman was frowning at her, looming over her in the bed that he had forced her to share. “You were dreaming,” he said, his voice calm. “You were having a nightmare.”

Allie tried to jerk out of his grasp, but he held her still. “Tell me what it was about.”

“I don’t remember,” said Allie, trying again to get away.

“You’re lying,” said Roman.

“Why do you care?”

“I’d like to know why I was woken up.”

“So I’m not even allowed to dream without your leave? You were woken up because you made me sleep next to you!”

Roman stared at her. His expression made her feel odd--small and childish. She opened her mouth to argue further and found that she couldn’t remember exactly where she had been going. She only knew that she was angry and hurt and-- “You’re a real bastard,” she said, falling back into the habit of her favorite insult. “And I hate you.”

Roman kept looking at her, that strange, empty expression on his face. Then he reached up and tugged her down next to him on the bed.

“What are you--” He grabbed her again, cutting off her protests. In a moment, she found herself splayed on her stomach over his legs, his hands tangled in her lightweight dress so that her ass was exposed. “Roman!”

She heard him reach for something on the bedside table and she knew instantly what he was going to do.

“No! Don’t do that. Don’t hit me! I’ll kill you.”

“Will you?” Roman asked, his voice devoid of emotion. Then, he brought the heavy hairbrush crashing down on her ass.

Allie screamed, bucking and twisting to try to escape his hold. He shifted his legs so that she fell against his chest and used the hairbrush to force her back into place. She tried to slap him and then to use her hands to protect herself, but he hit her hands, too, until she was forced to drag them away. His free hand tangled in her hair, pulling painfully, twisting and kneading until she was forced to stay still just to keep the pain from getting worse. When she finally fell still, the blows fell with renewed vigor until finally, finally, he stilled.

Allie couldn’t believe what had just happened. She wanted to move away from him, but she was too stunned. She tried to take a calming breath and it turned into a sob. Horrified, she swallowed, forcing back the tears. She would not cry.

It was Roman who finally moved. He slid further onto the bed, dragging her with him and pushing her carefully back onto the bed so that she was arranged on her stomach next to him. She turned her head to look at him, her face partly hidden by her tangled hair. “Roman--”

“Once you give in,” said Roman. “I won’t have to hurt you like that anymore.”

Roman reached out and brushed her tangled hair away from her face. He traced his finger over her cheek and smoothed away a tear she hadn’t realized she had shed.

She stared up at him, her heart pounding.

“Sleep. We’re getting up early. I want to be outside the city by dawn.”

Chapter Text

Roman woke her only a few hours later. It was still dark outside and as quiet as the city could get. In the garage of the large townhouse, he put her in the backseat of a mid-size SUV with tinted windows. Allie wanted to fight, but the activity of the last few days and her poor sleep last night was weighing on her. Almost as soon as Roman started the car, she fell asleep. When she woke, she found that her uninjured arm was chained to a bolt in the floor.

“What kind of person has their car set up like this?” she asked, tugging at the chain to test its limits.

“The kind of person who transports prisoners,” said Roman. “Especially the ones that have a habit of escaping.”

Allie tried to sit up but the landscape rushing by outside the car window made her head spin. Instead, she huddled back down against the car window, selecting the door handle opposite as a point of focus. She realized that there was something soft between her head and the door and she reached around, pressing her fingers against the strange shape.

A jacket, wadded up to provide a makeshift pillow. It smelled of spice and cold and the faintest hint of sweat. Roman’s, most likely. The gesture seemed incongruently gentle compared with his previous treatment of her. Although--she remembered the way he had acted in the hospital when she was truly ill. He wasn’t trying to make her comfortable or healthy for any reason but his own desire to have a functioning, pliant slave. Allie thought about dragging the jacket out from under her and discarding it, but her head hurt too much. “Where are we going?” she asked.

She hadn’t really expected an answer, but to her surprise, Roman provided one. “My house,” he said.

“So whatever you were doing in the city, it’s done?” asked Allie. She thought about the woman who had tried to help her. Had she died? Or simply been assigned to another doctor?

“For now,” said Roman, without elaborating.

Satisfied that the worst of the dizziness was behind her, Allie ventured another peek out the window, raising her head just enough to see the landscape outside the car. They were in the middle of nowhere. The road felt isolated, narrowing here and there to a single lane. It was getting dark and soon the only light would be from the car’s headlights--there weren’t streetlights or other houses to speak of.

Allie realized that she knew their direction--or, at least, she knew the kind of place he was taking her to. The Judicature called them “Manors.” They were large compounds for the enjoyment of the organization’s wealthy, secretive, and powerful leaders, mostly Level Ones. Most of them didn’t even appear on maps, building their own utility systems entirely off the grid, or, less commonly, using their wealth to buy silent, unrecorded access to existing lines. Allie had been to a handful of manors since she had become entangled with the Judicature. In fact, it was a Manor that had offered her the first glittering, deceptive glimpse of their world.

She was nineteen years old and desperately in love with Crash.

Of course, she had known him when his name had been “Jeremy.” But ever since his triumphant freshman year starting with the varsity football team, Jeremy had been “Crash.” He was the same person she had known--and loved--since childhood. And then again, he wasn’t.

The best evidence of that was baby Faith. His sophomore year of high school, Crash had gotten his girlfriend pregnant. They were both sixteen. His girlfriend, Layla, had dropped out of school at her parent’s urging and started home-schooling. The relationship hadn’t survived the turmoil. But Crash was determined to have a relationship with his daughter, Faith. He had quit football in his junior year so that he could work after school and on the weekends to pay the child support he owed to Layla. And every Sunday, instead of suiting up on the field, he spent the day with Faith.

That was why they had left town on a Monday morning. He hadn’t wanted to miss a day with his kid. Allie had spent the day with both of them. They had taken Faith to a park and out for ice cream. It wasn’t unusual for Allie to spend time with Crash and Faith. What was unusual was the way Crash had treated her. First, he had circled his arms around her waist while she stood at the edge of the playground, watching Faith play on the slide with a group of kids. Then, when they were out for ice cream, he had held her hand and, eventually, when she was breathing too fast, her entire world centered on his fingers tracing the lines in her palm, he had leaned over and kissed her.

In front of his daughter.

Faith had giggled and screeched and covered her eyes. Allie had pulled her hand away and shot him a look. But the kiss made her heart race. Crash had been with plenty of girls--women. But he would never kiss someone in front of Faith unless he was serious. It meant more than a million declarations of love--not that Crash had made any. It was what Allie had wanted since they were kids. For their relationship to be real. For Crash to love her.

Now, they were going away together. Not for long. Allie was already missing a day of classes. She had enrolled in college near home, ostensibly to save money, but mostly to stay close to Crash. Even so, it was a decent school and her classes were challenging--especially because she was already taking graduate courses in her specialty, computer science. Crash hadn’t enrolled in college, but he had computer skills that at least matched her own. She knew he made some of his money now as a hacker. He told her that the work was minor league--stealing email addresses and passwords. But today he was going to see about some job that required an in-person meeting.

He had asked her to tag along as a consultant. She hoped, deep down, that he simply didn’t want to be away from her.

They were going to stay overnight.

After four hours or so, Crash abandoned the GPS and started following directions scrawled onto the back of a receipt, cursing occasionally as he squinted at landmarks. “Is that fucking barn gray?” he asked, peering through the windshield at a derelict structure in the distance.

“It’s definitely green,” said Allie. “Here.” She took the receipt and started looking for the turns, smiling at Crash’s messy handwriting. He should have been a doctor. He still could be--if she could ever convince him to go back to school.

It was after lunch time when they made what Allie hoped was the correct and final turn. After miles of empty road, with no restaurants or even gas stations to speak of, it was a shock to turn a corner and find a massive house sprawled out in a hidden valley. They left the rough, country road, winding along a smooth asphalt drive. The place was really more of a compound than a house. Multiple buildings in the same style gathered around a central courtyard. On one turn, she saw a massive pool glittering in the sunlight.

“What is this place?” breathed Allie. “What is this job?”

“Big,” said Crash. And he could have been answering either question.

The car was searched before they were granted passage through an ornate metal gate. They parked in front of the largest structure and a man in uniform came out to meet them, leading them into the house. Allie felt self conscious in her jeans and cable knit sweater.

“Is he an actual butler?” she whispered to Crash.

He smiled, but didn’t answer, holding a finger to his lips. Being shushed made Allie feel like a child, but the minor sting faded when Crash reached out and took her hand.

The butler led them through a series of opulent hallways and through a closed door into a kind of solarium. The walls were all glass, beaded here and there with condensation, and there were citrus trees blooming everywhere. Everywhere except for the circular patio at the center where a portly older man sat reading a newspaper and eating a plate of scrambled eggs.

“Oliver, Mr. Jeremy Norrington here to see you.”

Allie felt Crash stiffen at the formal name. “Crash,” he said, dropping Allie’s hand and going to meet the man. The man ignored him for a moment, obviously absorbed in whatever he was reading. Then he closed the paper with a snap and stood, shaking Crash’s hand with a wide smile. “Crash,” he said. “What an unusual nickname. I do hope it isn’t indicative of what you do to computers.”

“Only when that’s why I’m getting paid,” said Crash.

The man nodded, laughing more heartily than Crash’s small joke warranted. His gaze fell on Allie and he raised an eyebrow. “And who is this lovely young woman?”

Alle felt herself flush. Her hands went to her sides. She had intended to hide them in her jacket, a defensive gesture, but then she remembered that the butler had taken their coats. She settled for looping her thumbs through her belt loops, attempting a smile in the stranger’s direction.

“This is my girlfriend, Allie,” said Crash. “She’s good with computers and trustworthy. Based on what you said on the phone, I thought I might need a second pair of hands.”

Allie’s stomach flip-flopped at the casual way Crash called her his girlfriend. At the same time, a tiny part of her bristled. She wasn’t just “good with computers.” Her skills were on par with Crash’s. Maybe better, sometimes, because of her formal training. Of course, the man didn’t really care. Maybe Crash was trying to protect her by playing down her abilities. So that she would only be drawn in if she was really needed.

She didn’t want to do anything illegal.

The butler cleared away the breakfast plates promising to send in some coffee for all three of them. Then, Crash and Allie sat down at the small table while the stranger, a man called Oliver Tk, described the job that would change both of their lives.

Of course, Allie hadn’t known it then. Her mind had simply been racing with the magnitude of it. The possibilities. She considered the dangers, of course. But with Crash next to her, none of them seemed real. And the promises Oliver made--it seemed as if nothing could touch them.

Then, the coffee arrived. Allie was so focused on the conversation, she didn’t notice that it was being served until a hand reached around and placed a mug in front of her. She saw that Oliver and Crash already had theirs and she turned to thank the server, expecting the butler. She almost upset her cup when she saw who the server actually was.

The woman was beautiful. Long blonde hair, bright blue eyes. What was shocking was the fact that she was completely naked but for a few strips of nearly see-through white fabric. She didn’t seem concerned that Allie had noticed her. “Would you like cream or sugar?” she asked, leaning in towards Allie, her voice soft.
“Ah...um…” said Allie, trying to gather her wits.

Crash reached out and placed a hand over her cup. “She takes it black,” he said. “Thanks.”

The woman nodded and inquired if anyone else was in need of service. When Crash and Oliver declined, she lowered herself gracefully to the floor and crawled--actually crawled on all fours--to Oliver’s side before kneeling next to his chair, head down and legs ever so slightly apart.

Oliver and Allie both noticed that Crash was staring. Allie looked away, toying with her coffee, telling herself that anyone would be staring at such a strange display. Oliver laughed.

“Isn’t Maura beautiful?” he asked. Out of the corner of her eye, Allie saw that he had lowered a hand to pat the woman’s head.

“Ah, yes,” said Crash. “Of course.”

“She is completely loyal to me,” said Oliver. “Subservient. We can continue to discuss the job if you have any questions.”

“I think I’ve got everything I need,” said Crash. “It will take me a few weeks to plan and execute.”

“Fine,” said Oliver with a short nod. “Now, it’s much too long of a drive for you to accomplish twice in one day. The two of you will stay the night here and depart after breakfast.”

“That’s very generous,” said Crash.

“If we left today, I could get back in time for my Tuesday classes,” said Allie.

Crash’s gaze met hers and she knew instantly that he was annoyed. He still wanted to stay, probably thought it was important to build trust before this crazy job. But Allie felt uncomfortable. And it was true that she didn’t really want to miss another day of classes.

“A scholar?” said Oliver with mild interest. “Where?”

“Tyler College,” said Allie. “It’s tiny. But close to home.”

“Lovely,” said Oliver. “Well, up to you. The room is prepared.”

“We’ll stay,” said Crash quickly. “Thanks so much.”

“Yes,” said Allie, trying not to look at the woman and almost succeeding. “Thank you.”

“Evan will show you,” said Oliver, dismissing them with a wave. The butler was indeed standing in the doorway. Allie hadn’t even noticed his return. Crash took her hand and she followed him out of the room. She couldn’t help one last glance over her shoulder.

Oliver was reading the paper again. And the woman--the beautiful, naked woman who had to be at least twenty years his junior--was crawling under the table, her small hand reaching for the buttons on his pants.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked Crash as soon as they were alone.

“Watch your fucking language,” said Crash. He was fiddling with the panel on the wall of the massive guestroom, pressing all of the buttons. The recessed lights went on and off, then the accent lighting behind the large wall of bookshelves. On the last press, the curtains over the windows parted to reveal the wild, empty landscape outside the house. “Yes! This place is amazing.”

“You don’t think it’s a little overdone? And seriously, what was up with that woman?”

“Far be it from me to question a relationship between consenting adults,” said Crash. He flopped onto the giant bed, reaching over his head to grab a pillow. “Come here.”

“Do you really think she was consenting?” asked Allie. “To crawling around like that? And being naked?”

“Some people like that stuff,” said Crash. His tone was light, but Allie could tell he was getting annoyed. He didn’t want to talk about the woman. He wanted to enjoy their night at the manor. And plan for the job.

Allie had questions about that too. There were multiple scenarios in which what Oliver had asked them to do became a suicide mission. But she couldn’t focus on that. She was focused on Crash evading the conversation about the strange behavior between Oliver and his...what was she?

“Was she his girlfriend, do you think?” asked Allie. “Or his--submissive?”

“You’ve been reading too many books,” said Crash.

“Seriously, Crash!” said Allie. She moved towards the bed. Crash had put the pillow over his head and she felt braver when he wasn’t watching. “You don’t think that was a little...bizarre?”

Crash knew the moment she sat down on the bed and he reached out one strong arm and grabbed her, pulling her close. “I don’t know,” he said, tossing the pillow out of the way and turning to look at her. “Kind of weird. Kind of...hot.”

Allie tried not to let on how his words affected her. “That’s what you want? A girlfriend who crawls around on the floor?”

“Allie, don’t be stupid,” said Crash.

She fell silent, embarrassed at the way this conversation was going. She had expected Crash to want to talk about what they had seen. She had been fairly bursting with questions and opinions during their entire walk through the mansion with that butler, biding her time until they were alone and they could both share their shock at what had occurred.

But Crash didn’t seem to care.

“Is that what you want me to do?” asked Allie. Once the question was out, she turned sideways on the bed and buried her face in his chest, too embarrassed to look at him.

She felt a laugh rumble through his powerful torso and a surge of anger swept through her to think that he was laughing at her. She felt his hand tangling in her hair, the other coming up to stroke her back, and the rage receded almost instantly.

“I want you, Allie,” said Crash. “However you’ll let me have you.”

The world seemed to stop. The weirdness of the day receded and all that mattered was the two of them in each other's arms. For so many years, Crash had been nothing more than a friend. Allie had always loved him. At first, it was a childish, possessive love, a kind of warmth that stole through her whenever they were together. She didn’t remember when the love had become something more--something romantic. Something that felt, at times, absolutely terrifying as it burned inside her, especially when Crash never seemed to be able to see it. Seemed to find it with everyone else. All those high school girlfriends. Layla.

And now he was lying here with her, telling her he wanted her. No matter what, no matter how--

“I want you, too,” she said, still hiding her face. “I want to--but…”

He didn’t let her finish. He rose up next to her, covering her body with his, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss. They had done--stuff. Kissed. But she had never--she wasn’t sure she was ready to--

But she couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t tell him how terrified she was. He wanted her. It wouldn’t matter if she didn’t know exactly what to do, if she wasn’t sure--because Crash was sure. And he was experienced. It didn’t have to hurt, knowing that, because he was with her now.

Soon, they were undressing each other. Or, mostly, Crash was undressing them both, but Allie tried to help. It was just that her hands were shaking.

She had never seen a man naked before. Not even Crash. They had bathed together when they were little, little kids. Swam naked in the creek. But it hadn’t been the same. She’d never even noticed the thing that was now pressing hard against her bare leg.

“Do you--do you have protection?” she asked.

“Not the first time, Allie,” said Crash. “We’ll get you Plan B tomorrow.”

“Crash--” Allie tried to push him away.

“I can pull out if you’re worried,” he said, sounding slightly annoyed. “The pull out method works fine as long as you do it. Layla and I were just stupid.”

“I wish you would wear a condom,” said Allie. “What’s the big deal?”

“It doesn’t feel the same, Allie,” said Crash. “Especially not for the guy. I don’t want anything coming between us the first time.”

“Oh,” said Allie. He tilted her chin up with one finger. Kissed her again. She kissed him back, but her mind was racing. Of course it didn’t feel the same. She had always wondered why people were so bad at using protection when health class made it sound so easy. Now she felt woefully naive. Of course it would feel different, skin to skin, when he was inside her. Allie probably could have figured that out, if she had ever allowed herself to think about it. The idea of Crash inside of her made her stomach clench and she pushed away all the worries. All the knowing better. And she started to run her hands up and down his bare chest, reveling in the way his muscles jumped under her hand.

“You can use your tongue, too,” said Crash. And he dipped his head down to demonstrate, taking one of her nipples into his mouth and sucking it between his teeth. Allie gasped and Crash laughed, not unkindly. Cautious, she lowered her head, laving her tongue over one of his nipples and then trailing kisses along his chest as far down as she dared. “Good,” said Crash, his voice sounding a little strained. “Now, why don’t you crawl for me, baby?”

Allie jerked her head up so fast she almost collided with Crash’s elbow. “What?”

“Kidding, Allie,” said Crash.

“You’re a jerk,” said Allie, trying to laugh.

“Am I?” His hand snaked down her body, caressing her stomach, her hip. Then, he was touching her, his fingers toying with her sex. She gasped when he grazed her clit. “You like that?”

Allie was too nervous to answer, so she nodded, lifting her head for another kiss. Crash obliged and at the same time his tongue pressed into her mouth, he slid a finger inside her. Allie tensed and then relaxed, her head spinning as she tried to take in the feeling of him touching her there. He curled his finger, exploring, leaning back to watch her face as if he were learning what each, specific touch could do. Without warning, a second finger joined the first and Allie gasped, surprised at how full she felt already. She still hadn’t looked, but she thought--she could feel Crash against her and she thought he was a lot bigger than two fingers.

He played with her for what felt like hours. Each time Allie thought she might be able to surface, to sort through the sensations radiating through her body, he changed the pace or the pressure or, a few times, he added a finger. She was squirming under him, desperate now for more but not knowing how to ask. She tried to show him how she felt without words, reaching for him with her own hands, but he caught her before she could touch him. “Not now, baby,” he said. “I don’t want to come too soon. You’re almost ready.”

Ready.

Allie was seized with the rather awkward thought that Crash was about to put his dick inside of her and she had never even seen it. Or touched it. Not that it mattered. He was Crash. She knew him. Knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Knew that he loved her. She thought he might have loved her even when he was Jeremy. It had just taken a while for him to figure it out.

“Oh, god, baby,” said Crash. “I can’t wait any longer.” He loomed over her, pressing her back into the mattress. She felt him moving between her legs and realized she was pressing them closed, tense again despite his ministrations. “It’s okay, baby,” he said, using his knee to gently force them apart. Then, before she could deny him again, he entered her.

She gasped at the sensation and Crash groaned. “So tight,” he said. “Oh god.”

He was stretching her much more than he had with his fingers. It felt strange but--kind of amazing.

“Just relax, baby,” said Crash. “Let me all the way in.”

Allie took a deep breath, letting her legs fall farther apart. There couldn’t be much more because she couldn’t take much more. But as soon as she allowed it, Crash surged forward, filling her beyond what she had thought was possible. He stopped and she thought he was all the way in, but then he kissed her forehead. “The first time can hurt,” he said. “But you’re so wet. I’ll do it quick.”

Then, he slammed the rest of the way into her. Allie felt something tear inside her and bit back a scream. She was more surprised than hurt. She felt remarkably, intensely full, as if Crash were inside more than just her sex, as if he had invaded every inch of her. Her stomach felt hollowed out, her breathing ragged.

“Okay?” asked Crash.

Allie nodded and almost immediately, he began to move. She felt him pressing in and out, angling so that he could go deeper. He grabbed her leg, pressing it up towards her head so that he could get a better angle. The position stretched Allie beyond what was comfortable, but she didn’t want him to stop. It was amazing feeling him inside her. Amazing and strange and wonderful. And if it was a little bit painful--well, that wasn’t something to complain about.

Eventually, Crash stilled inside her and she braced herself, thinking that he was going to come, wondering if she had already. She thought she probably would have noticed it. But she did feel good. Full. A little like she needed to pee.

But as he had promised, Crash pulled out of her with a groan, spurting semen onto her stomach and bare breasts before collapsing next to her. He raised a hand and collected some of it on one finger, bringing it to her lips. Allie pressed them shut. She couldn’t believe what he seemed to want her to do. But he ignored her protest, forcing his finger past her lips and pressing deep inside her mouth until she was forced to suck so that she wouldn’t gag.

“Have to get it inside you somehow,” said Crash, satisfied.

Allie considered that, at once intrigued and repulsed by the salty taste of him, the strange texture of his cum and the way it felt when he forced her to suck his finger.

Dirty. A little bit hot.

She realized that was close to what Crash had said about Oliver’s woman and she decided instantly that this was very, very different.

They left the Manor the next morning. The woman was there again at breakfast, wearing the same diaphanous, barely-there clothing that she had the day before. She served them all a plate and then she crawled to Oliver. He slapped her on the ass before she settled into position next to his chair. He ignored her completely as they ate, as if she were a piece of furniture and Allie and Crash followed his lead. Allie couldn’t help looking when Oliver occasionally reached down to feed her. He would take tiny bits of food off the plate without comment and the woman would open her mouth to receive them. It reminded her of Crash forcing his cum down her throat. And to Allie’s confusion, it kind of turned her on.

Nothing about that strange, deviant behavior should turn her on. What she and Crash had was miles away from this. People played games like this if they couldn’t enjoy each other, couldn’t connect in the normal, healthy way. Crash didn’t want her to crawl around on the floor and subjugate herself. He was better than Oliver. He would never slap her or willingly hurt her.

She was glad when they finally left. Glad that the butler was the one to show them to their car. She accepted her Target coat, still a bit embarrassed at the way her clothes looked next to the opulence of the secluded manor. Except for Allie interpreting the directions back to civilization, neither of them spoke until they had left the house behind them.

###

This time, there was none of the giddy excitement that she had felt all those years ago with Crash. The fog was still burning off the surrounding mountains as the compound came into view and Allie’s head hurt so much, she was barely able to take it all in. As promised, Roman hauled her after him into the house, dragging her around as he when directly to a large office and settled in. To her surprise, he acquiesced when she asked him if she could have something for her headache. In fact, the request seemed briefly, and unnervingly, to focus him on her completely. He watched as she downed two tablets with a glass of water, marking her movements when she handed it back and massaged the bridge of her nose. His fingers clasped the glass she had returned to him, and she had the wild sense that he was considering reaching for her and massaging away the hurt. She closed her eyes to avoid him and felt him push her into a chair with a mumbled, “Stay.”

Allie managed to escape from Roman around mid-day. He was called into a phone meeting with that he obviously didn’t want her to hear and left her outside his office with one hand chained to a marble bench. She removed a hook from a nearby curtain and had the cuff undone within minutes. She immediately made for the front doors and the outside. Her aim was to explore the walls looking for escape. But deep down, she knew that Roman would never have left her unguarded after she escaped from his car unless he was quite certain that she couldn’t make a real escape.

Even if she did find a way outside the walls, she had no way of knowing exactly where she was. She could try to find a phone, but there wasn’t any way to explain where she was, either. She had been passed out for much of the car ride. And even if she had been wide awake, the Judicature spent a lot of time and money making themselves hard to find. Even the police wouldn’t know where she was should they be able to contact her.

She did have one advantage over Roman. He believed that he held the reins of a unbreakable leash--her addiction to Bitter. He had no way of knowing or even suspecting that Allie had essentially kicked the habit. As far as Allie knew, she was the only one who had ever managed it. And even she would still be subject to her need for the drug every twenty-four hours if she hadn’t managed to hack her way to an alternative.

She had to play the advantage carefully, however. Let’s say she escaped the compound and then was re-captured outside the walls. If she missed a “dose” during that time, Roman would know something was up. She still had a small amount of pills stashed near the bar, so she could plausibly pretend that she’d expected to make it back to Chicago in time for her fix. But Allie wasn’t completely stupid...and Roman seemed to know it. Even to take such a risk would be difficult for someone who was truly in thrall to Bitter. It was a cruel, unshakeable addiction.
Aliana completed a cursory inspection of the walls until the woods made being systematic too difficult. Convinced of the difficulties of an immediate escape, she instead went about exploring the compound. At the very least, she could escape Roman as often as possible, returning only to receive her latest dose. That was how she had functioned with Ormond most of the time. Roman was more difficult than Ormond but he was also, obviously, very busy and if he had left her alone once, he would do it again. Even if he was going to return to find her gone. In the back of her mind, Allie knew that Roman might have left her on purpose, hoping to learn more about how she might escape so that he could further tighten the noose. But breathing in real, fresh air, she found that she didn’t particularly care. He would find her. He might be angry. But for now, this was as close to free as she could get.

Her wanderings brought her to the far side of the manor where large gardens sprawled out in carefully manicured shapes before fading into the forest. The garden seemed like it would require a lot of upkeep and Aliana wondered who took care of it. She had barely seen anyone since she had arrived. Only the housekeeper who had delivered her meals. She suspected that Mila was a level two or three--not truly enslaved but promised to serve the Judicature. Perhaps there were others like her who willingly served Roman. She couldn’t imagine it--but it was possible.

She wondered idly if Roman was keeping other people away from her. Or perhaps Ormond’s opinion of her had spread and others were staying away by choice. Even if they weren’t afraid, what good was it to befriend someone who might be declared a level ten? It wasn’t likely to be a long friendship or one that would be advantageous in the eyes of the Judicature.

Allie followed the shape of the garden path, keeping one hand to the wall in hopes that she wouldn’t get lost. In truth, she was surprised that Roman hadn’t come after her yet. Perhaps he would leave her be. She would sleep outside, under the stars. Alone. Free.

“Aliana.”

Or not.

Roman emerged from the topiaries on the opposite side of the garden. “Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around?”

“Yes. Tie you up and see how many ways you can escape.”

“You didn’t even really try this time,” said Aliana.

“I’m confident you will not be able to escape the grounds,” said Roman, confirming her suspicions. “Now, however, I require your presence. My dinner is getting cold and then it’s time for bed.”

Did he expect them to sleep together, too? Was this his way of telling her? If he forced her, she would find a way to cut off his dick. Roman reached for her and Allie flinched. He sighed heavily and took a step towards her. But in that moment, the wind that had been rustling through the gardens died down and Allie heard something else. Something that jogged a memory.

Her heart pounding, she moved towards the noise, ignoring Roman when he sighed again and fell into step behind her. The fountain wasn’t far--only a few yards away, placed in the center of the ornamental garden. As Allie approached, the twisted marble shapes surrounding it seemed to dance in the twilight. Still, she could make out that the faces of the tiny cherubs tangled in their crowd. And the fat one perched alone on one side of the fountain, mischievously peeing into the water below.

It was the strange and hideous fountain from Oliver’s house. But Oliver’s house hadn’t looked anything like this. Fighting back panic, Allie whirled on Roman. “Is this some kind of Judicature thing? Did you get a bunch of these fountains in a case lot or something?”

Roman looked at her as if she had gone a bit mad. Probably, she looked it. “As far as I know, this monstrosity is the only one of its kind. I re-designed the gardens but it was too difficult and expensive to move it considering our remote location.”

The fountain. It was the same one she had seen when she had visited Oliver with Crash almost ten years ago. Oliver had been head of the Judicature. And she knew enough of their workings now to know that the Tk always lived in the same house. Even with all the resources available to the Judicature, it wasn’t feasible to make another manor as impenetrable as this one to protect a Tk who wished to live elsewhere.

“This is your house?” asked Allie, her voice small but, thankfully, steady.

“It is,” said Roman. “If you hate the fountain that much, I suppose I might be convinced to part with it. It truly is horrendously ugly.”

Allie turned away from the fountain. It was truly getting dark now and she was grateful for the shadows lengthening across the garden. She didn’t want Roman to see what she had realized. Didn’t want him to ask. “I don’t care what you do with it,” said Allie, trying to regain some of her confidence and bluster. “Did you say something about dinner?”

“Yes,” said Roman. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”

He came closer and before she could react, he grabbed her hand. When he pulled away, she was holding a dose of Bitter.

“Ormond said he used to dose you at six,” said Roman. “And we kept to that schedule in the hospital. You ought to be raving for it by now. Perhaps Ormond was on to something when he said it didn’t affect you properly.”

Allie cursed herself for the mistake, but this was a scenario she had already played out in her head and the lie spooled out of her. It meant giving up an advantage, but it was worth it to protect the truth. Slowly, she reached a hand into her pocket. “I have my own stash,” she said. “Stole them from your office when you weren’t looking.”

She reached out and dropped three blue pills into his palm and then took a step back, fearful of how he might react. “Stole them?” asked Roman. “Why?”

“I don’t like being dependent on other people for my fix,” said Allie.

“And why confess now?”

The way he asked, Allie knew he was still suspicious. If she were a true addict, she might have lied and kept the pills hidden. She had given them up because she didn’t want him to probe further into the mechanics of her addiction. “You would have figured it out eventually,” said Allie. “I’m hoping you’ll have some mercy on me since I confessed.”

“Mercy,” repeated Roman, as if it were a foreign concept. “Perhaps. If you give me the one you kept.”

Allie took another step back, shaking her head. “I gave you what I have.”

“You palmed the one I just gave you and hid it,” said Roman.

She turned and ran, knowing that he would catch her. He wasn’t worried about her escaping, but he did not like being disobeyed. Her more minor escapes seemed to amuse him, but to escape the thrall of Bitter, the way it kept her tied to him, was something else. He caught her halfway back to the house, slamming her against his chest and holding her there while he caught his breath. Then, without preamble, he reached his hand into her pocket, retrieving the stolen pill. He turned out her other pockets for good measure, but she didn’t have anything else.

It made her twenty-four hour time clock tighter. But at least he seemed convinced by her little show. She had acted as an addict would, running off with her fix despite the consequences. “I think you see that I will allow you little indulgences,” said Roman, still holding her. His grip tightened, almost cutting off her breath. “I don’t mind if you snipe at me, even disobey me. We both know that I am dominant here. But there are limits, Aliana. And Bitter is one of them. No one will dose you except for me. Ever. I don’t care if you’re delirious with withdrawal. So keep that in mind when you consider running from me. I won’t always chase you with your fix. I might decide to let you come crawling back. Desperate.”

Allie was grateful for the way his harsh, possessive tone made her shiver. Grateful for the fact that his arms really were cutting off her breath so that she gasped for air when he finally let her go and she stumbled away. She was grateful because she knew he would interpret all of it as the fear of a true addict. Really, she was afraid to know the truth of how thoroughly Roman felt he owned her. Afraid to remember how vulnerable Bitter had made her and determined never to let it happen again.

Chapter Text

Roman watched the girl pick at her dinner. He still felt that she was too thin, but she wasn’t dangerously malnourished as she had been at the hospital. Content that he could force her to eat more at her next meal, he left her alone.

Only because it suited him. He intended to keep her guessing. Dominance was more than commands and battles. She needed to know that even these small moments of peace were given only at his leave. He intended to play off her need for risk--a need her felt quite certain that the girl didn’t realize she had. She was too smart for her own good and bored with the world around her. That restlessness was likely what had led her to get tangled up with the Judicature in the first place. It was what he would draw on now as he sought to control her, body and soul.

Because she was addicted to more than Bitter. She was addicted to the thrill of the chase and the fight. She could have escaped Ormond--it wouldn’t have been easy, but it would have been possible. Instead, she had stayed to torture the man. To show him that she was smarter, more powerful, even as she was classed as his slave. He would play on her competitive nature. Her gambler’s spirit. Keep her guessing as he slowly cornered her, bringing her to a point where she was truly unable to escape. So many of the women inside the Judicature gave themselves easily to a life of subjugation--and luxury. Alianna was different. Her submission would be a prize.

The thought of that moment--the dominance he would have over her--made his cock harden. She glanced at him across the table, as if she could read the lurid direction of his thoughts. He raised an eyebrow at her attention and she quickly dropped her gaze back to her plate, taking a tiny bite of her roll. “Not very hungry?” he asked, enjoying the fantasy of forcing her to take his cum into her belly.

“No,” said Alianna. “Thank you.”

“Fine,” he said. “Myra?”

His loyal housekeeper--a level three--swept into the room and removed both of their plates. It took a large staff to keep the house going, but he had ordered most of them to stay out of Alianna’s sight. The reason was twofold. One, he didn’t want her to know very much about the compound, considering her desire to escape and to cause trouble. More importantly, he wanted her isolated, dependent on him for everything from food to sleep to company. It was the reason he had ordered her to take Bitter only from his hand. He should have known she would have worked out a way to avoid that if she could. The problem of escaping the compound was secondary to escaping the leash of her addiction to Bitter.

“Come,” he said, standing up from the table. “I have some work to do before bed.”

He could read every nuance of her response in her lovely, expressive face. The desire to disobey, the calculation of whether it was worth it. When she did as he asked, it was not real obedience. She had to decide that she would gain more from doing what she was told than from resistance. He would need to break her to truly master her. She was too smart and willful to make it easy.

Winning would be worth it.

#

After dinner, Roman led her back to his office. Allie was beginning to learn the layout of the manor pretty well, but she didn’t want Roman to know. She was careful to stay behind him, letting him lead the way. When her chance to escape came, knowing the layout of the manor might mean the difference between getting away and getting caught.

Of course, her real advantage came in what she had learned that afternoon thanks to that hideous fountain. She knew where she was. Roman lived in the manor house where she had first encountered the Judicature all those years ago. The same house where she had met Oliver and seen his slave--the first slave she had ever seen. The same house where she and Crash had accepted the mission that would change both of their lives. The same house where she had lost her virginity.

Roman didn’t know. At least, she was fairly certain he didn’t know. Even if he had broken his promise and pulled her file, information about that first job with Crash wouldn’t be included. They hadn’t been part of the Judicature then. That had been part of the reason they were recruited for the job. It had been dangerous enough that the Judicature wanted the option of washing their hands of things if they failed. And besides, the Judicature hadn’t really been as dangerous then. It was Bitter that had allowed them to become so powerful. And it was the program Allie and Crash had stolen that had allowed Bitter to be created and controlled by the Judicature and the Judicature alone.

When Roman unlocked the office door, Allie headed for the couch. Roman’s voice stopped her.

“No,” he said, standing next to his desk. “Come here.”

Allie turned and looked at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

Roman raised that same eyebrow and Allie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “As I’ve told you, you’re going to learn to obey orders instead of questioning them. This is part of your training.”

Allie stayed where she was.

Roman didn’t seem to have expected much better. He stalked across the room towards her. Allie expected him to grab her arm and she jerked away. Instead, his hand shot out and tangled in her hair, tugging painfully so that she was forced to let him lead her or have the hair torn out of her head. “What are you doing?” Allie protested, placing her own hands over his to try to dislodge his grip. Roman ignored her question, steering her towards his massive desk.

“Sit.”

He was pointing to a small sheepskin rug arranged next to his chair. He loosened his grip on her hair enough that she could turn and look at him.

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Rarely,” said Roman. “I’ve decided it will be helpful for you to be more strongly reminded of your place in this household. Not simply at my side but, if I wish it, at my feet.”

“I’m not going to curl up at your feet like a dog,” said Allie.

“Do it willingly, or I’ll have to chain you like one, too.”

Allie wanted to refuse, but she quickly weighed her options. Roman was more than capable of forcing her. And every time she disobeyed unsuccessfully, she lost ground. Without looking at him, she lowered herself onto the rug. Roman loomed over her, using his foot to nudge her legs further apart. “Put your hands flat on your thighs,” he instructed. “And keep your head down, just like that.”

Allie fumed, but she stayed as he had indicated, her hands laid flat above each knee.

“Good girl,” said Roman, settling into the chair next to her. She heard him begin to type and decided to amuse herself by thinking through all the many ways she might pay him back for this indignity.

After what felt like hours, her legs were aching and she slowly eased herself sideways onto the rug, stretching her legs to try to banish the painful tingling racing from hip to toes. After a moment, she heard the creak of Roman’s chair turning towards her and he grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Back in position,” he said, searching her eyes so obviously for the first spark of defiance that Allie, perversely, almost found herself wanting to obey just to prove him wrong.

“My legs hurt,” she said softly, hoping he would show some mercy.

“It won’t kill you,” said Roman. “If you can’t walk when this is done, I’ll carry you. And if you refuse to do as you’re told, I’ll tie you in place.”

Slowly, Allie eased herself back into position, biting her lip as her sore legs protested the return to the uncomfortable position. Roman reached down and placed her hands back on her thighs. Allie wanted to slap his hands away, but she was too focused on her discomfort. It was horrible not knowing how long Roman expected her to stay this way.

After what seemed like hours, Roman finally shifted in his chair and Allie, her legs completely numb, resisted the urge to look to him beseechingly, praying that they were going to leave the office. Of course, if she were permitted to stand, she felt quite certain her legs would give out. But she’d rather by sprawled on the floor thanks to her own efforts than forced to kneel at Roman’s feet.

She flinched when she felt a hand settle on her head, remembering the way Roman had pulled her hair. Instead, his hand caressed her, petted her. He dragged a lock of hair through his fingers and then tucked it behind her ear. Allie shivered.

“Are you tired, pet?” asked Roman.

“I could sit here all day,” Allie lied defiantly.

“Hmm,” said Roman, still toying with her hair. “I supposed you could also stand up right now without any assistance?”

Allie was still deciding how to answer when Roman reached down and scooped her into his arms. She hissed at the pain as blood came rushing back into her legs.

“You have to sit with your knees further apart,” said Roman conversationally. “The correct position is not only for the purposes of display. It helps with the discomfort.”

Unwilling to respond to his instructions regarding her submission, Allie held herself as stiff as possible in her arms, trying to ignore the continued throbbing in her legs. Seemingly content that she was experiencing some level of discomfort, Roman was quiet as he carried her through the hallways to his bedroom.

#

Allie was afraid that Roman was going to force her to sleep in his bed. Or worse, at the end of it. But when they reached his room, he set her down, supporting her until it was clear her legs would hold her weight, and then released her with a light shove into the room. The bedroom was huge, with a small, glass-walled office at the back, as if the man could never stand to be very far from his work. Hating herself for her fear, Allie scurried away from him towards the office space, intending to sleep on the same couch that she had occupied since her arrival at the manor.

She heard Roman moving around in the larger bedroom, opening and closing drawers. Then, she heard the sound of the shower starting. That first night, Roman had allowed her to shower, promising that he wouldn’t disturb her. The hot water had felt amazing. And even though Allie hadn’t really trusted Roman’s word, just those few minutes of privacy had helped her to gather her thoughts and prepare for whatever was ahead. He had given her clothes to wear when she was done. The same shapeless, pajama-like clothes she had worn in the hospital. She was still wearing them now and she longed for another shower and, aspirationally, a pair of jeans. But she knew it wouldn’t do any good to ask if Roman didn’t offer.

Taking advantage of the sound of the water as evidence of Roman’s whereabouts, Allie went to the smaller desk in the bedroom office and nudged the mouse to turn on the computer. The screen flashed to life, requesting a password. Allie’s fingers itched to try to gain access, but any maneuver to get through Roman’s privacy controls would take more time than a shower. Reluctantly, she nudged the mouse back into place and entered a command on the keyboard to dim the screen back to black.

The shower turned off as she was settling back onto the couch. Allie focused on calming her breathing, convinced that Roman would read her desire for access to the computer given half a chance. After a few minutes, Roman came to the threshold between the bedroom and the office. Allie looked up to see that he wasn’t wearing anything except for a towel slung low around his waist. She schooled her features, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away--or of knowing the effect his powerful body had on her, despite her hatred.

“You can sleep here,” said Roman. “But don’t go messing around with the desk. Nothing private has been left within your reach, but I have things the way I like them and I don’t want you to get them out of order.”

“Fine,” said Allie, a little disappointed that he didn’t offer her a shower.

Roman studied her and Allie had to will herself to keep eye contact. Finally, he left her, leaving the spicy scent of his soap in the air. Allie curled up on the couch, dragging the one, thin blanket over her. Roman hadn’t offered her a pillow and she refused to ask.

#

To her surprise, she actually slept. When she woke up, it was still dark outside the wide windows in the office and the house was quiet. Allie rolled onto her back, convinced she could hear the sound of her own heart beating in the silence.

How had she ended up here? It wasn’t a question she allowed herself to ask very often. Once, she had been the kind of person who believed that things happened for a reason. Even when that fateful job went wrong, she had believed that it was meant to be somehow. She had thought, in fact, that the failure would mean that she and Crash would be able to be together. She had hoped that the danger of what they had done and the aftermath would scare him away from taking on such high-risk assignments. Instead, he had signed on to work for the Judicature full-time. And Allie had followed him.

After a year inside, Allie had been the one who convinced Crash that they should try to run. They had gotten caught almost immediately. They might have had a chance if Allie hadn’t tried to learn the technology behind Bitter. But understanding what the program could do, she had decided it was worth risking her life and her freedom. The Judicature used it to create drugs to keep people addicted. Customized, personalized drugs that were made to perfectly manipulate the body chemistry of the user. But the technology had the same potential to be used for good. Personalized cancer drugs that could target not just the disease, but the person’s body, perfected both to kill cancer cells and to protect healthy tissue. Cures for diseases that had stumped scientists for centuries because the program could determine exactly how a treatment would work for an individual and tweak the formula to ensure effectiveness.

When they were caught, Crash was the one holding the drive with the program. Really, it was only pieces of the program--enough that Allie felt confident that the two of them could re-create it. The Judicature had sentenced Allie to a lifetime as a class seven--a servant assigned to serve within the locked walls of the Judicature, but with more freedoms than an eight or Nine. But Crash--he was going to be sentenced to death.

So Allie had done the only thing she could do. She had confessed to stealing the program on her own. She described wanting out, wanting Crash to marry her and take her away. And when she needed to make sure that they believed her, she had revealed her trump card.

The baby.

After two days of deliberation, the Judicature decided that Allie was entirely to blame for what had happened, believing her story that Crash had been trying to stop her. It was almost too easy, considering how much the Judicature liked their men strong and their woman meek. Allie had been sentenced to serve the Judicature as a class seven--a slave who was not permitted to leave Judicature control at any time. Crash had been allowed to leave, his need for Bitter sufficient to keep him quiet.

At first, Allie wasn’t assigned to serve anyone. She was locked up in a Judicature medical facility--a different one than where she had been with Roman. She was taken care of--pampered, even--as she waited for the birth of hers and Crash’s baby.

Then, one day, she woke up to find blood trickling down her legs. She remembered screaming. Remembered strangers coming to see to her, cold hands, tests and whispers and the nurses shaking their heads. Some of them had tried to comfort her, but they were strangers. And captors. It meant nothing. She wanted Crash. Wanted him to hold her. To comfort her. To tell her they could try again. The Judicature had promised that the baby would go to Crash. It had comforted her to think of her baby being raised outside their control, safe with its father. He was such a good father to Faith. He would have loved their baby, too.

They had given her a week to heal. And then she had been assigned to her first household, the manor of a Judicature judge. The man was old and blissfully uninterested in any sexual service. It had been at least two years of household chores before Allie started to wake up from the trauma of all that had happened. Before she started to cause trouble, getting herself assigned to harsher and harsher masters.

She supposed, in a way, it had all been leading to Roman. So far, he had mostly treated her almost gently. He hadn’t hurt her or forced her to perform sexually. But she knew there was a monster lurking just under the surface. Knew he was only biding his time.

But now she also knew where she was. After years of being dragged from place to place, getting further and further away from anything she recognized as the real world. She knew where she was and if she could contact Crash, he might be able to find her.

To rescue her.

Slowly, cautious of each single step across the floor, Allie crept towards Roman’s computer. She kept to the plush rug laid over the dark hardwood floors, aware that any creak might wake her captor. She had no idea how deeply he slept, but she suspected he was not a very heavy sleeper if he was willing to sleep with his unwilling captive in the next room.

Once she reached the computer, Allie nudged the track pad. She knew it wouldn’t make noise when it woke up, because it hadn’t done so when Roman was showering. But the light coming from the computer bathed the entire room in an eerie, blue-ish glow, and she knew that could wake Roman, too.

If she could get a message to Crash first, it would be worth it.

Slowly, Allie began to depress the keys on the keyboard, inputting commands meant to break Roman’s password. Luckily, the keyboard was quiet--sleek and modern, so that her hands could fly over the keys with little more than a whisper. When Allie worked, she preferred a heavy, responsive keyboard, one that clicked and clacked with each movement. But for this job, silence was key.

Soon, she was in. The speed with which she had broken through made her feel surprisingly powerful. It had been quite some time since she had done anything like this, but she had always been good. Even if Roman had warned her away from his desk, he probably hadn’t suspected that she actually had any chance of breaking into his computer.

Quickly, she started learning the landscape of the computer. Thankfully, it was connected not only to the internet, but to Roman’s internal network. Setting aside the temptation of all the damage she could do to his files, Allie focused on breaking her way into the system so that she could write a program to send a secure message to Crash. She would message Crash at his old cell phone number, praying that somehow, through the years, he had retained it. When the program was ready, she hesitated, the confidence that came from mastering a computer again draining away.

This attempt hinged on so many unknowns. Crash might not have the same number anymore. Or he might not get the message. Or, even if he did, he might not be willing to rescue her. He might not care about her anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Allie pushed aside all her fears. She had built in a command to scramble her input to the keyboard, so that the words she typed would transform themselves into code. It was a simple trick--kiddie stuff. She and Crash had actually built the program for the first time when they were kids. But if he actually got the message, Crash would recognize the coded language and easily create his own codebreaking program on the other end. It was a simple solution, but that was part of the beauty of it. Hopefully, if the message was intercepted, it wouldn’t occur to anyone that the code was so easily broken.

It’s Allie. I’m being held at the place where we took the first job. Please

She stopped typing. What was she asking? She had been on her own for so long, she was used to making her own plans. But there was no way of knowing if she would be able to reach Crash again. If this first message got through, if he received the message at all, she would have to rely on him to find a way to rescue her.

Please come.

Allie was so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn’t notice Roman’s approach until he was in the doorway.

“What the fuck?” he growled, brushing at his sleep-tousled hair. He stalked towards her. Allie started typing frantically, working to erase the evidence of what she had been doing. It was a hack job--she was going to fuck up the entire computer. But Roman had found her out. There wasn’t much to be gained by making him slightly less angry.

When Roman reached her, he hooked an arm around her waist, dragging her away from the computer and tossing her to the ground. Allie’s forehead glanced against the desk and she felt blood start to trickle instantly down her face. It wasn’t a serious wound--but head wounds bled like crazy no matter how minor. Blinking up at Roman, Allie saw the sleepiness fade from his expression as he studied what she had done to his computer. “You little bitch,” he said, turning on her with a look that was equal parts annoyance and--was that admiration? “You hacked into my network. I built that network. It’s not easy to hack.”

“It was a piece of cake,” said Allie.

Roman’s expression turned dark. Then, his eyes flickered to the wound on her head and his look softened ever so slightly. “You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be, Alianna. It doesn’t have to be this difficult. You’re fighting me, but you don’t even know what you’re fighting for.”

“My freedom,” said Allie. “The Judicature.”

“Maybe,” said Roman. He knelt down next to where she had fallen. It was only then that Allie registered that he wasn’t wearing anything except for a pair of grey pajama pants. He lifted his hand and Allie flinched. Roman reared back, looking at her with concern. “You think I’m going to hit you?”

“You’re always threatening me,” said Allie.

“You got hurt because you disobeyed me,” said Roman. “Alianna--”

“I’d rather you hit me than subject me to another one of your little speeches about the pleasures of servitude,” said Allie, sounding much braver than she felt.

Roman smirked. He reached out and forced her hand away from the cut, examining it with gentle fingers. “Physical punishment has its place, pet. For pain and for pleasure. But I prefer--let’s call it ‘economy.’ I could beat you again and again and you would still defy me if it suited you.”

Allie flinched at his touch and, contrary to his dark words, Roman’s caress turned ever more gentle. He cupped the side of her face, turning her cheek to examine it more closely.

“In fact,” he continued, “by forcing me to mete out physical punishment, you’ll only be reinforcing a kind of power you hold--the ability to demonstrate your will and demand my response.”

“You’re just going to talk me into obeying you, then? You might as well let me go, because that will never fucking happen.”

Roman’s hand fell away and he stood up. Looming over her in the light of the computer screen, he looked terrifyingly powerful, each curve of muscle defined in the soft light. “I will find a way to show you that it is better to give in to my will instead of your own,” he said. “That to give over to me completely is the only way to avoid--discomfort.”

“You’re insane,” said Allie, ignoring the way that his little speech made her mouth go dry. He was so unaffected. So certain. Eventually, she might give in. She might lose hope.

Or Crash might come.

She was confident that Roman wouldn’t be able to recreate her message. She had managed to hide the evidence before he got her away from the computer. The chances that Roman knew computers better than she did were slim.

“Come on,” said Roman. He reached for her hand, grabbing it when she didn’t immediately offer it and pulling her to her feet. “I’ll bandage that cut. It doesn’t need stitches.”

“Pity,” said Allie, trying to sound brave. “I’ve always wanted a scar.”

Roman’s grip on her arm tightened. “I think you have a few,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go.”

As he led her away, Allie thought about her message. Whether it would be received. Whether it would be understood.

And she remembered another message, all those year ago. A scrap of paper pressed into her hand as the pretty servant at the Manor house led her and Crash back to their car. The look in the woman’s eyes had been enough to give her pause, to keep her from saying anything to Crash. Later, in the bathroom at a gas station where they stopped to refuel, she had opened it. Read the words scratched in black pen.

Get out if you can.

Chapter Text

Allie was getting used to following Roman around and it bothered her. At her best estimate, she had been at the manor for a few weeks. Roman still hadn’t required anything of her except acting as his obedient shadow. Occasionally, he talked to her and it was difficult not to engage--except for Myra, the class three who acted as housekeeper, he was the only person she ever saw.

Then, one afternoon, while Allie was following Roman from lunch back to his office, they passed an unfamiliar woman steaming a set of drapes in the hallway. Allie turned all the way around to stare. The woman ignored her, pressing precise creases into the heavy fabric. After a moment, Roman noticed that she had stopped and doubled back to retrieve her, grasping her by one arm. “Don’t bother the staff,” he said, pushing her in front of him.

“What staff?” asked Allie, genuinely curious. “That’s the first person I’ve seen except for you and Myra.”

“The staff have been instructed to keep out of your way, but their duties today will make that more difficult.”

Roman didn’t elaborate and Allie turned this new information over silently. Roman was keeping her deliberately isolated. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, but she was embarrassed to admit to herself that she hadn’t really thought about why they were so often alone. Of course, an estate of this size couldn’t run on the efforts of Myra alone. But amidst her worry over Roman, she hadn’t thought about it.

Exactly as he had intended.

Allie was so preoccupied as she entered Roman’s office, she didn’t realize what she was doing. It wasn’t until she felt the plush sheepskin rug settle beneath her that she realized that she had taken up the humiliating position next to Roman’s desk without his ordering her to do it. Automatically, she started to rise, but Roman’s hand came down heavy on the back of her neck.

“No,” he said. She thought his voice was probably intended to be soothing. He caressed the back of her neck as he held her in place, his fingers working deftly at the tension he found there.

Allie shrugged her shoulders to try to dislodge him and Roman pinched her. “Behave,” he said. “I know it was only a reflex, but today would be a good day to do as you’re told.”

“I hate you,” hissed Allie. But she stayed put.

“Mmhm,” Roman muttered, turning his attention to his work.

Allie wondered what it was he did all day on the computer. She knew from experience that if she raised her head to look, he would instantly force her head back down and instruct her to gaze at the floor. And since the incident in the bedroom office, he hadn’t allowed her near a computer unless she was in his company, so she hadn’t had an opportunity to snoop on her own. To her relief, he still didn’t force her to sleep in his bed. But the office was fitted with a sleek, glass door and Allie had taken to sleeping on the window seat. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was preferable to being any closer to Roman while she was unconscious.

A knock sounded on the office door. Roman’s hand instantly went to the back of Allie’s head, forcing her to keep her eyes on the floor.

“Come in,” he called, ignoring the way she squirmed at his touch.

Footsteps sounded on the wood floor, becoming muffled as they reached the thick carpet under the desk.

“Sir, we’ve cleared a section of the side garden for parking, but Kimball says that if we use as much space as we intended, the cars will kill some rose plantings he’s been working on for months. I told him the plan was to your orders, but…”

“He sent you here to see if my orders might be adjusted?” asked Roman.

Allie presumed that the woman nodded, because she didn’t speak.

“I suppose Kimball knows he is the true master of the gardens,” said Roman. “Set up satellite parking at the guest house and arrange for cars to drive the guests up to the main house. It will save Kimball’s roses. As an added bonus, it’s an excellent opportunity to annoy some of my less welcome guests. Come back in an hour and I’ll provide you with a list.”

“Thank you, Sir,” said the woman. Allie itched to see the woman’s face, but Roman’s grip was unshakeable. When she was gone, he let her go and Allie took the opportunity to look up at him.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Eyes on the floor, pet,” said Roman.

“I want to know what’s going on,” said Allie. “People are coming here?” The thought made her nervous. Roman was--well, she didn’t know what he was, exactly, but at least he was a known unknown. If people were coming here, they must work for the Judicature. Or at least be controlled by it. Roman wouldn’t reveal the location to outsiders.

Before Allie could pester him further, another knock sounded on the door. This time, the visitor didn’t wait for an invitation. Roman’s hand flexed above her, but he didn’t force her head down, either. Taking advantage of the freedom, Allie sat up to try to see over the desk, catching a glimpse of the top of a gray-blonde head that she knew belonged to Myra.
“It’s three o’clock, Sir,” said Myra.

“Excellent,” said Roman. “Alianna?”

He turned and caught her sitting up. Sighing, he dragged her up and into his lap as if she were a child, trapping her arms in front of her and turning his body so that they were almost eye to eye.

“Myra is going to help you get ready,” said Roman. “I’m throwing a party tonight and I want you presentable. I don’t have time for you to fight her or to run away. Behave, or it will be me attending to you instead and you won’t like it.”

Allie glared at him.

“Are you going to behave?” Roman prompted.

“Sure,” said Allie, after briefly considering her options. “Fine.”

“Answer yes or no, pet,” said Roman, sounding almost weary.

“Yes,” said Allie, trying not to bristle at his insistence on “protocol.” “Yes, sir,” she added before he could prompt her, putting as much venom into the word as possible. Spending a few hours with Myra was better than being stuck at Roman’s side like a dog.

“Good,” said Roman. He let her go and Allie jumped up, racing to Myra’s side before Roman could change his mind.

A few hours later, Allie was sitting wrapped in a silk robe, alone in Roman’s bedroom. It was the longest she had been away from him since she had escaped the trunk of his car. Myra had spent the afternoon subjecting her to various beauty treatments. She had been washed and waxed (after much protest), massaged and manhandled until every inch of her body was fine-tuned. She even had clear polish over every one of her carefully-shaped nails.

The attention was unsettling. She didn’t know what Roman had planned, but she couldn’t help thinking that Myra was preparing her like a nicely wrapped present.

She would kill Roman if he tried to take advantage of her.

Pushing aside those thoughts, Allie tried to enjoy having some time to herself. Myra had instructed her to rest, but she couldn’t sleep with all the strangeness of the day. Instead, she started opening drawers and cabinets, uncertain what, exactly, she was searching for--but fairly certain Roman hadn’t left anything particularly interesting in reach. The new door on his bedroom office was still firmly locked in his absence.

There was a large oil painting across from the bed--an abstract with bursts of blue and gold color. Something about the textures looked slightly off and Allie slid off the bed, glancing around guiltily before running one manicured finger along the painting. To her surprise, her finger slid smoothly over what was obviously a screen. Instantly, Allie was searching the room for a remote and praying she would also find a keyboard. Even if it were only a television, she might be able to hack it and send another message to Crash. Heart pounding, Allie finally found the remote in the top drawer of the bedside table. She aimed it at the painting and the realistic image dissolved, replaced with the image of a reporter standing in front of a glossy office building. Allie didn’t recognize the reporter--it had been years since she had had regular access to a television. But she knew what channel she was watching. KUTV was a twenty-four hour broadcast news network. And most of its staff had ties to the Judicature. Impatient for even a distorted glimpse of the outside world, Allie pressed the button to increase the volume.

“...outside BrightStar’s headquarters. A spokesperson has refused to comment on allegations that the non-profit is funded by proceeds from illegal activities, including drug running and human trafficking…

The reporter read the statement from a sheet of paper clutched in one hand. Allie had heard of BrightStar, but she couldn’t remember the context. If KUTV was doing a hit piece, they probably weren’t a part of the Judicature’s structure. But that didn’t mean they weren’t evil, too. Part of what her entanglement with the Judicature had taught her was the reality of the kinds of people and organizations that were really in control.

The screen went dark and then the same oil painting shimmered into view. Standing in the doorway, Roman slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Watching television, Alianna?”

“No one said I couldn’t,” she said, tossing the remote away from her and sliding to the far side of the bed, away from him.

“You may not watch television,” said Roman obligingly. “Although, since you did, I wonder if you saw anything interesting.”

“What’s BrightStar?” asked Allie.

Roman smiled, but he didn’t answer. “You look lovely,” he said instead. He shut the door behind him and advanced into the room. Allie was suddenly very aware that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath her robe.

“What is this all about?” she said, gesturing to herself. “Because if you think--”

“Alianna, I would never presume,” said Roman, that familiar, predatory smile on his face. “As you’ve no doubt deduced, I am hosting a party this evening. I thought you would want to look your best.”

“You want me to go to your party?”

“I want you to serve at my party,” corrected Roman. “I did promise you a punishment. Did you think I had forgotten, pet? I always keep my promises.”

Allie stared at him. Serving at the party was going to be her punishment? In a way, it made sense. It would be humiliating to be seen acting as his slave. She didn’t care what the members of the Judicature thought of her, but she didn’t want anyone to see her brought low by Roman. Serving at an elite gathering, she would be nearly invisible, reminded of her place. It was a good punishment. More importantly, she could survive it.

And in the crowd, she might be able to slip away. To escape. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was a possibility she always had to consider.

As if he could read her mind, Roman came around the bed. When Allie tried to scramble back to the other side, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her towards him, pinning her legs against the side of the bed with his thighs.

“What are you doing?” Allie demanded, trying to kick him.

“I can’t have you wandering off during the party,” said Roman. “I plan on keeping a close eye on you, but at times, my attention will necessarily be elsewhere.”

He reached into his pocket and brought out a pair of gold bracelets, snapping one onto each of Allie’s wrists before releasing her. Allie crawled out of the far side of the bed, already trying to remove the jewelry. To her surprise, the bracelets were impossibly solid, as if they had been welded to her wrists. She couldn’t even find the clasp.

“They can only be removed with a command from my personal phone,” said Roman, retrieving the device and holding it up so that she could see the screen. “They allow me to track you using GPS. And they have one other interesting feature.” Watching her closely, Roman tapped one long finger on the glass screen of his phone. Instantly, Allie felt a sharp pain in both wrists, like a needle prick.

“What the fuck?” she said, clawing at the bracelets.

“That was only a demonstration,” said Roman. “At full strength, those bracelets can deliver enough electricity to drop you where you stand. I hope it won’t be necessary, but I will use them if you try to run.”

Knowing that Roman had that kind of power over her, that he could control her with a touch of a button, made Allie feel more trapped than ever before. Blinking back hot, angry tears, she turned the bracelets over and over, trying desperately to find a way to remove them. After a few minutes, she felt the same sharp zap.

“Stop,” said Roman. “I won’t use them unless I have to, pet.”

Allie glared at him, looking away instantly when she saw him register the tears in her eyes. She hoped he knew that they were tears of anger. That she wasn’t at all afraid. For a brief, terrifying moment, he almost looked sorry. He had taken advantage of her distraction and he was standing only a few feet away, watching her with careful attention.

“You are so fucked up,” said Allie, her voice tight with the effort of keeping back tears. “I hate you.”

“Yes,” said Roman. “But tonight, you will serve me and my guests if you wish to avoid more pain. Because you’re smart, pet. You will choose the easiest path that doesn’t take you too far away from whatever escape you’re inevitably planning. Know that tonight is not the night.”

Allie hated him more for voicing her secrets. Of course he knew she was planning to escape. It didn’t take a genius to know that. But the way he spoke of it so casually--as if it were inconsequential. It made her want to kill him on the way out the door.

Not that she hadn’t already considered it. But it made things more complicated.

She felt Roman’s hands on her shoulders and tried to pull away, hating the way that she braced herself for the zap of the bracelets. Roman gathered her hair in one hand, leaning in close until she could feel his breath on her neck. Allie froze, terrified of the way his closeness made her feel. Her heart was racing. She was so aware of him. His scent. His power. His closeness crowded out everything, even the worst of her anger. Then, she felt something cold press against her neck and tried to jerk away. Roman cupped the back of her neck with one strong hand, refusing to let her move until the choker was safely in place. When he finally released her, Allie retreated backwards so fast that she lost her balance and fell onto the sheepskin rug.

“Take it off,” she said. “Please, god, Roman. Take it off!” She felt like she was drowning. Like the hard, cold metal was cutting off her air. Roman had been watching her with cool interest, but as she continued to claw at her neck, his expression shifted until she could read what almost looked like genuine concern. “I can’t breathe,” she begged.

Roman knelt next to her on the rug. He pressed a finger to her neck, sliding it underneath the choker, watching her reactions. “It’s not too tight, Allie. You need to calm down.”

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. The cold, thin circle of metal felt like hands around her neck, choking her. Then, something penetrated.

Roman had called her Allie.

Something about that--something strange and just as terrifying--helped her start to calm down. “Please take it off,” she said, focusing on breathing. “The bracelets are enough.”

Roman was silent for some time. He watched her, seeming to breathe with her. Even crouching next to her, he towered over her. “You’re going to wear the necklace, pet,” he said. “The bracelets are to help ensure you don’t run away. The necklace--that’s to remind you and everyone else that you’re owned.”

“I hate you,” Allie repeated. It was true, but even to her ears, she sounded tired. Defeated.

Roman’s punishment was working better than she had expected. And it was barely beginning.

“Since you’re already angry, let me show you what you’re going to wear.”

#

Roman greeted his guests, keeping one eye trained on Alianna. She was standing across the room where he had left her, placed in an alcove as if she were little more than a piece of furniture. She was wearing the outfit that he had forced her into several hours earlier--a thin, white shift with a sheer white and gold stole that marked her as a slave. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath because he hadn’t allowed her anything.

She had been instructed to stay put, holding the door open for the serving crew as they moved between the small catering kitchen tucked to one side of the grand entryway and the entryway itself where his guests were enjoying passed horderves as they greeted each other. It was a job that could have been accomplished by a doorstop. Being forced to do anything would make his pet furious, but selecting something so inconsequential was intended to add to her frustration. His cock was semi-hard at the idea of forcing her to do his bidding, forcing her to think of him at every moment, even if those thoughts were full of hate.

If all went according to plan, this night would show her once and for all that he truly owned her, breaking her of any thoughts of escape. Not because she would want to stay--he didn’t expect that, didn’t even know if he desired it. But because he was going to show her that she had absolutely nothing and no one to run to.

A woman in a glittering dress stepped through the front doors, demanding Roman’s attention. She placed one hand on his arm and leaned in. “Hello, darling.”

“Annabelle.” Roman pressed a kiss to her cheek.

She stayed close, keeping her hand on his arm. “I did as you asked,” she said. “Are you going to tell me why?”

“No.”

Annabelle laughed. “Only you can get away with this shit, Roman,” she said. “If there’s going to be a show, I do hope you’ll let me join.”

Roman leaned in and gave her a kiss on her other cheek followed by a light slap on her sequin-covered ass. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said. “Go enjoy the party.”

Annabelle melted into the crowd and Roman turned his attention back to his pet. She looked away when his gaze landed on her and he knew she had been watching. He didn’t like the idea of her seeing Annabelle’s hands on him. He wanted to control every thought she had of him. Annabelle was an old friend and he allowed himself a hint of softness around her that he could never show to Alianna--not until she was truly under his thumb. She had almost won a glimpse of that side of him today when she had cried while he collared her. She had been struggling to breathe and he knew it wasn’t an act. She knew what the collaring meant. And he wondered if there was something else, too. Something in her past that made his claiming of her in that way particularly intimate. A former master. A lover. The idea of either made his blood boil.

She wasn’t the first to serve him. In the new world order that the Judicature was building, the class system was vital. It helped to cement power and even to create it. But before Alianna, it had always been transactional. He had been dominant when the situation called for it, but rarely for his own pleasure. This woman brought something out in him. An urge to possess her completely. To own her body and soul.

When he had accomplished it, perhaps he would grow bored with her. But every time he thought he had her cornered, she found a new way to defy him. It excited him. Pleased him. Because he knew, in time, he would win.

Still, he did not want to destroy her spirit. Only to break her to his hand. And today, when she had looked up at him with tears in her lovely hazel eyes, he had been gripped by a desire to comfort her. To protect her. He had been forced to remind himself that he was doing exactly that by helping her to understand her place. The inevitability and the necessity of her submission. Because he wished it. Because she was entangled, irretrievably, with the Judicature, which was also destined to be under his control.

Thoughts of Alianna had distracted him as his guests streamed through the doors. The majority of them had arrived and the entryway was now packed and throbbing with noise and heat. The doors open to the cool night outside provided some relief and Roman stayed there, taking in the room, watching Alianna’s hips sway as she was forced to open the heavy door leading into the kitchen again and again.

The task was designed to belittle her. But it was also designed to keep her in the entryway until the last of his guests arrived. Because he had invited a guest specifically for her.

Roman checked his watch. His phone buzzed and he saw that he had a notification from his head of security. Five minutes later, one of his own town cars pulled up to the front steps, ferrying the stragglers from the satellite parking area.

A group of five emerged from the car--two couples and a lanky man who was obviously on his own. He was dressed too casually, wearing ripped jeans and a battered leather jacket. He exuded a confidence that made it clear he didn’t care about being dressed for the occasion.

Roman looked forward to making him feel supremely uncomfortable.

As the guests ascended the steps, Roman checked to see if Alianna was watching. She was--and, even better, she had moved away from her post, clearly seeking the comfort of the cool air sweeping in the open front doors after working to open the heavy kitchen door in the heated, overcrowded entryway. Her cheeks were flushed, making her look impossibly pretty in the virginal white dress. She glanced in Roman’s direction. He caught her eye and shook his head at her, scolding her silently for moving from where he had left her. She hesitated for a moment, one hand going unconsciously to her neck, worrying one of her bracelets in fear that he might shock her for her disobedience. When he didn’t look at his phone or move towards her, she regained her composure, flipping him the bird and inching closer to the door.

He let her go, bracing himself for the moment that his girl couldn’t see coming. The small party of latecomers reached the door just as Alianna did. She glared at him and leaned back against the cool marble walls of the entry, perhaps intending to show him that she didn’t mean to escape. He enjoyed the fact that her eyes were still on him, but he needed her to see the new arrivals. Deliberately, he slid his gaze towards them, not bothering to hide his disdain as the casually clad young man stepped into the lighted hallway.

He knew the moment she saw him. Her face blanched and she took a step forward before stopping herself. He saw the effort it took for her to hold herself still. The bastard didn’t even notice her. He was focused on the party. He even tilted his head back, taking in the frescoes that adorned the two-story ceiling of the entry. He followed the rest of his party, nodding towards Roman before he faded into the crowd.

And then it was just the two of them, standing across from each other. He watched her shiver and knew it was not from the breeze. Intending to strike while she was still in shock, he closed the distance between them and went to her side, standing between her and the open doors. “The party will be moving into dinner soon. Go and ask Gio to let you help check the table settings.”

She turned to him, blinking as if his command was coming from underwater.

“Did you hear me, pet?” he asked. He knew that as soon as her quick mind recovered from that blow, she would start to wonder if he knew who the man was to her. He intended to leave her guessing. When she still didn’t answer, he reached for his phone, sending a light tap of electricity to the bracelets at her wrists.

Alianna shuddered, startled. “What?” she asked, pushing at his chest to try to move him away from her. “What do you want?”

“I told you to go back to the kitchen. Ask Gio to set you to work checking the table settings for dinner and whatever else he wants help with. If I want you later, I’ll call you.” He pressed the button again, earning a soft yelp of pain as he let her know exactly how he intended to summon her.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go.”

He was impressed with her calm. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she went in search of his guest. He only hoped his calculations were right about all that she would learn.

###

For a while, Allie tried to convince herself that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Crash couldn’t really be in Roman’s house.

Of course, she had sent him the message asking for his help.

But Roman had seen Crash walk in the door. She was sure of it. He had greeted every guest. It had even distracted him from torturing her for a time. He hadn’t even noticed her opening and closing that stupid, heavy door.

In which case, there were a few possibilities, each of which was racing through Allie’s head like a tape on repeat. Possibly, Crash was here to save her and Roman either didn’t recognize him as a threat or believed he had some other reason to be there. Alternatively, Roman knew Crash didn’t belong and was waiting for the right moment to kill him.

Okay, she didn’t know if she actually believed Roman would kill Crash. She wasn’t sure where the thought had even come from. But he definitely had the means to make Crash’s life miserable. To trap him and force him to serve the Judicature like he had done to Allie.

Oh god. She never should have asked Crash to come rescue her. It wasn’t safe, him being here. For either of them.

But he was here. And if there was even a chance he could get her out…

In a fog, Allie walked among the round tables set up for the formal dinner. Roman’s chef, Gio, has instructed her to place a tiny gold box at the upper left corner of each place setting. The place setting currently in front of her had three in a neatly stacked pile. Her mind was elsewhere.

Glancing around the room, Allie tossed the last few boxes onto the table and started inching towards the door that led into the hallway. She wouldn’t have long to look for Crash. If Roman saw her GPS tracker moving around too much, he would come looking for her to make sure she was really experiencing her punishment. With that in mind, she was about to make a break for it when the doors to the kitchen opened and Gio shouted for her.

“You! If you’re done, get out of there! The guests don’t want to see you while they’re sitting down. You can help serve later.”

Reluctantly, Allie followed him back towards the kitchen.

What followed was two solid hours of torture. Roman couldn’t have possibly realized how well his punishment would work. As far as he knew, the humiliation was in the way that he sent Allie fetching and carrying. Gio’s orders were constant, but Roman found her now and then to issue his own commands. Twice, she had been sent to fetch him or his companions drinks--or, if their glasses were full, to “refresh their ice.” But Roman couldn’t know that her inability to get close to Crash was the truly maddening punishment. She knew he was there and knowing allowed her to pick him out as he moved around the fringes of the party.

He had yet to look her way.

And even if he did, she suspected that his eyes would drift right over her. He wouldn’t be expecting to see her here, dressed the way she was. He wouldn’t want to.

Finally, the dinner ended and the guests began to scatter throughout the house into various rooms that had been set up for late-night amusements. There were gaming tables in some rooms, musicians in others. And some of the guests simply retired upstairs in couples or small groups, obviously headed for bedrooms and a different form of entertainment.

Allie found herself picking through the debris of the fancy dinner, throwing away the remains of the fancy gift boxes she had been forced to distribute hours earlier. Many of the plates had barely been touched and her stomach growled at the smell of Gio’s ravioli and roast chicken and steak. But she was unwilling to reduce herself to accepting literal scraps and besides, Gio and his staff were watching her closely, no doubt at Roman’s orders.

She was standing on a stepstool, feeling ridiculous as she scrubbed dishes in the diaphanous slave girl gown when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to find another girl dressed in an outfit that matched her own.

“Roman wants you,” the girl said, looking her up and down. “He’s on the patio outside the music room.”

“Fine,” said Allie, dropping the dish she had been cleaning back into the sink and climbing down from the stool. The girl stood her ground as Allie moved past and their shoulders touched, skin to skin. Allie glanced sideways, wondering who the girl was--another of Roman’s staff that she had never seen, probably. But was the girl also a class nine? Not everyone in that position had been forced to it. Some chose it, like the girl Allie had seen all those lifetimes ago crawling around at Tk’s feet.

She took several wrong turns before she heard the sound of a violin drifting down the hall. Assuming that the sound revealed the location of the music room, Allie followed it, moving as slowly as possible in the correct direction. If Roman was watching her, he wouldn’t be able to accuse her of wandering.

She turned a corner and stopped short. A man was standing examining one of the pictures on the wall. It was dark--the only light came from the window and the task light over the art. But she would have known him anywhere just from the curve of his shoulders, the way he held his head.

“Crash.”

The figure turned and Allie knew the moment he recognized her because it seemed to hit him like a physical blow. She wanted him to shout her name and sweep her up into his arms. She wanted him, at least, to smile. Instead, he stood staring, his hands in the pockets of his artfully worn jeans, his shoulder braced perilously close to the likely-priceless picture on the wall.

Allie took a cautious step towards him. He didn’t move, but his eyes swept up and down her body, taking in her bare feet, her tousled hair and everything that was--or wasn’t--in-between. “You’re--you’re here with someone?”

It took Allie a moment to realize what he was asking. He thought that she had been brought here with someone. There were other class eights and nines at the party. Not many--controlling one of the Judicature’s black sheep was a “privilege” reserved for the trusted, powerful few. But she had noticed them here and there in the crowd, all dressed in some version of her own white and gold.

“I wasn’t brought here,” said Allie. “I live here.”

If Crash had gotten her message, he would know that. Assuming he had figured it out. And how could he not? This was the place where everything--everything--had started. It wasn’t a clue. It was a fucking billboard.

So he didn’t know. Him coming here tonight was a coincidence. It was also proof that he was still tangled up with the Judicature. That Allie’s sacrifice hadn’t really been worth it.

“I’m Roman’s slave,” said Allie. The words tasted sour on her tongue. “Because I betrayed them. They can’t trust me.”

A wave of anger washed over Crash’s face. It was gone just as quickly. “They have no right to do this to you, Allie.”

“Are you going to stop them?” asked Allie.

“This is my fault,” said Crash.

“Yes,” said Allie. “It really kind of is.”

Crash took a step towards her and Allie flinched, thinking he was going to grab her or even strike her. Instead, she found herself crushed in his arms, gasping for breath as he ran his hands up and down her back, squeezing tighter and tighter, as if he would never let go. He spoke her name into her hair between labored breaths. “Oh god, Allie,” he said. “Everything is so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Allie agreed, but she couldn’t tell if her voice even registered from where she was trapped in Crash’s arms. She was holding onto him too, but she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. They were both trying not to drown.

After what seemed like a very long time and none at all, Crash stepped back, keeping his hands on her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful, Al,” he said, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. His gaze shifted to her outfit and his look hardened. “I hate seeing you dressed as his possession," he said. “He doesn’t deserve you. None of them ever could.”

“He definitely does not,” agreed Allie. Crash’s choice of words made her feel slightly uncomfortable, like Roman was an undeserving lover instead of her captor. “Crash, can you help me? If you can get me away from here--”

Crash was shaking his head, looking up and down the hall to check that they were alone. “I’m not powerful enough yet,” he said. “As soon as I get to a place where I can help you, I’ll do it. You have to know that.”

“What do you mean?” asked Allie, but her stomach was already twisting in knots. Because she thought she knew.

“Only Class Ones are allowed to take on Class Nines,” said Crash. “Once I get there, I’ll make them give you to me. I mean--Roman--he’s powerful. He could fight it. But--I’ll make it a condition of my promotion. I’ll make them give you to me.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Allie, trying to ignore the feeling that the room was spinning. “Your plan to get me out of here is to become a more connected, more powerful member of the organization that made me a fucking slave?”

“Keep your voice down,” said Crash. “I can’t be seen talking to you.”

“Oh no,” said Allie, not keeping her voice down at all. “That might affect your chances of moving up in the ranks. And then I’ll never get the honor of belonging to you.”

To her fury, Crash clapped a hand over her mouth. “I won’t make you a slave,” he said in a harsh whisper. “That would be my way of getting you away from here, but I wouldn’t make you live like that.”

Allie didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the tears hot against her skin. “You already did,” she said, tugging at his hand as if she could make him understand. She gestured to her outfit. “Look at me. And now you’re trying to tell me stories to make it all better.”

“I mean it, Allie,” said Crash, sounding a bit desperate. “I will rescue you. But I need time. I need to get into a position where helping you is actually possible.”

“If you believe that’s where you’re headed, you’re more delusional than I was back before I let all of this happen.” Because Crash had always been more seduced by dreams of power and love than by the reality of winning either. Even back in the very beginning, he hadn’t been drawn to that big job because it was interesting or because the money would be enough to let them start a life together. He had wanted to do it because it was big. Because it was exciting. If he’d had the skills to do it himself, Allie would never have been along for the ride.

How could she see it so clearly now when she never could before? Knowing it ought to be enough to make her hate him, but a part of her loved him more than ever. She loved the person who had been able to make her believe in ridiculous, childish fantasies. Who had talked a good enough game that she had felt safe and powerful and cherished when really she was being used.

“I promise you, Al,” said Crash, nervous at her silence. “I will get you out of here.”

“Sure,” said Allie. He was still touching her, his fingers tangled in her hair and she reached up to try to extricate him gently, like she was unwinding a difficult knot. “You will.”

“But you can’t do anything stupid again like try to send me messages,” said Crash. “If they think I’m helping a slave escape, they’ll never let me--”

Allie didn’t realize she had decided to slap him until it was already done, the sound ringing satisfyingly off the walls.

“Allie!”

“So you did get my message,” she said.

“Yes,” hissed Crash. “But it was a fucking stupid thing to do.”

Allie remembered the way her heart had pounded when she snuck into the computer. Remembered how Roman had found her and tossed her to the floor without a second thought, leaving her bleeding at his feet. “I was trying to tell you where I was. I was desperate, Crash. I needed help and you were the only one who could fucking do it.”

“Once I get clearance, I’ll be able to look you up. I’ll know exactly where you are.”

“Listen to me, Crash,” said Allie. “These people will never promote you to Class One. They probably won’t do you the favor of killing you, either. You’ll be a drone and a wannabe until the day you die. You’re a class--let’s say, six? Aren’t you? Not a servant, not a master. A nobody, Crash. An idiot willing to toe the line for their lies and the faint possibility of real power.”

“You’re hysterical, Allie,” said Crash, his voice cold.

“Yes, probably,” said Allie, fighting back what was, admittedly, a rather hysterical laugh. “I have to go. Before my handler notices I’m gone.”

She stumbled away from him down the hall, pressing one hand against the wall to navigate as if she were drunk. She wasn’t. She was just reeling with what had occurred. She thought that he might have called something after her, but she didn’t stop. It didn’t matter what he said now. She felt the same way she did after she cracked a particularly frustrating puzzle on the computer. The knot was untied and everything unravelled after it. She was through, no going back.

The elation wasn’t there, but that had never been the primary emotion. Allie did what she did to feel emptiness. To know that she could break through something solid and find that it was just like she was on the other side--unravelling, insubstantial.

Worthless.

Because Crash had never loved her. Or even if he had, he had never intended to save her. Even now, as she careened aimlessly through the hallways of the manor, he wasn’t coming after her. He was still chasing the same pipe dream that had led her here in the first place. He was still a part of the Judicature, playing their game for the promise of power. And she knew--she fucking knew--that he took his pill every night like a good little boy.

He hadn’t come here tonight to rescue her. It was all a sick coincidence. A final reminder that no one cared what had happened to her. No one even knew she existed, really, outside the Judicature. She was trapped, yes, but even if she were free, she had nowhere to go.

A sharp tap came through the bracelet, like a mosquito bite or a snap of static against her wrist. Allie was crying so hard the summons barely registered. But a few moments later, it came again. She choked back a sob and stumbled through the door of what turned out to be a small bathroom. Spurred on by the fear that the next shock would be more painful, Allie slammed the door shut behind her and grabbed a towel from next to the sink. She dashed it under cold water, careful not to get water on the electronics around her wrists, and scrubbed the towel over her face. A smudge of the ridiculous makeup that Mina had applied stained the fabric. She rubbed at her face again, keeping at it until she was pretty sure that every stitch of makeup was gone. Roman might be mad that she had messed up Myra’s work. Or, he might not even notice. It didn’t matter.

None of this mattered.

So she would obey.

She stalked in the direction of where she had last seen Roman. Maybe he was watching her location on his phone because he didn’t zap her again. The terrace where he had been smoking pipes with some of the men was still occupied, but Roman wasn’t there. Allie was turning over the problem of where to look next when she saw a familiar face.

“Myra,” she asked, stopping the slim woman in her tracks, “do you know where Roman is?”

“I thought you were helping in the kitchen,” said Myra, obviously harried.

Allie raised one braceleted wrist. “He called me.”

Myra raised an eyebrow. “What happened to your makeup?”

“Do you know where he is?” asked Allie, ignoring the question.

“Probably in the back parlor,” said Mina. “That’s where he likes to go with the important guests. Down the hall and all the way back. You’ll recognize it by the double doors.”

Allie nodded, already trying to figure out how to bypass the hallway where she had left Crash. She could cut through the dining room, maybe. But she still didn’t know the manor very well. And it was unlikely that Crash had stuck around after that conversation.

“Alliana,” said Myra, cutting into her thoughts, “knock before you enter the room. And--” she paused, as if considering carefully what she wanted to say next. “It would be best if you remembered your manners in front of Roman’s important friends. He goes easy on you, but he won’t like being questioned in front of those people.”

Instead of arguing with Myra over her definition of easy, Allie just nodded. “Thanks.”

Allie’s bracelet gave another zap--this one smarted more than the last, almost enough to bring her out of her fog. She had probably been standing still for too long. Adopting a measured pace, she started walking in the direction that Myra had indicated.

###

Roman frowned at the little icon on his phone screen that indicated Alliana’s whereabouts. It bothered him that she didn’t know that he had arranged this entire ridiculous party for her benefit.

Her not knowing was part of the point, of course. Alliana was difficult. She had embedded herself too deeply into the Judicature to ever be allowed to leave. At the same time, she was unwilling to stay.

Roman couldn’t change her past. He didn’t want to. Whatever circumstances had brought her to this point had also brought her under his power. She was an interesting problem. But a more complicated one than he had expected.

He wanted her to accept his control. To accept the peace of mind that would follow. If she could truly give herself to him, he would answer that gift with his own kind of complete devotion. He would learn what made her happy, what made her aroused. He would find a way to content her to her role and her options.

He wanted those things. Enough that it bothered him. Enough that he had orchestrated tonight’s events to hurry things along.

So far, things had gone to plan. He knew that she and that boy had spoken. His valet had planted a tracker on Crash the moment he had parked his car on Roman’s property. He hadn’t wanted to reveal his hand so he hadn’t known exactly what Crash would say. But the small and very sophisticated recorder in Alliana’s necklace had allowed him to listen in.

Now, he needed to see her. Then, he would know if it was the right time to take the next step. Watching the dot that represented Alianna move slowly towards him via the phone screen, he considered whether he should shock her again. But she was headed in the right direction and a shock now might have the unwelcome effect of kindling her anger to the point that she would be able to set aside Crash’s betrayal. He gritted his teeth and waited for her, promising himself silently that it wouldn’t be long before he was never forced to wait for her again. Until she would do his bidding swiftly and without question.

Finally, her knock came at the door. Roman raised one hand and gestured for a servant to let her in. When the door swung open, Alliana stood there in her virginal white shift. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for him. Roman didn’t call to her. He waited for her to find him and then gestured to the floor next to his chair before turning and pretending to absorb himself in the dreadfully boring conversation of the man sitting next to him.

Except for slaves, the room was all men. This wasn’t necessarily by design, but the leadership of the Judicature lent itself to a kind of “boys club” mentality. Roman noted the way that the men around him took in Alianna as she went to kneel at his side. She was beautiful. Her dress clung to her hips and her small, pert breasts. Her dark hair tumbled down her back, inviting a man to tangle his fingers in it as he thrust into her, to brush it aside and kiss the curve of her neck.

He felt her settle next to him and he waited several beats before he turned to examine her, tipping her chin up so he could see her face. Her eyes were red from crying, but the sheen of tears only made them shimmer in arresting shades of green and gold. She had removed Myra’s makeup, her face was flushed with natural color where she had scrubbed it away. She looked beautiful. Innocent. He took his hand away and she dropped her head, but he knew she was listening.

“You can look around the room, Alliana,” he said. “All of these men belong to the Judicature. You will see them now and then while you serve me so you ought to learn their names.”

Slowly, Alliana raised her head, her face void of emotion. Roman began to point out the various people sitting around the room, telling her their names and even a bit about their role in his organization. Because the Judicature did belong to Roman. And Alliana belonged to him, so anything he told her was inherently confidential. She would never be allowed to speak to anyone again without his leave.

Even--or especially--that boy.

Alliana was obviously listening, but she was just as obviously distracted by her own thoughts. Roman reached down and began to stroke her hair, testing if she would tolerate it. He felt her tense under his hand, but she didn’t shy away. Hiding a small smile, he turned to say something inconsequential to the man sitting across from him, continuing to toy with Alianna’s hair as he spoke. He could feel it as she became used to his touch, knew that she might even find some comfort in it as she let herself grow numb to the world.

He would have to wake her up.

“Pell,” he said, “come over here.”

Ian Pell was his subordinate--like almost everyone else in the Judicature. He was an obedient man, clever and a bit cold. He had only recently reached class one and become eligible to master eights and nines. Roman knew that he had been rapidly acquiring them ever since, with a focus on attractive women. And Pell had been keeping a close eye on Alianna ever since she entered the room.

“You certainly know how to throw a party,” said Pell, settling into the seat next to Roman so that Alianna was between them. “It’s a shame you don’t do it more often.”

“I like my privacy,” said Roman. “But some socializing is necessary. And it’s my first opportunity to test her in public.” He gave Alianna’s hair a little tug to make sure she was listening.

“Ah, breaking her in?” asked Pell, turning in his chair and inspecting her openly. “She’s a sexy little thing. Is she very obedient?”

“No,” said Roman, brushing Allie’s hair to one side and stroking her neck. “She’s not.”

“Seems fairly docile to me,” said Pell. “May I take a closer look?”

Roman nodded, curious how Alianna would respond. Pell, relishing the opportunity, reached down and snapped his fingers in front of Alianna’s face. “Eyes on me, girl,” he said.

Slowly, Alianna raised her head. But to Roman’s satisfaction, she blinked up at him instead of turning towards Pell. “Do as you’re told, pet,” he said, nodding towards Pell.

Without betraying any emotion, the girl turned towards Pell, who reached out a hand and turned her face from side to side, inspecting her. “Age?” he asked.

“Answer him,” said Roman after a moment. He was curious himself. The girl couldn’t be more than twenty six or so. Her file would have told him more.

“Twenty-seven,” said Alianna.

“And all natural?” he asked, peering at her chest as if he could see her small, pert breasts through her gown. Which, Roman admitted, he probably could, in the right light.

Before Roman could prompt another answer from Alianna--however tasteless the question, he was seeking to make a point--Pell reached out and slipped a hand under her dress, squeezing her breast with clinical interest.

For a moment, Alianna endured the treatment. But when Pell grew more bold, trying to remove her top, she broke, slapping his hand away and backing up towards Roman’s chair.

Instantly, Roman was on her, sliding from his chair to kneel next to her. “What kind of behavior is that?” he snapped, capturing her easily as she tried to jerk away. “I invited him to touch you. I decide how you will be treated. I decide what you will tolerate. Isn’t that right, Alianna?”

Warningly, he tapped the bracelet on her wrist. “Are you asking for more firm instruction, pet?”

Eyes wide, Alianna shook her head. She attempted to back away from him, but the chair was in her way. Pell watched, rubbing his arm as if the girl’s panicked attack could have actually left a mark.

“I apologize, Pell,” said Roman. “As I said, she’s still learning her manners.”

“Not at all,” said Pell, brushing at an imaginary piece of lint on his sleeve.

Roman put his hand at Alianna’s neck, forcing her face towards the carpet. He settled next to her on the floor, making sure he was completely comfortable while Alianna squirmed next to him. “As I’m sure you’re learning, it takes time to train them,” he said. Roman was speaking to Pell, but everything was for Alianna’s benefit. He ran his hand up and down her spine, encouraging her to stay still. “She doesn’t understand yet that her body--which used to belong to her--belongs to me now. She doesn’t take orders naturally, but she will learn.”

The skirt of her dress had ridden up as she was forced to the ground, the awkward position trapping her arms beneath her so that she couldn’t reach for it. Still conversing with Pell, Roman ran one hand down her back and slipped it under the fabric, gently raising it further, so that the curve of her bare ass was visible. He hadn’t allowed Myra to provide her with panties. He caressed the curve of her hip, noting the way that she jerked against his hand, a reaction to what would happen if he shocked her. Her legs were slightly apart and he slid his hand between them, feeling for her tight channel. Pell’s eyes flickered with prurient interest. One hand still firmly at her neck to hold her in place, Roman slipped a finger inside.

Alianna made a small noise of shocked protest and Roman gave her hair one sharp tug. “Quiet,” he said. “Now, Pell, tell me more about your trip to France.”

As the man obediently droned on about a recent trip on behalf of the Judicature, Roman reveled in the feel of Alianna’s tight cunt. He was a bastard, and he loved the way she shuddered slightly beneath him, loved knowing that she was open to him entirely against her will. After weeks of studying her, trying to figure her out, he had her trapped like an organism under a microscope.

When his ministrations began, she was dry, completely unprepared for such an intimate assault. But as he continued working his fingers against her, in and out, he felt her start to grow slick, the scent of her permeating the air between them as he continued to talk with Pell about mundane business matters, ignoring the way the man’s eyes kept drifting to her humiliation. He wanted to make her cum, to feel her desire curl unbidden under his hand and dissolve into an orgasm. At the same time, he liked the idea of sending her off without a release, reminding her that even her pleasure was his to own and his to deny. Then, she would be left stinging with the lack of fulfillment, faced with the choice of taking care of her own completion or waiting it out until the feeling faded, until the slick on her thighs was dry.

“You know my thoughts on securities,” said Roman, managing to continue the conversation with Pell. He curled his finger inside his pet, pressing his palm roughly against her clit. She let out a desperate gasp, half-cry, half-moan. Satisfied, Roman slid his fingers out of her and wiped his hand on the side of her gown before pulling it gently down to cover her.

She looked over her shoulder and he knew the breach of his regulations on eye contact was entirely unintentional. She was lost in the feel of what he had done to her, laid over with the pain of what Crash had done. She would recover eventually and she would briefly be more desperate than ever to escape him. He would let her go, still tingling with the feel of him, and get it all out of her system. He patted her on the rump.

“Go find Myra,” he said. “Ask her to give you something useful to do.”

As if their encounter had been meaningless. As if he could care less about what he had subjected her to, wasn’t leashing his own desire to take her far away from all these ridiculous guests and fuck her until she forgot Crash’s name as well as her own.

Blinking back more tears, Alianna stood. For a brief moment, she towered over him where he was still sitting casually on the floor, her eyes betraying a flash of pain that took his breath away. Deliberately, he turned back to Pell, dismissing her by ignoring her completely. Because her feet were bare, because she had become little more than a ghost, he couldn’t even hear her leave.

Alianna closed the door to the room full of level ones and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake off what she was feeling. She was burning with embarrassment and anger. The shame of how Roman treated her--it was so intense, so all-consuming...it was almost...welcome. For a moment, Crash hadn’t existed. She hadn’t existed. The world had been nothing but the feel of Roman touching her, the sensations shuddering through her, physical and emotional, as he used her.

Allie only realized that she was crying again when tears dripped cold onto her neck. Disgusted with herself, she wiped them away, sniffling pathetically and managing only to make things worse. Distantly remembering that Roman had commanded her to find Myra, she stumbled down the hall, intending to find someplace to hide instead of to obey. If Roman saw her sitting still somewhere, he might shock her again, increasing the intensity until she passed out.

It would be a welcome punishment.

After several twists and turns, Allie heard voices around a corner and recognized Myra’s. Without a second thought, she doubled back and took the first turn she found, weaving through rooms and hallways until she found herself in the empty dining room. The tables had been completely cleared and left bare, ready to be retrieved and stored until the next gathering. The flower arrangements that had been used as centerpieces were stacked against one wall, looking strange and sinister bathed in the blue light from the alarm system over the doors. The rest of the lights were off, the room deserted.

Allie wandered through the space, keeping her footsteps light. She was tempted to crawl under one of the tables, but the thought of how it would look when someone found her stopped her. Instead, she walked to the corner farthest from the doors and slid slowly onto the floor. She hugged her knees and rested her head against them, feeling safer curled up as small as possible. The unwanted ache from Roman’s attentions was fading, and the pain of Crash’s betrayal was reasserting itself, throbbing in her chest like a stab wound.

The door to the kitchen opened and someone walked in. Allie braced herself, expecting a member of the staff to turn on the lights and continue cleaning. Or, worse...Roman.

But whoever it was didn’t turn on the lights. Allie tracked their footsteps as they walked among the tables, keeping her head down. Near the flower arrangements, whoever it was stopped and leaned down. Allie slowly lifted her head, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness until the shape of the intruder became clear.

Crash cut a familiar figure from the dark, his movements casual, unhurried. He was sifting through a pile of something left near the flowers, pocketing some of it.

“What are you doing?” Allie said, her voice echoing in the lofty ceilinged room.

Crash turned towards her, his face unreadable in the darkness. He didn’t answer.

Allie stood up, ignoring the head rush--when had she last eaten?--and advanced on him. Once she was close enough to see what he was doing, she gave a bitter laugh. “Afraid to steal a slave, but not a couple thousand dollars of jewelry?”

He was pocketing the leftover party gifts, bracelets and watches that had been nestled in the little gold boxes Allie herself had placed on the tables.

“The others don’t need this shit,” said Crash. “They’re all loaded. I don’t even know how I got invited to this party.”

In an instant, Allie did know. She realized what Roman had done. “Are you really that stupid?” she asked, half to herself, half to the man standing in front of her.

“What?” asked Crash, a slight edge to his voice.

“Roman brought you here,” said Allie. “Probably for my benefit.”

“He knows about us?”

“The Judicature doesn’t forget, Crash,” said Allie, lifting her wrists to show off the bracelets as proof. “They know everything. About me. About you.” Of course, she actually believed that Roman had stuck to their agreement not to read her file. She had been the one to give him Crash. And he’d made the most of it.

“I might still have a few surprises up my sleeve,” said Crash, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket to make sure the stolen goods were secure.

“Maybe,” said Allie. “But tonight, you did exactly what was expected. You played your part perfectly.”

“I told you I didn’t know you were here, Allie,” said Crash, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “I didn’t lie about that.”

“No,” agreed Allie. “You didn’t.” Her bracelets gave off a light sting and Allie rubbed at her wrists. “I have to go.”

“I will help you, Allie. When I can.”

Allie couldn’t answer him, couldn’t summon the energy to argue. Roman had outmaneuvered them both. He had manipulated the situation, brought her to a place where her hope was shattered and then taken advantage of her. She had always known he was evil. She hadn’t realized he was so...focused.

She wandered through the hallways around the ballroom, no real aim except to leave Crash behind her. The shock had meant that Roman expected her to find him, but he was the one with the ability to track her. She would let him come to her.

When he did, she refused to look at him. She was embarrassed. She was also trying to hide what she now understood--that his cruelty was calculating, even obsessive. That he wanted something from her enough to mastermind the meeting with Crash, the entire party.

“Avoiding me, Alianna?” he asked, a rough hint of amusement in his voice.

“Always.”

He did laugh then and he draped an arm around her shoulders, steering her. She tried to shrug him off, but he gripped her harder, pressing her against him so that she could feel the corded muscle of his arms through his expensive shirt. He smelled like spice and a hint of smoke from the parlor. When he stopped in front of a door a few minutes later, Alianna realized she once again had no idea where she was in the ridiculous, sprawling house.

“My guests won’t all depart until tomorrow,” said Roman. “Perhaps you won’t be surprised to know that our little performance in the parlor captured the interest of some of the others. I want you safely out of the way until they’re gone.”

“If I’m yours, they can’t touch me without your permission, can they?” Allie finally looked at him, intending to let him know that she was really speaking about Crash, about the “lesson” he had intended for her to learn.

“Some men forget themselves when they’ve been drinking,” said Roman. “And I’d hate to have to kill anyone. Good subordinates are so hard to come by.”

He took out his phone and tapped at the screen, keeping one hand on her arm. The door in front of them clicked open and he pushed her through before shutting it again in her face. Allie heard the “snick” of the lock snapping back into place before she even managed to recover enough to try to turn the doorknob. Growling in frustration, she looked around to find that she was in a small guest room. A door to her left opened on a glass-tiled bathroom. When she pulled back the ornate curtains draped over the windows on either side of the bed, she found long panes of solid glass, with no sign of how to open them. The ground was only about four feet down, making the discovery all the more frustrating. In the distance, she could see the ghostly shapes of cars parked on the grass--presumably, the overflow parking near the guest house that she had heard Roman and Myra discuss. She considered trying to smash the glass with the heavy wood chair in the corner, but tapping it with a fingernail showed that it was thicker than average - likely bulletproof. She didn’t mind tearing apart Roman’s home to escape, of course. But she doubted she’d smash through it before someone came to stop her.

Sighing, Allie resigned herself to another night in captivity. She crawled onto the bed and curled up on top of the comforter, letting the events of the night crash over her, sending sadness and guilt and humiliation crashing through her brain. She didn’t expect to fall asleep, but the heaviness of everything that had happened made it impossible to keep her eyes open.

Chapter Text

Light was steaming through the still-open curtains when Myra woke her the next morning. Allie felt stiff and lightheaded, as if she were coming down from a massive hangover. And she had the sense that something was very, very wrong.

“It’s almost noon,” said Myra disapprovingly. “You’re lucky that the guests have been slow to leave or I’d tell him to scold you for being so lazy.”

If Allie ever had any questions about whose side Myra was on, they were swept away in that moment. Still, something else was bothering her. Something more than Crash and Roman and her continued servitude.

“Noon?” she said sleepily, shaking her head to try to clear it.

“Yes,” said Myra, putting a hand on her hip. “Come on. There’s still cleaning up to do.”

“Okay,” said Allie, brushing off Myra’s attempts to pull her from the room. What was it that she was forgetting?

“Hurry up, Alianna,” said Myra.

Noon.

Finally, she recognized the problem. She hadn’t taken her last dose of Bitter. Roman had brought her here around the time it was due. But he hadn’t given it to her. She was almost certain. And Allie, already doped up on pain and humiliation, had forgotten to beg. Of course, she wasn’t suffering the worst consequences because of her adjusted dose. But if Roman realized that she had missed a dose and remained lucid and breathing, he would know something was up.

“I need to use the bathroom,” said Allie, intending to stall Myra while she reasoned through her options.

“Use the bathroom near the kitchen,” said Myra. “Gio’s expecting you for dish duty.”

“It can’t wait,” said Allie. “I--I don’t feel well.” She clutched her stomach for effect. Myra rolled her eyes and pointed to the small bathroom. Allie bolted inside, shutting the door behind her, only mildly surprised to find that it didn’t have a lock. For the sake of believability, she used the toilet and then let the water run, splashing her face.

Think. Think.

The easiest lie was to tell Roman that she had had another dose stashed on her person. He had caught her before dosing herself. He knew it was possible and he had no reason to wonder if there was more to it than an attempt to control her ongoing addiction. The problem with that lie had to do with her ridiculous slave girl outfit, now wrinkled and clinging. She didn’t have anywhere to pretend to have hidden the dose. He hadn’t given her underwear and even her hair was loose. She supposed she could pretend that she had hidden reserve doses around the house, that he had just happened to leave her alone in a room that housed one of them. But Roman knew where she had spent the majority of her time and she was unlikely to have found this far-off guest room in-between lying at Roman’s feet in his study and serving at the party.

Crash. He could be the answer. She could pretend he had given her a dose right before Roman found her. That she had hidden it on her person while he walked her through the halls or perhaps even taken it early. But if Crash were implicated, Roman could easily question him. He could also, just as easily, kill him. A possibility that bothered Allie less than it should.

She would just bluff. She would refuse to acknowledge the issue. Roman was more likely to believe that she had found some way to get ahold of what she needed than he was to suspect that she had successfully detoxed. Once you were on Bitter, you were on it for life--at least, that was the case for everyone else in the Judicature. Even Roman might be taking it, Allie realized. Not all the members of the Judicature were. Some were high ranking enough to have always been the pushers instead of the targets. And others had been tapered to a maintenance dose, the minimum a body could tolerate after the highs.

That didn’t matter now. What mattered was that she needed to find some way to maintain the illusion of her obedience to Bitter or Roman would realize that he didn’t really have control over her. Despite all he had done, all she knew he would do, Allie’s immunity to Bitter was a kind of secret freedom. Without it, she would be truly lost, truly at Roman’s mercy.

Myra knocked sharply on the door.

“Coming,” said Allie. She reached out to turn off the tap and knocked over a tray of soaps molded to look like rocks.

The door flew open and Myra came into the room, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She began gathering the soaps and then grabbed a hand towel, wiping down the counters where Allie had splashed water. Allie took the opportunity to go back into the bedroom. She looked longingly at the locked window, realizing that she might be experiencing the last moments in which she would have even the illusion of freedom. The only inevitable outcome of this disaster, if Roman didn’t kill her, was for him to begin dosing her with real Bitter, re-addicting her and permanently asserting his control.

She scanned the room, as if there might be some magical object that could help her. Then, she saw it.

There was a small dish sitting on the nightstand on the far side of the bed. Heedless of Myra’s nearness, Allie hurtled across the bed, grabbing for it. The familiar small lavender pill rattled as she pulled it towards her.

“No!” commanded Myra, coming out of the bathroom. “You are not going back to bed.”

“I was just getting this dish,” said Allie, swallowing the pill mostly whole before Myra could see it. “Roman left my pill in it last night.”

Myra considered this. “Fine,” she said. “Bring it. You’re late.”

Gio gave her a meagre breakfast and then put her to work washing dishes, but he didn’t seem pleased with her technique. Eventually, he took her outside and handed her over to the gardener, Kimball.

Kimball was a friendly, older man who treated her to a lengthy monologue on the character of the growing season before showing her how to weed a small plot of flowers. It was sunny and hot. Allie was almost grateful to still be wearing the lightweight gown she had been given for the party. She weeded slowly, careful only to pull the plants she knew for certain were truly weeds, enjoying the feel of the sun warming her skin.

Myra’s voice called her back from a kind of reverie.

“I want her to help Karo with laundry,” she said.

Kimball took off his cap and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. “I’ve got plenty more for her to do here,” he said. “Besides, she’ll get garden dirt all over the laundry.”

Allie didn’t particularly like being called “dirty” but she appreciated the opportunity to stay where she was. This task required just the right amount of concentration. If her thoughts drifted too far, dwelling on Crash and Roman and her servitude, she lost her ability to pick out the weeds among the seedlings. Roman probably intended for this string of menial tasks to humiliate her, but keeping busy this way was keeping her from falling completely apart.

“Fine,” said Myra. “She’s fairly useless at household tasks anyway.”

Allie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. She continued to work, enjoying the grit of the dirt on her hands after so much time spent indoors. A few minutes later, Myra returned and Allie stiffened, expecting to be ordered back inside. Instead, the woman knelt next to her and began slathering sunscreen on her face and arms from a small tube. “All I need is to present a red, peeling mess to Sir the next time he calls for you.”

She hated being treated like a child--no, like property--but Allie recognized the wisdom of avoiding a bad sunburn. She let Myra do what she would, keeping her mouth shut. When the woman was done, she left. Allie started to weed again, but the sunscreen was already melting in the heat, burning her eyes. She leaned back, lowering herself onto the grass next to the flower bed, squeezing her eyes shut against the sting.

“Napping on the job?”

She looked up to find Kimball standing over her, a smile on his face.

“Sorry,” said Allie, sitting up on her elbows. “The sunscreen was in my eyes.”

Kimball waved a hand. “I don’t care,” he said. “My gardens are meant to be enjoyed.”

“They’re beautiful,” said Allie, internally refusing to truly enjoy anything of Roman’s. “But--maybe you can tell me if some of these are friend or foe?” She gestured to the flower bed and the collection of plants left over, some of which she was about fifty percent sure were actually still weeds.

Kimball knelt next to her in the dirt, showing her how to identify plants by the shape of the leaves and the color of the stem. When she finished the first bed, he showed her two more and Allie went to work, grateful to keep herself occupied. She was wondering if she needed to apply more sunscreen, when Myra came outside again and made a beeline for where Allie was working.

“Come,” she said when she reached Allie’s side. “I have another task for you.”

“I still have another bed to weed,” said Allie.

“This is more important,” said Myra. “Hurry up.”

Reluctantly, Allie stood, brushing off some of the dirt that still clung to her dress. “Maybe I could change?”

“Not right now,” said Myra.

The woman led Allie back towards the kitchens where one of Gio’s staff had prepared a covered tray of food.

“Give it to her,” said Myra, pointing, and Allie accepted the tray, looking to Myra for more information. “It’s his lunch,” said Myra. “He’s in his office. Do you know the way?”

Allie nodded. Was she being sent alone? No one to check if she tried to poison the food? Or, for lack of poison, at least to spit in it?

“Go on,” said Myra. “And don’t waste time,” she added, tilting her head to indicate the bracelets Allie was still wearing. Allie took that to mean that Roman would be expecting her, perhaps watching her progress on his phone. Which answered one question.

Allie moved as slowly as she dared. The heat that had been pleasant outside was oppressive in those familiar hallways. Carpet ran down the center of the polished wood, hot under her bare feet. The air conditioning was on, but it seemed to be struggling to fill the large old house in the wake of the party. As Allie turned down the hallway that led to Roman’s office, she realized that the tray was slipping from her grip, the silver handles slick as her palms got sweaty and the leftover sunscreen melted against the metal. She gripped the tray harder, looking around for somewhere to put it down and wipe her hands on her dress. With no furniture in sight, Allie was forced to lower the tray carefully to the floor. She wiped her hands and was bending down to pick up the tray when the door to Roman’s office opened.

“What are you doing?” asked Roman. “Hurry up.”

Hating him with every fiber of her being, Allie picked up the tray none-too-gently and brushed past him, setting it down hard on the table in front of the couch because it was closest to the door.

“Take it to the desk,” said Roman.

“You shouldn’t eat at your desk,” said Allie. “It’s bad for your health.” It was probably true, but Allie was mostly just looking for a reason to ignore the command. Roman raised an eyebrow at her, but to her surprise, he went to the couch, lifting the cover off the tray to reveal a salad and a sandwich on fancy china plates. She moved towards the door but Roman’s voice stopped her.

“No,” he said. “Stay here to retrieve the tray when I’m done.”

Allie stopped where she was, looking at her feet. She hoped the position would be subservient enough that Roman wouldn’t order her to the familiar rug next to his desk. Or, worse, to the rug at his feet where he sat on the couch.

Luckily, he seemed uninterested in that particular form of servitude today. Allie heard him moving around the room and then she heard the sound of cutlery against a plate as Roman presumably ate his salad. She wanted to scratch her leg where dirt leftover from the garden irritated her skin, but she resisted, unwilling to draw attention to herself. After a while, she snuck a glance at Roman from under her lashes, unused to being left so completely to her own thoughts in his presence. He was reading a stack of papers as he ate, letting each page fall to the floor when he was done with it. Allie thought about what she might do if he expected her to pick them up.

“Sir?”

Allie and Roman both looked towards the doorway. A lovely blonde in the familiar white shift was standing there, her eyes on Roman. He waved a hand, summoning her to his side. When she reached him, she bowed her head and folded herself gracefully onto the floor, assuming the position that Allie was so often forced to take. The woman didn’t look upset at the treatment, she stretched like a cat as she settled and Allie almost expected to hear her purr.

Roman let one hand fall lazily towards her head, petting the woman’s hair. “Last night?” he asked.

“Everything went well, sir.” The woman had a slightly husky voice and Allie found herself wondering if it was real or if she was using it for Roman’s benefit.

“Did you see Dash?” Roman asked.

“Yes, Sir,” the woman said.

“Good girl. What happened?”

“He fucked me, Sir,” the woman said. “He invited me to spend time with him at his home next month.”

“Good,” said Roman again. “And did you like it, Gracie?”

“Gracie” turned to look seductively over her shoulder. “He was nothing compared to you, Sir.”

Roman laughed. “You flatter me.”

The woman leaned into Roman’s hand as he massaged her neck. “Sir, may I--”

She trailed off, but the question was clear. Roman patted a hand on the couch next to him and the woman eagerly joined him, like a puppy being invited onto the furniture. Allie decided it would be a good time to slip away--Gracie could clear the lunch tray and she didn’t want to see the two of them fawning over each other. She had barely moved when Roman’s command stopped her.

“Alianna, move another step and I’ll be forced to take you over my knee.”

Gracie, who had been carefully avoiding looking at Allie, turned big blue eyes in her direction and--after checking that Roman wasn’t looking--shot a grimace in Allie’s direction. Allie would have laughed if it wasn’t all so horrible. Instead, she lowered her gaze, determined to avoid looking at or thinking about what was happening in front of her.

Not that Roman would allow that either.

“Eyes on me, Alianna,” he said. She raised her eyes and he curled a hand around Gracie’s neck, pulling her towards him for a kiss. Allie fought the urge to turn away as the kiss deepened, Gracie panting slightly as Roman’s tongue thrust into her mouth. Between Gracie’s big boobs and perfect blonde hair and Roman’s dark good looks, they looked like the beginning of a porno film. Allie considered telling them so, but then Roman broke the kiss and checked to see if she was still looking, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. Allie swallowed nervously and met his gaze.

Nodding at her, Roman turned back to Gracie and helped her pull her white dress--much cleaner than Allie’s--over her head. Like Allie, she was naked underneath. Unlike Allie, she didn’t seem to mind. Roman palmed one of her generous breasts in one large hand. The other hand slid between her legs. Allie tried to focus on Roman instead of what he was doing, but it wasn’t much better. He kept looking at her, grim satisfaction in his gaze as he proceeded to do to Gracie almost exactly what he had done to Allie last night, using his long, powerful fingers to bring her to the brink of orgasm. Allie felt her face flush, as much from anger as embarrassment. She had let him do that to her. She hadn’t even fought. She had been so upset about Crash and giving in, tuning out had seemed easier. Crash had treated her like a slave. Like someone who, at best, needed to be rescued and, at worst, was a non-entity despite all she had done. The thought brought tears to her eyes and she tried desperately to blink them away, horrified that Roman might think she was crying over him.

But when he noticed the tears, she had the odd sense that he knew exactly what had caused them. He held her gaze, his fingers still pumping in and out of Gracie’s body where she lay sprawled on the couch, moaning and repeating his name. Allie let the tears fall, wishing she could be anywhere else, wishing she could leave the room, sick at the idea that this really was her life, this really was where her choices had led.

Did Crash understand what he had reduced her to? Did it make it better if he did?

Gracie cried out, her face and breasts flushing as she very obviously came to the completion that Roman had denied to Allie. Roman kept thrusting as she shuddered under his hand. When it was over, he took his hand away and handed Gracie her dress. “Go,” he said.

“Please,” said Gracie. “Please, Sir.”

“No,” said Roman. “Go, before I punish you for disobeying.”

Allie was quite certain that Gracie was begging for more, uncaring that Allie would likely be there to witness it. The woman glided past Allie on her way out the door, nearly knocking into her. Allie shifted slightly to the side to avoid her and felt the telltale slickness between her legs. Some sick part of her had actually been turned on by watching Roman do that to another woman.

“I’m finished,” said Roman a few moments after Grace had departed. “Clear the tray.”

He watched her carefully, curious to see if she would obey. Alianna looked like a forest wraith next to Gracie’s smooth beauty. Her dress was wrinkled and smudged with dirt. Her hair was a wild tangle of curls down her back and her cheeks were flushed from time spent in the sun. He had given the order that she was to be kept busy. He wasn’t entirely surprised that Kimball had been the one to take advantage.

He did not intend for what had happened with Crash to entirely break her. He wanted to do away with her fantasies of escape, but he knew that there was a chance the reality of her servitude could send her over the edge into depression. He wanted her to obey, but he didn’t want to extinguish the fire that made her interesting.

The next few days would be delicate.

Alianna walked to the table and leaned over to gather the dishes onto the tray. Roman reached for her and brushed a tear from her cheek before she could shy away.

“I know,” said Roman, “You hate me.”

“No,” said Allie. “I give up.”

“What was that?”

“I give up, Sir,” said Allie. “I’m a slave. I accept that I’m a slave. That I’m stuck here, that I have to do your bidding. I liked working in the garden. Maybe, Sir, if I could please do that more often.”

Roman studied her. “I’m sure you wish it were that easy, Allie.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him and then snapped it shut, probably realizing that someone who has accepted her position would not argue. She probably believed what she was saying, believed it would be easier to give in. Easier not to fight.

What he intended her to learn was that none of it was easy. It was never fucking easy. But it could be good.

“I think you actually believe that you’re ready to give in,” he said. “I also think you’ll fall apart at the first real test.”

That night, he intended to prove it to her.

Chapter Text

The day felt interminably long. After the encounter with Roman, Myra finally allowed her to bathe and change her clothes. She was given another dress, although this one wasn’t as sheer and came with a bra and panties. Allie found herself wishing for the soft hospital outfit. The clothes had felt temporary, from a temporary place. Most people left the hospital. The dress, the lack of shoes...it felt intentional. Final.

Myra set her to work helping with the last of the laundry, trailing behind her as she pushed a cart to deliver items to various rooms. There were guest rooms all over the house--almost like parts of it were a private hotel. They replenished stack after stack of fluffy white towels and sets of soft, white sheets. Allie realized that some parts of the house had a different feel--the parts where Roman had his office and his bedroom. The sleek, modern lines of metal light fixtures and modern furniture juxtaposed effortlessly with the historic details like medallions and fireplaces and portraits in heavy gold frames--these were the things that marked Roman’s territory. She would have appreciated it if it were anyone else. If she were anyone else.

Part of her dream with Crash had been to buy an older house and fix it up. Crash was as comfortable with tools as he was with computers after summers working construction for his Dad. And Allie had figured she could learn. She liked the idea of working together to recover something that had been forgotten. She would point out houses that they drove past when they were in historic parts of town, dreaming of paint colors and curtains while Crash patiently explained all the maintenance problems he expected to find inside.

Had Crash ever really believed in that dream? Or had it all been convenient, a reflex to keep her compliant while he chased after power wherever he could find it?

Crash would never be a Level One. And if she was right, he would never leave, either. He would be a lackey for the Judicature forever. He would never be able to save her. He would never really want to. He wanted her as an accessory--a way to show he was powerful. He would never help her if it meant he risked losing power and influence.

How had she not seen it before now?

As darkness fell, Myra announced that Allie was free to eat dinner. Allie had never been invited to eat with the staff--she had always been forced to go to Roman, and often to eat from his hand. She refused to ask to eat with them now, so instead she grabbed a sandwich and wandered, finding herself out on the lawn. She shuffled her feet across the grass, careful not to trample any of the newly-weeded flowerbeds in the dark. Lights dotted the landscape as far as she could see--visual evidence that Roman’s manor enclosed her on every side. Of course, the guests last night had driven in. She herself had been driven here by Roman. But escape would mean running a marathon before she even left Roman’s immediate sphere of influence. She sat on a marble garden bench and picked at her dinner, considering her captivity.

Maybe what she had said to Roman earlier was true. At the time, she had believed it. It was too hard to keep fighting. And what was she fighting for? She didn’t have anyone but Crash. Faith--but the little girl didn’t know her anymore. She had no family. No one to miss her. No one to run to. That must have been what Crash liked about her all along. She needed him because she had no one else to need. And if he needed to discard her, there was no one who would mind.

Allie realized that she was crying again and cursed softly under her breath. What was wrong with her? Nothing had changed. She had simply been too stupid to cry before. And now, it was much too late.

She was shivering when Myra found her--the mountainous terrain was chilly at night no matter how hot it got during the day The clock chimed as she approached, letting Allie know it was time for her dose. She could make it a few minutes--ten, twenty at most--before a lack of symptoms would look odd. She expected Myra to give her the pill. Instead, she sent her indoors, scolding her for standing in the cold, telling her to go to Roman’s bedroom.

When Allie arrived, Roman was in his bedroom office. Instead of his usual suit, he was wearing a pair of thin sweatpants, loose at the waist, and a plain white t-shirt. His hair was tousled, as if he had been running his fingers through it. He looked...normal. Young. She had never stopped to think about what it meant for him to be so powerful so young. Had he been raised in the Judicature? Or has he simply found himself well-suited, risen quickly through the ranks?

The way he looked now, some of the formality of the Judicature had been stripped away. Wary of what that meant, Allie knocked softly on the open glass door.

“Myra sent me to get my dose. Sir,” she added, trying to let the word fall softly, without the usual sarcasm and venom. She just wanted to play this game and leave.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get here more quickly,” said Roman.

“I took it a little late last night,” said Allie with a shrug. “Sir.”

“You can drop the ‘Sir’,” said Roman. “It’s not really my preferred mode of address, especially not the way you say it. I’ve simply found it to be a good way to gauge your mood.”

“What is my mood?” asked Allie without much interest, silently adding the “Sir” because he had told her to drop it.

“You claim to be bidable,” said Roman, standing up from his desk and stretching. His t-shirt stretched over his muscled chest and his pants rode down the slightest bit, revealing a hint of taut abdomen, a trail of dark hair. Allie looked away.

“May I please have my dose?”

“How late did you take it last night?”

“It took me a few minutes to find it,” said Allie, lying smoothly. “Maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Plenty of time,” said Roman.

He came towards her, pushing her gently out of the doorway and sliding it shut behind him. He took her hand and led her towards the bed. “What are you doing?” asked Allie. Something about his manner made her nervous. She had been alone in the room with him before, but not since what he had done to her at the party. Perhaps Roman felt that their encounter had dissolved any barriers to her continued sexual service. But she wasn’t ready--would never be ready--to sleep with him. Not as his slave.

“Tonight, I want something from you before I give you your Bitter,” said Roman.

Allie waited.

“Last night, I made you wet,” said Roman. “When you return the favor and make me cum, you can have your pill.”

“What?” Allie said, her voice strained.

“I know you heard me,” he said, watching her with a hint of amusement playing over his face. “The question now is, how resigned are you really? How ready to give in?”

“I am not going to be your sex slave,” said Allie.

“I haven’t forced you,” said Roman. “Not much, anyway,” he amended. “Tonight, I’m giving you a choice.”

“Fuck you or let my brain atrophy from lack of Bitter?”

“I didn’t say you had to fuck me,” said Roman. “Just make me cum. I’m open to a number of methods. I’d be happy to help you come up with something if you’re feeling shy.”

“You’re insane.”

“I promised I would test you, Alianna,” said Roman. He almost looked regretful. “You’re doing about as well as I expected.”

“Fine,” said Allie. “I failed.” She turned, intending to leave the room. But the need to take her pill stopped her. The momentary satisfaction of walking away from this and surviving it would be gone as soon as Roman realized that she was immune.

“It’s not the only way,” said Roman. “I’ll give you the dose before you die. This time. But I will let things get very unpleasant before I save you, pet.”

Allie wanted to run. To scream at him. But she knew he wasn’t lying. And she knew she wasn’t a good enough actress to maintain the illusion that she was going into a forced detox if she waited him out. If he was serious--and when had Roman ever not been serious?--she had to find a way to do what he ordered. And it had to be soon.

She stepped away from him and raked her hands through her hair, trying to find a way to manufacture the first symptoms of withdrawal. Nothing was worth revealing her secret. Nothing was worth giving Roman the leash of a real addiction to Bitter. It was the only trump card she had.

“I’ll suck you off,” she said, looking at him for a reaction, trying to make it sound as if it wasn’t anything new. Using her hands would be less intimate, but the first signs of withdrawal tended to be shaky hands. He would notice that she was too steady. If she used her mouth, he wouldn’t notice what her hands were doing. Unless he was really as uncaring as he seemed, he wouldn’t notice much of anything except for his cock.

She knelt on the carpet in front of him, avoiding eye contact. Roman helpfully pulled down the loose sweatpants and let them fall. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath and he was already semi-hard. At the sight of him, Allie felt a momentary pang of something almost like--pride. Roman--implacable, cruel Roman--was turned on. He braced himself against the side of the bed so that she could reach him and looked down at her, his eyes cool.

Allie had never given a blow job to anyone but Crash. And while his size was...generous...he wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Roman.

“Go on, pet,” he said, reaching down and brushing her hair away from her face. “I’d rather you did it before you start shaking and drooling for lack of drugs.”

Allie raised one hand to encircle him and saw that her hand was shaking. No need to pretend. She was terrified. She should be fighting this. She should run. But she needed to protect her secret above all.

She began to move her hand up and down the length of him. He felt heavy and smooth, warm in her hand. Experimentally, she cupped his balls and licked the tip of him. It was something Crash had always liked and her goal was to hurry things along. To make him cum, as required, with as little effort and intimacy as possible.

Roman seemed to know what she was thinking. “Put it in your mouth,” he said. “And if I feel your teeth, I’ll rip them out.” Despite the harsh words, his tone was almost gentle.

Allie circled the tip of his cock with her mouth. He was clean, his smell of soap and the faintest hint of sweat. She rubbed one hand up and down the length of him, using her tongue to tease the sensitive skin around the head. She bobbed her head, squeezing her eyes shut, praying that he would go over the edge quickly.

Roman reached down and pressed one large hand to the back of her neck and her eyes flew open. He held her in place.

“Take it all in.” He pushed at her head, encouraging her to take him deeper.

Allie raised her hands to his thighs, pushing to get away. She fell backward, throwing her hands behind her to catch herself and looking up at him. “I can’t.”

“I’m flattered, darling,” said Roman. “But I haven’t seen you try.”

He reached for her, pulling her back up with one hand and tangling the other in her hair, pulling until it hurt. He guided her to his cock, waiting until she opened her mouth and took him in. At first, Allie thought she could control it. He was deeper than before, but she could handle it. She could get through this. “Breathe through your nose,” Roman suggested, as if he were commenting on the weather. How, even now, was he so completely unruffled? So clinical and cold. Allie felt tears come to her eyes and she told herself it was from the fear and the lack of air. Roman was pushing inexorably forward, forcing himself deeper. She tried to push away again, but his grip was too strong. Roman had taken control.

Allie started to gag and Roman stilled but he didn’t allow her a reprieve. He simply waited as her throat pulsed around him, trying to force him out and as soon as she felt her muscles relax, he thrust forward again, a low growl sounding in his throat. He moved faster and faster, pulling out halfway and then thrusting back in. Allie was really crying now, gasping around him.

“God. Fuck,” Roman groaned. He put both hands at the back of her head and held her tight against him, nearly balls deep, as he finally released into her throat. When he was finished, he let go, and Allie fell forward onto her hands and knees, gagging and crying. She spit onto the carpet but she had already swallowed most of his cum in an attempt to breathe. She felt his hand on her head again and she shied away, scrambling backwards on the carpet. Roman stopped her by standing on the hem of her dress.

“Don’t you want your pill now, Alianna?”

The question reminded Allie why she had done it. What was at stake. Slowly, tears still tracking down her cheeks, she shook her head yes. Roman knelt in front of her and reached into the pocket of his shirt, retrieving the familiar lavender pill and holding it out to her, pinched between two large fingers. She reached for it, but he brushed her hand away and thrust his fingers into her mouth, letting the pill fall on to her tongue. She felt it begin to dissolve on contact, the taste of it mixing with the salty taste of him. She was about to swallow when she realized something was wrong. The pill--it didn’t taste right. Every dose of bitter had a sugary coating. In Allie’s doctored version, the sugar cut all the way through, a fail-safe to let her know that she was safe from addiction.

This pill--once the sugar dissolved, it tasted bitter.

Horrified, Allie tried to spit the pill out. Roman saw her intent before she could, clamping a hand over her mouth and pinching her nose, trying to force her to swallow.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he hissed. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it shouldn’t be this hard.”

Allie tried to cry out, to twist away from him. Her mouth filled with saliva and she tried not to swallow, tried not to think about how much she needed to breathe. Roman let go of her nose and keeping one hand over her mouth, he let the other circle her throat, massaging the muscles there, encouraging her to swallow. When she finally did, it was nothing but a reflex, her body betraying her--swallow the pill or suffocate.

Roman waited until he was certain it was done and then he let go. Allie collapsed against him and he smoothed her hair away from her face while she tried to catch her breath.

“It really is Bitter,” she said, her voice broken.

“You’ll get used to it,” said Roman. He was still holding her, but she was too shocked, too defeated to push him away. “It will be easier now.”

Chapter Text

Before last night, she had always had at least one choice. To keep her secret or not. To play that final card or to continue to protect it.

Roman had taken that from her. He had tricked her into servicing him in a desperate bid to keep her secret. And then, while she was still reeling from the act, he had forced her back into submission using Bitter. Panicked, she had fallen forward on her hands and knees and tried to spit, clawing at the pill and his spend in her throat. As casually as if they were shaking hands, he had clapped his fist over her mouth, holding her firmly and watching her throat move while he waited for her to swallow. After he was satisfied, he helped her to her feet and dragged her to the bed. She had fought hard for a moment, thinking he was going to rape her next, but he had shushed her and pulled her down next to him on top of the sheets, helping her to lie down and letting her go when she curled into herself and cried.

She thought she had felt his hands in her hair, gentle pressure against her scalp as he soothed the hurt he had caused. She could have dreamed it, but what kind of fucked up dream was that? She eventually fell asleep or passed out. When she woke up, he was gone, but the tracking bracelets were pressed firmly around each of her wrists. Wholly unnecessary now that Bitter held her leash, except as intimidation. She took his absence to mean she once again had the ability to wander the house. It probably pleased him to let her go, knowing that she could now, so easily, be forced to his side.

She had been afraid of him because he was powerful. Because he had a temper, even if he seemed to take pride in keeping it carefully leashed. But she had feared the wrong things. Roman was dangerous because he was smart. She had underestimated him. She had believed her secret would always be there to use against him - that she would choose whether to reveal it.

All along, Roman had been planning. Did he have the scientific knowledge to crack her formula, adjust it? Was there a doctor in his employ? It had taken her several years to learn the right mix of coding, medicine, and chemistry to even consider taking back her control by adjusting Bitter. She hadn’t taken any action until she was fairly sure she could not only alter the dose, but cover her tracks. It helped that very few within the Judicature had the technical knowledge to do more than replicate existing protocols to create the customized formulas that ensured the drug’s effectiveness. But Roman had figured it out.

Twenty four hours.

That was how long she could go now without a dose. Only twenty-four hours to execute any escape plan. Maybe a little longer if she could get her hands on this new dose, ride out the addiction while she worked to re-establish control. But Roman was bound to keep the pills well out of her reach now that he could use them for their intended purpose.

Allie felt sick to her stomach. Mostly due to her situation, it was a common side effect of Bitter for individuals to have minor stomach upset and dizziness when they first started taking it. Allie’s placebo had only contained enough of the markers of Bitter to mask itself - she wasn’t used to the potent drug. Probably, she would feel better if she drank water or ate something, but that would require venturing into the more familiar parts of the house.

She could still smell him. Still recall the salty taste of him mixing with the shock of the Bitter. Allie felt the bile rising in her throat. She managed to sit up - barely - and she was sick on the floor instead of the couch. She took a very small amount of satisfaction in ruining Roman’s carpet.

“What in the world?” Myra bustled into the empty bedroom, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the mess. “Are you ill?”

Allie shook her head, thought better of it, and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Definitely.”

Myra raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” said Allie.

Myra gave her another odd look. “Move, so I can have someone clean up this mess,” she said, shooing Allie away. “If you need a doctor, you’ll have to take that up with him.”

Allie hated the way Myra always referred to Roman as “him.” It was better than “Sir”, maybe. But it had the effect of making it seem like Roman was the only person worth knowing in the entire world. “I don’t need anything,” said Allie.

She intended to wander the grounds, avoiding even the gardener if she could help it. But as she wound through the corridors in search of an exterior door, she glanced down at her outfit, the ridiculous, see-through fabric. She wondered if she could find something more like normal clothing.

She knew where the laundry was thanks to Myra. She headed that way now, hoping to find the place deserted so close to the staff’s usual breakfast. The place was empty, but there was more than one machine going -- the room had six. Someone had been working and would likely be back before long. Allie scanned the room, noting that most of the baskets were filled with linens. Some of the guests from the party had probably stayed at the manor even if Allie hadn’t seen them.

She found what she was looking for in a neat pile of folded laundry stacked on one of the shelves. A pair of leggings. She wasn’t sure where they had come from, but she had seen some of the staff wearing “street clothes”. It would someone did their laundry here, sneaking it in along with whatever belonged to the household. She kept searching until she found a faded flannel. It was several sizes too big, but it was comfortable. Stealing into one of the many bathrooms, she discarded the shift Roman had provided and put on the flannel shirt over the purloined leggings, rolling up the sleeves and tying a knot in one side of the hem to keep it from hanging too low. Being dressed in “normal” clothes -- even stolen ones -- gave her a little bit of her sense of self back. She was still reeling from what had happened, but it was easier to stomach when she wasn’t wearing a dress.

Allie went directly outside after changing her clothes. She didn’t want anyone to see them and question her. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She started walking in a straight line and kept going until she reached a fence almost twenty minutes later. She followed it, making a wide loop of the grounds. When the guard house was in sight, she took a detour, walking far enough inward towards the house to avoid the two men standing behind the imposing gate that blocked entry from the road. Mostly, the landscape outside the fence was grass surrounded a few yards back by trees. Here and there, the fence was yards away from rocky slopes, each more dangerous and deadly-looking than the last. At the far end of the grounds from the gatehouse, a second fence enclosed what must have been the power station -- the building hummed noisily and thick cables ran out of the roof and into the trees while pipes snaked into the rock below.

Not once did she find so much as a bent spindle or loose brick. She hadn’t really expected to. Mapping out the grounds seemed like good sense. And even without Myra’s explicit reprieve, she would have felt fairly certain that Roman wouldn’t stop her today. He had won the last round, decisively and without warning. Now, he was letting her regroup, likely to prove that he could knock her back again.

She would take advantage. She also wouldn’t let him prove that he was right.

It was well past lunchtime when Allie realized she was hungry. Her stomach had settled after the morning, but food didn’t appeal until it suddenly did. Instead of going back to the house, she followed the fence back to where she had seen a small crop of fruit trees and helped herself to two pears. It wasn’t really substantial enough to fill her stomach, but it took the edge off the hunger and kept her from having to go back into the house.

Hours later, Allie sat by the fountain and watched the sun set over the gardens. She thought that if anyone was going to tell her to go back inside, it would happen then. She had never been left alone for long in the evenings. But as the sun disappeared and the lanterns on the grounds flickered to life, Allie was left alone and her bracelet stayed silent, too. She sat next to the fountain, trying to focus on the sound of the water. A shadowy figure waved as he walked past along the grass. The gardener, going indoors for the night.

Allie knew that time was growing short when the headache started. It was another early side effect of Bitter to feel withdrawal pangs earlier than the twenty-four hour mark. Her body was learning to crave Bitter and it hadn’t yet learned that she would answer those cravings.

She hadn’t yet decided that she would.

At least, that was what she told herself, even as she stole silently into the house and took the stairs into the modernized, carefully designed wing that marked Roman’s territory. She went to his office first, but the room was empty, lit only by the puck lights in the ceiling set to “dim.” As slowly as she could stand, she made her way to Roman’s bedroom instead. Her shoulders tensed with each step. Her mouth was dry. Her throat still hurt from what he had done to her last night. She had light bruises at the back of her neck where his fingers had dug in.

Pushing away thoughts of what had happened, Allie pushed open the door to Roman’s bedroom. He probably would have preferred that she knock which was why she didn’t do it. The small rebellion didn’t register - the room was empty.

Allie felt an unwelcome flutter of panic. She thought she knew the game, even now. Roman would make himself accessible to her so that she would be forced to ask for her dose. Withholding it from her would be a petty power play when he had recently won such a decisive victory. Allie was turning over the possibilities when she realized that the lights were on in the bedroom office.

Roman was seated at his desk. He wasn’t dressed as casually as he had been yesterday. He was wearing a suit, although the jacket was resting on the couch, the tie hanging loose around his neck. Allie stood in the doorway, waiting for him to look up from the computer and acknowledge her. He glanced up and seemed to do a double take. Then, he held up one finger to tell her to wait and kept typing, biting at his lower lip.

When he was done, he gave her his full attention, sweeping his eyes over her entire body. Allie expected some kind of comment on the outfit. She looked sort of ridiculous in the oversized shirt and baggy leggings. But she also looked less like a slave than she ever had, especially now, with the overlong sleeves of the shirt pulled over the bracelet at her wrist.

Roman’s mouth twitched into an unexpected half-smile. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

“What?” Allie clenched a fist into the fabric, tugging at the hem.

“That’s my shirt,” said Roman, gesturing to what she was wearing. “I’ve had it for ages. It’s comfortable, isn’t it? Broken in. I’ll want it back.”

“No,” said Allie reflexively.

Roman ignored it. “I assume you’re here for your dose?”

“Yes,” said Allie. She held out her hand, not moving from the doorway. If Roman was going to force her to do humiliating things in exchange for Bitter, she wouldn’t make it easy for him.

To her surprise, Roman took a pill out of a small dish on his desk and walked towards her. He stopped when he was close enough to reach out and place it in her palm. “There you go.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s your dose if that’s what you mean.”

It wasn’t, but Allie wasn’t about to remind Roman that he was a sadistic bastard. If he was willing to hand over the dose, she would take it and leave, getting as far away from him as she could considering that she had no way out of the manor. “Okay,” said Allie. Because thanking him would be ridiculous but refusing would be worse. She closed her palm over the pill, intending to take it as soon as she was out of sight.

“I have a lot of work to do,” said Roman. “I’ll be here or in my downstairs office if you need anything.”

Allie was tempted to assure him that she wouldn’t, but she didn’t want to risk angering him if he was distracted. Or if he was up to something. “Okay,” she said again. Then, she turned and forced herself not to run out of the room.

The couch hadn’t been very comfortable. Considering her only requirement for a place to sleep was that it was somewhere far away from Roman, Allie wandered back into the part of the house she was starting to think of as the “guest” area and found an unlocked bedroom. It was similar to the one she had slept in the night of the party, but the bathroom was done in black and white penny tile and the floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on the trees instead of lawn. She was hungry again after eating nothing but fruit from those trees, but being hungry seemed like a better option that going to find Myra or another member of the staff to beg for food. And the Bitter was already messing with her, anyway. Her stomach was churning and not just from hunger. Feeling defeated, Allie lay down on the bed, pulling up the thin coverlet draped over the footboard.

After an hour, she admitted to herself that she wasn’t going to sleep. Despite walking around all day, she hadn’t done anything strenuous or useful. The weight of her possible future, trapped with Roman, was crushing. She felt as if something were sitting on her chest, stealing her breath.

She dug backwards into her previous life, trying to think what she would tell a patient to do if they were panicking. She focused on breathing slowly, counting in and out. She tried to clear her mind by focusing on a single image. The image she chose was, oddly, of Roman. He was sitting at his desk in his office and she was watching him. He wasn’t focused on her.

The man seemed to have two modes. Laser-like focus, difficult to shake or deter. Or indifference as he focused on something else. In her reverie, she took advantage of his lack of interest to study him. It occurred to her to wonder how he kept his body so strong. She had never seen him working out. He was always at his desk or engaged in his new pastime of tormenting her. In all her wandering, she had never seen a gym. He might have been genetically blessed - as much as it pained her to admit it - but there was still work required to be so powerful.

The daydream felt so real. She watched him pick up a pair of black, wire-rimmed glasses and put them on before picking up a printout and examining it carefully. At least one thing about him wasn’t frustratingly effortless. He was farsighted.

Distantly, another part of Allie’s brain tried to remind her that she needed to calm down and that focusing on something other than her enigmatic captor would be a better way to do it. She realized that she felt warm and kicked off the light blanket. She opened her eyes, almost expecting to find herself in Roman’s office for real, watching him. But the otherwise empty bedroom was what came slowly into focus as her eyes adjusted to the dark. A fan turned lazily overhead. She didn’t remember turning it on, but she had jabbed at several light switches before she’d gotten the room as dark as she wanted it to be. The light breeze did nothing to comfort her. She was burning up.

Not a fever, she told herself. You’re panicking. Stop.

Hyper or hypothermia - difficulty with temperature regulation - was another expected, if unwelcome, potential side effect of adjusting to a new dose of Bitter. It was a sophisticated drug, carefully tuned to each individual biome, and its main goal was creating a permanent addiction. The human body liked to be in stasis. It fought change, even when it was a losing battle. It was the reason her body would eventually settle and adjust to Bitter, despite the fact that she wanted to fight it.

She began to shake. Was she feverish? That wasn’t normal. Her hands were trembling, despite the fact that they were lying loose at her sides. She curled up on her left side, hoping that the change of position would help to shake off the aches beginning to course through her body. The pain only got worse and she shifted again, turning on her other side and letting out a soft moan.

This was worse than it should be.

Roman claimed to be a doctor. Or at least to have some kind of medical training. As the head of the Judicature, he oversaw hundreds of people addicted to Bitter. If his doses were flawed, he wouldn’t have maintained his position. But - it was entirely reasonable to assume that it wasn’t usually Roman himself who was adjusting Bitter’s properties. He had taken a particular interest in her medication. He had known something was wrong and used medicine and math to sort out what that was. But what if his ability to build a usable dose of Bitter wasn’t as good as he thought? The compounding process was complicated, even with the robust algorithms Allie herself had helped to create. A mistake could make the drug ineffective, yes. But a mistake could also make the drug just effective enough...addicting the recipient but not giving them what they needed to maintain.

Allie sat up, fighting back a wave of nausea when her head spun. As soon as she was fairly certain that she could stand, she did so, clutching at the bedpost for support before shuffling painfully across the room. In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, she was in Roman’s study, watching him again as he studied those documents. She needed to get to him, but she couldn’t stand.

No. She was standing. She was also hallucinating. Another sure sign that this was withdrawal or some kind instead of minor side effects. She needed to get to Roman, but he was somewhere else in the house. Hopefully still in his bedroom, if she could only get there. She needed to find out what he had done and master her response enough so that she could help him to fix it. The only tiny glimmer of hope she had was that Roman didn’t seem to want her dead. He wanted to dominate her. He wanted to win. Maybe he would kill her eventually, but right now, they both understood that would be an unacceptably easy way out.

Allie blinked, waiting for the mirage of Roman’s office to completely fade and for the dimly lit hallway to swim back into view. As certain as she could be that she was moving in the right direction, she began to make painful progress. Despite the fact that she almost would have welcomed her meddling, she didn’t see Myra or any of her staff as she moved through the house. It was late. The place was deserted.

At the bottom of the stairs that led to Roman’s wing, she had a moment where she was certain that she couldn’t go any further. She leaned against the railing and slid bonelessly onto the bottom step, looking up at the ornate staircase and seeing it as a mountain. If she passed out here, either Roman or Myra would find her in the morning. Depending on the severity of her reaction, there would probably be time to revive her. But by then, she might need the resources of the hospital back in the city. And she might not survive the trip to get there.

Hating how low she had fallen but refusing to die, Allie began to crawl up the stairs. She thought she might be crying, but she was so hot that the tears seemed to evaporate the moment they touched her skin. Probably, it wasn’t possible. Another hallucination. But the line between reality and reverie was increasingly thin.

After an eternity, Allie reached the top of the stairs and crawled down the hallway towards Roman’s rooms. She tries to stay on the carpet that ran down the center of the polished wood floor, but even on her hands and knees, she needed the wall to prop herself up. She could feel her knees objecting to the abuse, but it was faint background noise compared to everything else.

When she reached the double doors into Roman’s suite, she was faced with a choice. She could push them open and enter on her hands and knees. Or she could, somehow, stand. The latter was the only real option she had. Even if it meant she would likely collapse, at least he wouldn’t know how she had made the painful, humiliating journey. Of course, Roman might not be in the room at all. But that didn’t bear thinking about. She hadn’t made it this far to face dying alone after all.

Mustering every ounce of strength she had left, Allie dragged herself to her feet and leaned against the doors. She made it three steps before she sank to the carpet.

“Roman.”

He came in from the office. He was still wearing the suit with the loose tie. Allie hated him. For all the usual reasons and because he, unlike her, didn’t appear to be in pain.

“Something’s wrong,” she managed, her voice strained. She was sweating. She pushed at the sleeves of the oversized shirt.

“A dramatic entrance,” observed Roman.

“Something’s wrong,” said Allie. “The dose you gave me isn’t working.”

Roman knelt and in response Allie tried to lift herself up, managing to sit with her hands braced in front of her on the floor. Her mind flashed to what she had done last night, letting Roman fuck her face. She pushed the thought away and focused on what she was trying to tell him. He needed to understand. To care about what he had done.

“You did something wrong,” Allie repeated. “The dose isn’t taking the edge off. I’m going into withdrawal.”

“I see that,” said Roman. “You look terrible.”

He was speaking too slowly. He didn’t see that it was an emergency. “Roman. You fucked up the formula. Or it was compounded wrong. I need to see the data. I need to adjust the dose before it gets worse.”

“You think you’re a better doctor than me?” asked Roman. He sounded amused.

“This isn’t a joke,” said Allie. “I need to see how bad it is. I need to adjust the dose before I’m too out of it--” Her voice trailed off. Just the thought of pouring over the kind of data that went along with a dose of bitter made her already aching head spin. She wasn’t sure if she could do it. “In the interim, I need naloxone. Do you have it?”

He should. Even the most stable formulations of Bitter could cause a bad trip every now and then. Any household this full of Bitter-fueled zombies should some version of anti-overdose medication on hand. Taking that might clear her head enough for her to figure out what was going wrong. She might need to rely on Roman to administer whatever additional medication she deemed necessary. But he didn’t seem to want her dead.

“I have a solution in mind,” said Roman. He reached out and brushed her sweaty hair back from her face, checked her pupils. “I do wish you had come to me sooner.”

Thinking of her painful journey just to get here, Allie clenched her teeth. “The naloxone?”

Roman shook his head. “That won’t fix it,” he said.

“I’ve had medical training,” said Allie. “I understand Bitter…” She trailed off. She hadn’t meant to tell him that. Arguing with Roman wouldn’t help. “Please. Roman, please.”

“The Bitter is depressing your nervous system and respiratory system,” said Roman. “The effect of naloxone would be temporary.”

“Until I can figure out a solution,” said Allie, her voice pleading.

“Your dose is working exactly as intended,” said Roman. “I’ve modified it to require a booster.”

Allie tried to follow what Roman was saying. She was hallucinating again. He seemed to be coming closer even though she was almost certain he was completely still. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Not today,” said Roman. “Probably not at all.”

“Then what--”

“Your personal formula of Bitter was difficult to produce,” said Roman conversationally. “I figured out what was going on with your hyped up sugar pills almost a week ago, but it took some time to get your active dose to where I wanted it to be. You’re a lucky test subject of some very complicated research.”

“You’re using me as a guinea pig?” asked Allie. Anger was the only thing keeping her upright now. She was fading fast. She wouldn’t be able to fight back. Soon, she probably wouldn’t be able to talk.

“Bitter is a brilliant invention,” said Roman. “But it was created by people who wanted to do good. Who wanted to save the world instead of accepting that humans are irretrievably broken.”

Allie’s arms were shaking. Roman reached for her and dragged her gently across the carpet, arranging her so that she could lean against his side. He started stroking her hair again, the motion almost soothing, his fingers pressing at her temples to take the tiniest edge off the headache.

“I’ve thought for some time that I could make Bitter more useful. The Judicature relies on the addictions of its members. It’s a powerful tool, but a flawed one. People will do almost anything to get their own personal fix. You know that, of course, Aliana. Your performance yesterday was intended to make me believe that you were just that desperate.”

Allie shuddered at the way he could refer to the violence of what had happened between them yesterday at the same time he used his hands to soothe her. She felt hot tears start to fall again and Roman paused in his petting to brush one away.

“People often do the wrong things, despite orders, because they believe it will get them a hit. Most of the time, these errors can be corrected with careful attention. But for a long time, I’ve wished that I could ensure certain intended behaviors would occur. I want to preside over a carefully controlled and powerful organization, not a drug den of unpredictable addicts.”

“Weird job choice for someone who doesn’t like addicts,” Allie managed.

Roman laughed, the sound vibrating against her where their bodies touched. “I like addicts,” said Roman. “As long as they’re addicted to the right things. As a doctor, you must understand that behaviors can have just as intense an effect on body chemistry as medication. My new formula of Bitter takes advantage of that. The patient must do certain things to make it work.”

Allie was struggling to understand him, to put the pieces together. “What did you do?”

“I conditioned you,” said Roman. “Yesterday. Your dose requires a precise mixture of adrenaline and oxytocin to operate effectively. Otherwise, it will be inadequate and lead to--well, this.”

“You broke it,” said Allie. “Why?”

“There is a serum that should approximate the effect,” said Roman. “I’ll give it to you if you force me, but I’ll let you go almost out of your mind first. Alternatively, you can produce the desired behavior and adjust the outcome yourself.”

“I don’t--”

“Sex,” said Roman. “Oxytocin and adrenaline are what fuels it. It should be an adequate trigger. It may take some experimentation before you find the exact experience that suits, but it will reliably produce the missing components.”

“You want me to have sex with you?”

“It will make you feel better.”

Allie tried to pull away, but Roman held her more tightly. She was weak now and it didn’t take much. He shifted her so that his hands were free and started to undo the buttons on her shirt. “I told you I would want this back.”

Allie couldn’t deter him or help him. Her head was too fuzzy. She leaned against him, swaying slightly, trying to sort out what he had told her while he undressed her. “I don’t understand.”

“If you’d like a few days to consider, I’m happy to leave you to it,” said Roman. “I’ve prepared an injection that will work as an alternative to the desired behavior. But it won’t completely dull the pain you’re feeling. And I imagine you’re in quite a bit of pain.”

Allie moaned in response. “Why?”

“No complicated reason,” said Roman. “I want to fuck you. I want you to ask me to do it. But - I’m a sick bastard. And I won’t enjoy it if you want it too much.”

“You -- you’re insane.”

Roman made a small noise that sounded like agreement. He stood up and lifted her to her feet in front of him. He slid her leggings off and helped her to step out of them so that she was standing naked, clinging to him for balance. He removed one hand from her waist and ran it along her side until it covered her breast. He brushed his palm over it and then tweaked the nipple between his fingers. “You’re lovely,” said Roman. “Your body.”

“Please-” Roman’s other hand slipped between her legs, his fingers probing. He began to work at her clit. The pressure barely registered at first because she was also in a pain-filled haze. As he continued to caress her, the pain started to fade, her body already reacting.

“Last chance,” said Roman. “Tell me no and I’ll put you to bed to ride it out. I wouldn’t blame you if you tried. You’re stubborn. I imagine it could be several days before you break.”

He was offering her a choice. A laughable one. Even in her haze, Allie understood that. She could submit to him now or allow him to abandon her to the pain of withdrawal, bringing her back only when she was truly at the brink. And then doing it all over again with the next inadequate dose.

Already, the pain was unbearable. And, eventually, she would give in anyway. “I hate you,” said Allie. “You’re evil.”

Roman shrugged. “Is that a no?”

He still had one hand cupped possessively over her sex. The other was wrapped around her neck, helping to keep her still and to support her. Slowly, Allie shook her head.

“A yes?”

Allie shook her head again, confirming.

Roman didn’t wait for her to change her mind.

Ideally, she would have come to him sooner, been more lucid when she made the choice. But he had been patient long enough. He could pretend to himself that his interest was clinical - that he wanted to see how his new version of Bitter worked. But he couldn’t convince himself that he was just so disengaged.

He wanted her. Had wanted her since she had been tossed into his office by Ormond. She was beautiful. That part was easy. He could have plenty of beautiful women in his bed - he had Gracie and others who were just as willing. But he was dissatisfied with what came easy. Like Bitter, sex was a brilliant invention. But he required something extra for a truly satisfying experience.

He wanted to dominate, but even that wasn’t enough. Aliana was what he needed because she was a challenge. She was brilliant and fiery and powerful in her own right, even as he brought her to heel. The medical training he had suspected. But she has also hacked his computer. A strange and precocious stable of skills. The Judicature had lost something when they let her wander. He could bring her back and make her useful. Better than before.

She was drifting now. He could see it. Too much of her was consumed by the painful withdrawal for her to participate as he wished. If his simulations were correct, she would begin to recover herself as the experience went on. He hoped that he was right, that he would have the satisfaction of arousing her and bringing her back to herself only for her to realize that she now belonged to him, would return to him again and again to get what she needed. Against her will and at his mercy.

Perhaps he would be merciful, in time. He might enjoy it if she came to appreciate their time together. He might grow bored and give her to someone else. The future didn’t matter. Now, here, she was his.

Roman led Aliana to the bed and helped her to lie down. She was already flushed with fever, but she blushed as she was laid out naked under his gaze, averting her eyes. He caught her chin and held it until her gaze drifted back towards him. “There isn’t really any point in hiding now, is there?” He kept his eyes locked on hers as he slipped his tie over his neck and tossed it onto the bed, then unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the floor. He fingered the tie, considering. “I could tie you up. But we’re going to have so many opportunities to have fun together.”

Aliana turned her head away again and he realized why when her hand drifted towards her sex. She was still alert enough to consider that she might be able to provide some relief for herself, rejecting his attentions. He was fairly certain that he had successfully created a dose that would circumvent that kind of attempt. She needed another body close to her own. She needed to be held and touched. To prove it to her, he caught both of her hands in one of his and held them over her head. Then, he leaned down and kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth, pushing harder until she was forced to respond if only to try to control his attentions. As soon as her tongue touched his, he pulled away, letting her hands go at the same time he levered his body over hers on the bed, effectively blocking her from touching herself again. For a moment, her hands flailed, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. She clutched at the hair at her temples and then, reflexively, raised one palm to his chest. He thought she might have intended to push him away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, or to pull him closer. He waited, enjoying the feel of her small hand against his skin. He was propped up on his elbows to keep from crushing her, but he lowered himself, letting his heavy, hard cock brush against her thigh. He felt her tense beneath him.

He had waited so long. Why had he waited so long? He had known that dominating Aliana would be sweet, that she would be a different kind of conquest. But now, with her lovely body splayed beneath him, tensed, but ready to receive him, he thought he might have made a rare mistake. He could have had her all along and still brought the battle to this point.

Aliana was breathing heavily, short, panicked breaths, like a cornered rabbit. He leaned in again and covered her mouth with his, stealing her breath. When she turned away, he lowered his head to her exposed neck and bit and sucked, intending to leave a mark. She cried out as he sucked her sensitive earlobe between his teeth and gave a short, sharp bite. She turned to him, the pain having obviously drawn her, momentarily, out of her haze.

Now.

He lined up and thrust into her. First, just a few inches, enjoying the way that her slick passage stretched to receive him. She was small, tight, but accommodating. He doubted Ormond had ever managed to enjoy her which meant it had been a long time. He had never been particularly enamored of virgins, but he liked that she had been forced to wait for him. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He slid into her to the hilt, giving her more of his weight at the same time so that he could feel her breathing close against his skin. She gasped when he was fully seated, and he thought he was brushing her cervix, positioned as he was for maximum penetration. At least, in this position. There would be so many more opportunities to possess her.

He began to move, a steady pace. Almost gentle. He was enjoying the feel of her, aware of the way she was beginning to squirm beneath him as their coupling began to have the intended effect. Her hand went to his chest again and this time, she did push at him, without effect.

“It’s - it’s working. You can stop.”

“I can’t,” he said. He brought one hand over his own and held it there, pressing it against his chest so that she could feel the effect she was having on him. “I couldn’t stop now if I wanted to.”

“Roman -”

He nipped at her neck again. “Say my name again, pet.”

“No, I--”

“You want me to stop.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Aliana nodded. In response, Roman pulled almost completely out of her. He reached a hand between them and guided his cock to her clit, brushing against her in small, smooth circles. He wanted to spill himself inside her. He wanted her to ask him to do it.

Beneath him, Aliana tried to get away. He caught her before she could roll out from underneath him, pushed closer when she tried to press away from him into the mattress. She huffed in frustration and bucked under him. He pulled away for a moment and then continued his ministrations when she stilled. “What do you want, Aliana?” he said. “Tell me.”

“I want you to stop.”

“Anything else you want?”

“I hate you.”

“So you’re fond of telling me.” He couldn’t tease her much longer and still maintain. With a grunt, he thrust deep, angling himself so that each stroke still brushed her clit. She began to move beneath him again, whether rising to meet his thrusts or trying to get away, he didn’t quite care. “Good girl,” he said, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep from going over the edge for as long as possible.

She turned and looked at him. He could see that she was lucid now. The expression on her face - wounded, desperate, relieved - was enough to send him over the edge. He jerked against her, filling her with his cum. “You’re not wearing a condom,” she said, trying again to push him away even though it was obviously too late.

“You’ve had your birth control injection,” said Roman when he was once again able to speak. “A child would be an unnecessary complication.”

“All of this is unnecessary,” said Aliana, her fire returning. “How much time have you wasted figuring out new ways to torture me? Using me as your test subject for this sick experiment?”

“Based on that fuck, it wasn’t a waste at all,” said Roman, answering her fire with a cool indifference he knew would rub salt in the wound. “I look forward to your next dose.”

Chapter Text

Allie’s days were suddenly free. Where Roman had once dogged her steps, she was now left mostly to her own devices. There was no reason for him to chase her. Every 23 hours, she sought him out. Obedient.

Desperate.

She needed him. He was the only person available who could provide her personal formula of Bitter, the thing that would keep her from pain and pain and pain followed by death.

The staff had been instructed to avoid her. Roman’s orders, to avoid any attempt Allie might make to seek what she needed from someone else. For all intents and purposes, it created the impression that she and Roman were the only living inhabitants in a house full of ghosts who tidied up and left out trays of food. Now and then, she caught a glimpse of someone -- the gardener coming over the rise of a distant hill or an unfamiliar maid disappearing hastily around a corner.

She spent her time wandering the grounds, grateful as summer gave way to frequent gray skies and spitting rain that matched her mood and numbed her senses. Idly, she thought about the fact that she would be screwed if something happened to Roman. Not if he stopped giving her Bitter--that was a possibility, but a different problem. But Roman was one of the highest ranking members of the Judicature. With that kind of power came danger. It wouldn’t take much for him to be gone long enough for her brain to turn to liquid and dribble out of her ears. He didn’t even need to be dead. Just detained. A meeting that ran too long could be the thing to end her life.

Not that she truly believed Roman would let her die. Not yet. He got a sick kind of satisfaction out of having her under his thumb. She was a project. A distraction. His obsession with her was the only safety she had.

Allie didn’t need to look at a clock to know that she couldn’t wait any longer. Trying to moderate her pace, she walked the familiar path to Roman’s rooms, trailing one hand along the walls as she went. When she reached the double doors to the suite, they were closed. She felt a perverse kind of satisfaction at pushing them open without knocking. In a way, she had been invited.

The room appeared empty. Allie’s heart immediately started beating faster. He wasn’t there. Which--fine. He would come or he wouldn’t. She refused to panic. At least, not for another five minutes. She stood still, listening. Focusing on her breath.

At four minutes and fifty-nine seconds, she was considering hacking Roman’s personal computer again to try to reason out the formula for her dose. She had only taken a few steps towards the office when Roman opened the door to the balcony and walked into the room, his cell phone pressed to one ear. His eyes flickered towards her and then he looked away, running a hand through his hair. He looked angry, but Allie had the distinct sense it had more to do with whatever he was hearing than her presence. She was a non-entity. A fast fuck. Perhaps he regretted forcing her into this arrangement. Perhaps he would change the terms, eventually--

“I’m not going to listen to this shit anymore,” said Roman into the phone. “You know what I think. Solve it.” He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. Allie realized with surprise that the bed was unmade, the sheets thrown back in a messy tangle. She had never seen the room less than immaculate. The bed had obviously just been used. Maybe for sleeping.

Maybe with some other woman.

Perhaps he had women dosed on the hour to fulfill his sick need for control.

“I didn’t allow the staff into my room today,” said Roman, noting the direction of her gaze. “I needed my space.”

“I don’t care,” said Allie, feeling caught out.

“Of course you don’t,” said Roman evenly. “Come here.”

Allie stayed where she was even as the familiar floaty feeling began to wash over her--the first warning that her last dose of Bitter had her running on empty. Her eyes returned to the rumpled sheets. She tried not to think about all the times she had been in that bed. The things she had done. The things she had allowed him to do.

Roman crossed the room while she was distracted. She felt him moving closer through the haze. Still, when Allie turned towards him, she let out a little yelp to find him so near. Ignoring her outburst, Roman grasped both of her wrists and dragged her even closer.

“You will never obey,” he said. It was a statement of fact--she couldn’t tell if he was bothered.. His voice was scarily devoid of any emotion that Allie recognized. His usual sardonic dominance was buried under something stranger and less certain.

Roman slipped a hand into the front of her jeans, tugging hard until the buttons popped open. Out of instinct, Allie tried to bat his hands away, despite the fact that he was exactly what her body needed. He easily brushed off her clumsy efforts, dragging her jeans down past her knees so that he could press one large hand over her panties. Then, he pressed that same hand against her abdomen, pushing until she fall back against the end of the bed and then using his legs to keep her in place while he undid his belt and lowered his own pants. He let them fall, followed by his boxers and stepped out of them, kicking them away. He was still wearing his shirt, the top buttons undone, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. It was wrinkled, as if he’d slept in it. His hair was tousled, his eyes dark. Allie stared up at him, bracing her elbows against the end of the bed, shifting at the feel of the bed frame pressing painfully into her back. Despite herself, she racked her hazy brain, trying desperately to place his mood, to reason out what, perhaps, he was allowing her to see.

He tore her panties with a flick of his wrist, so fast that they were gone before Allie registered the burn of the fabric against her skin. He was already hard and when Allie saw the scary lack of emotion on his face, she tried to scramble away from him. He pressed against her again, forcing her to lie back so that she didn’t have the leverage to escape.

He sheathed himself in her in one powerful thrust, one hand lightly circling her neck to keep her down. It wasn’t necessary anymore--the feel of him, hard and huge inside her helped her to fall completely into her addiction, her need for him. For an eternity, he stood there, his balls heavy against her, his cock deep inside her. Then, he began to move, his hand flexing at her neck as he made punishing, deliberate strokes in and out of her body. The hand at her throat tightened, but before Allie could panic at the way he was cutting off her air, he released her, bracing his arms on either side of his head as he groaned and spilled inside her.

Almost before he was finished, and while he was still inside her, he reached deftly for his shirt pocket and retrieved the familiar lavender pill, flicking at an invisible piece of lint before pushing it under her tongue. She waited for him to pull his hand away, desperate to swallow at the familiar, bitter taste flooding her mouth. Roman growled. “Close your mouth,” he said, pressing his finger hard against her tongue. “Suck.”

Already, the Bitter was working well enough that Allie was coming back to her senses. She felt her whole body burn with embarrassment as she obeyed, closing her lips over his finger and sucking--soft and then harder--until the rest of the pill dissolved and slipped down her throat. He stood over her, watching every emotion that flashed over her face as she accepted the dose, his finger seated in her mouth, his cock softening inside her. After what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, leaving her lying on the end of the bed, her jeans still around her ankles. He didn’t try to soothe or cajole or even to punish.

He pulled on his pants and just...left.

Slowly, Allie sat up, wincing as she felt his cum leak onto her thighs, sticky and warm. She pulled up her jeans, ignoring the soreness, wishing her underwear survived as something more than scraps strewn on the floor. She could feel that her face was still red.

And she truly was addicted. Truly was sick. Because a part of her wanted to stay, to curl up on the bed or the couch if it was all that was offered. To lie there and wait for him to surface from whatever strange place he was in, wait for him to be willing to pet her and caress her--to force her to accept the only comfort that was available to her if only because it was better than no comfort at all.

Instead, she slipped quietly from the room--not looking for him, not looking back. When she had wandered far enough away that she was certain he couldn’t hear, she curled up on yet another unfamiliar bed and quietly cried herself to sleep.

Two nights later, the pattern changed. Roman came to her.

She was hiding out in one of the guest rooms. Outside of Roman’s part of the house, most of the rooms were almost like part of a hotel. Clean and well-appointed, but devoid of even a minimal amount of clutter. Every room was ready to receive guests, although Allie hadn’t seen anyone unfamiliar since the party. Myra seemed to leave fresh stacks of towels daily and there were even small, paper-covered sets of expensive soaps on the counters in each of the many bathrooms.

She happened upon this particular room by chance. It looked mostly like all the others, except there was a small set of shelves built into what appeared to be an architectural nook in one corner. The shelves contained a minimalist collection of books. The books seemed to have been selected for color rather than content. They all had the same terra-cotta binding. There were a few classics - Dickens, Austen, Homer - and a handful of completely random titles - The Purpose Driven Life, The Nightingale, and an encyclopedia of the letter “K” from 1968.

Allie loved to read. Even in med school, she had found time, sneaking novels into the break room for rare moments of downtime or mustering the last of her energy after a long shift to read a few pages of one of her favorites. Crash had teased her about the way books seemed to collect on every surface.

“You’re not even reading all of them,” he would say.

Allie would tell him that the point was she wanted to read them and having them at hand would make things more efficient whenever she did have time.

She wondered what had become of those books, stacked as they had been in the tiny row house in Maryland. As far as she understood, the Judicature had ways of disappearing the people who they could no longer adequately control. Everyone she had ever known outside the Judicature probably thought she was dead. Most likely, Crash had sold all of her things or paid someone else to get rid of them. She pretended to herself that he might have given things away, playing along with some story about whatever tragic thing had supposedly happened to her. She pretended that her friend Joanie might have gotten her books, or at least had an opportunity to pick through them and choose the titles that interested her. Joanie, a fellow resident, had loved to read but confessed that she hadn’t managed to find the time to do it for fun since before med school.

Pretending that she might have started a small library in Allie’s honor made her feel less alone. Less horribly sad about the loss of her books, a loss that she felt with a depth that was out of proportion with everything else that had been taken from her.

Roman found her draped over the room’s single chair with the encyclopedia in her lap. When he opened the door, she was too startled to be afraid. Even though she was wearing the bracelet, he had fallen out of the habit of dogging her steps.

Why bother when Allie would come to find him?

She had even worried at times that he might tire of her. Hide from her, despite the logical consequences. “What do you want?” asked Allie. Lately, she had become sharper with Roman, less deferential. He didn’t seem to care and having an attitude chipped the tiniest edge off the trauma of their daily encounters.

“I need something from you,” said Roman. He was still in the doorway, using one hand to turn the knob back and forth. The motion elicited an annoying clicking noise over and over, but Allie had the sense that he didn’t notice or even realize what he was doing. The realization put her on alert. Roman always knew what he was doing. He was unflappable.

“If you’re looking for sex, you’re about three hours too early.”

Roman smirked. “Too tired tonight, honey?”

“What do you want?” Allie repeated, snapping the book shut, but keeping her finger in place. She was learning about kangaroos.

“As I said, I need something from you,” said Roman.

Allie waited. She wanted to shift out of her casual position in the chair, but doing so would draw attention to the fact that he had caught her unawares. Instead, she leaned her head back onto the arm and closed her eyes.

When Roman still didn’t speak, she opened them only to find that he had advanced on her. As if realizing that he had her cornered, Roman sat deliberately on the edge of the bed, leaving a path between Allie and the door. “You’re creeping me out,” said Allie. Roman was always careful but he was never kind. If he was trying in even the smallest way to put her at ease, she was even more certain that anything he needed was something she was likely unwilling to give.

“I need you to tell me how you modified your dose.”

She had figured he would ask eventually. Worried over it. Even convinced herself that he must have already decided she wasn’t any kind of mastermind. That someone else--Crash, maybe--had supplied the modified dose. She gave him the lie she has prepared, trying not to choke at the stale taste of it now that his inquiry had caught her off guard, after all. “It never worked on me,” she said. “I assumed the formula was wrong from the start and I was smart enough not to say anything.”

“No,” said Roman. “A decent lie, but we test for these things. And all your tests look normal.”

“Maybe that’s why it didn’t work,” said Allie, trying to mimic Roman’s signature, bored tone.

“I would almost have been disappointed if you made this too easy,” said Roman. “But I promise some time ago not to go poking about in the Judicature’s files just to figure you out. So I can’t properly trace your connection to Keystone without cheating.”

Allie stared at him, the spark of interest in his eyes. He was loving the chase and it turned her blood cold. “You’re such a man of honor,” she said, letting the statement sound like the censure it was meant to be.

“More than you’d give me credit for,” he agreed easily.”So, Keystone?”

Keystone was the tiny biotechnology company that had created the backbone of the technology behind Bitter. They were gone now, like so many things the Judicature had turned to dust in its wake. The first thing the former head of the Judicature did after stealing the technology was to bankrupt the company as part of a bid to hide the evidence of what they had discovered.

Allie gave in and sat up in her chair, facing him head on across the few feet that separated them. “You think I hacked Keystone?” she asked. “I’m almost flattered.”

“You should be,” said Roman. “You know that you’re smart. Your current situation is the result of a few persistent blind spots and the Judicature’s willingness to exploit them. It wasn’t a lack of intelligence that brought you here.”

Allie was put in the strange position of wanting to disagree. It would be easier if she wasn’t smart. If she had sold herself to the Judicature for the usual, shallow reasons. Money. Power. The fact that she was “smart” made her situation all the more foolish. She should never have trusted Crash. She should have seen it coming. “I just got lucky with my dose,” she insisted. “And then…very unlucky,” she gestured at Roman to indicate her current circumstances.

Roman smiled sadly. “Aren’t we past this yet, Alianna?”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Confirm for me what I think I know,” said Roman, “and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Let me go,” said Allie automatically. “If you do, I’ll pretend to know whatever you want.”

Roman shook his head. “Not worth it. But I would be willing to offer you a measure of retribution. Was your little boyfriend involved? If he was, I’ll correct the fact that he is failing to suffer alongside you.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Allie.

“Level nine,” said Roman. “Ten, if you want it.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing to me.”

Allie took a breath. “You think offering to kill Crash will motivate me to help you?”

“Will it?”

Allie took a slow breath. “Crash doesn’t know anything,” she said, the words as bitter on her tongue as any pill. “There isn’t anything to know.”

Lie. Lie. Lie.

“I see,” said Roman. “That’s a disappointment."

“Something unfamiliar to you, I’m sure,” said Allie.

“It’s been a while since I’ve reminded you to hold your tongue,” said Roman. Allie couldn’t tell if the observation was also a threat. Then, Roman added, “perhaps that’s because I like the way it feels on my cock.”

“Fuck you.”

“In a few hours, I will,” said Roman. “Now, as delightful as this banter is, I need to go explore some alternative sources of information. If you’re sticking to the story that you don’t know anything, that is.”

Allie shook her head.

“It would be better if you didn’t lie to me, Alianna.”

She stayed silent. Distantly, she was aware that she was clutching the book so tightly in one fist that she was bruising the finger that marked her page.

“All right,” said Roman finally. “I’ll be in my study.”

“I don’t care,” said Allie.

“Not for another few hours,” he agreed.

More motivated than usual to defy him, Allie waited as long as she reasonably could. Her choices were narrowing all the time and the options were becoming worse. Before, she had been concerned with protecting her secret. Now, she had to weigh which was worse--going to Roman while she was still lucid and avoiding the first painful signs of withdrawal, or, endure the pain as long as possible and lose the ability to try to influence his methods.

She had noticed that he was more...inventive when she wasn’t fully lucid. As if he thought it might take more to make an impression. He had tied her up like he had threatened. He had used a vibrator to abuse her clit until she sobbed for mercy. Roman had taken her in almost every position she knew about and a few she would have been too embarrassed to imagine.

Tonight, considering his strange mood, she chose to go to him while she was still mostly in control. As promised, Allie found him in his study. He was wearing his glasses, his desk strewn with papers. The computer screen flickered -- he was obviously watching some kind of movie. Allie moved closer, keeping her distance, but maneuvering so that she could see around the desk and get a glimpse of the screen.

He was watching the news. She hadn’t seen the news since she became a Level Nine. She realized that she didn’t even know who was president.

Roman’s gaze flickered towards her and he tapped deftly at the computer screen so that it went dark. He stood up, gathering the papers into a neat pile. “Hello.”

“Hi,” said Allie. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Darling,” said Roman, giving her a look. “The way you flatter me.”

Allie stayed silent. She had the distinct sense that Roman enjoyed their banter. At times, it felt almost….comfortable. Which was sick. Intent on getting things over with, she walked over to him and perched on the edge of the desk. He leaned towards her, but he didn’t touch her. As if to encourage him, she brought her hands tentatively to his chest, running them over his shirt and then circling his neck to draw him closer. Roman smiled and let her pull him down, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. Deftly, Allie reached for his shirt pocket and fished out the dose of Bitter before he could stop her. To her surprise, Roman laughed and kissed her forehead before straightening up. “Clever.”

Allie glared at him, brining the pill to her lips before he could change his mind and snatch it away. When it was gone, Roman reached for her hand and pulled her up. She followed him, expecting him to lead her to the couch. Instead, he tugged her past it, leading her out of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to do this in a bed,” said Roman.

Allie didn’t argue. Arguing wasn’t worth it. If she insisted on picking the place, Roman would pull back, forcing her to wait until the withdrawal crept in and then finding some way to pay her back for even that small rebellion. Resigned, she let him lead her.

She was beginning to learn the layout of the mansion. Spatial reasoning had never been her strong point. In an odd way, it was part of why she had been so effective as both a doctor and a hacker. Maps didn’t come naturally to her, so she had learned unique and effective ways to organize the world around her. It helped her to see things that others didn’t. To find solutions that didn’t fit, but that worked. If she was correct - and she couldn’t be certain - Roman was leading her away from his private wing of the house. Considering that Roman spent hardly any time in the rest of the house, the deviation made Allie nervous. She wanted to ask where they were going, but doing so would only confirm for Roman that he had made her unsettled. She held her tongue, noting each room that she glimpsed as Roman led her swiftly through the hallways.

He stopped at a locked door and dropped her hand, using a key to open it. Beyond the door, a thin set of stairs stretched up into relative darkness. Roman flipped a light switch, bathing the space in the glow of a single, yellowed bulb and then pushed her ahead of him. “Go.”

Tentatively, Allie climbed. Whatever this was, she hoped they would get there soon, before the withdrawal set in. Whatever this was...it couldn’t be good.

Allie braced herself as she turned the corner at the top of the stairs. She expected--well, her imagination was broader now, in all kinds of horrible ways. She was afraid that she might see a St. Andrew’s Cross or a swing or some other dangerous, deviant toy. Instead, she turned the corner to find another door which Roman reached around her to push open.

On the other side stretched a hallway not unlike all the others in the house. The wood floors were clean but the air smelled slightly musty, as if the space had gone unused for some time.

“The old guest quarters,” said Roman. “I haven’t gotten around to renovating them yet.”

He walked halfway down the hall and stopped in front of one of the matching doors, motioning for Allie to join him. Nervous, she did so, peering anxiously around him as yet another door threatened to reveal some unknown danger.

Roman used another key and then opened the door, pushing her through it ahead of him. Allie stumbled and then froze. It was just a room. And it wasn’t.

She recognized the curtains, first. An outdated, heavy pattern of colorful flowers. There were the wardrobes running all along the far wall, the older television still arranged in the center. Even the smell seemed familiar-faded lemon cleaner and stale mint. It was the room where she had stayed all those years ago with Crash. The room where she had lost her virginity. Allie turned to Roman. “I want to go somewhere else.”

“I don’t,” said Roman. He shut the door, throwing the lock.

“Roman, don’t do this.”

“I can’t imagine why not.”

Allie squeezed her eyes shut, but it only made her more aware of the smell, the sounds of the old air conditioning unit blowing softly through the vents. This room. Roman planned to have sex with her in this room. It shouldn’t matter, but of course it did. Of course he knew.

It wasn’t about Crash. Not exactly. It was about the person she had been. Too in love to believe that anything could ever hurt her. Too naive to see how careless Crash was, to realize that he could have been gentle. She had been afraid of things back then, of course. Losing Crash, mostly. Failing at school. But even in her wildest fears, she had never imagined a life like she was living now.

Tonight, Roman intended to strip even that small mercy away. To corrupt even her memories so that nothing existed outside of his control. “Please take me somewhere else,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

In answer, Roman pulled her towards the bed, his hands grappling for the hem of her shirt.

“Roman, stop!” Allie slapped at his hands. In answer, he smiled, a cruel smile, and slapped her across the cheek.

Allie felt the tears start to fall as that particular memory came rushing back. Crash, slapping her, panicked about his dangerous plans. But she couldn’t run or try to leave. She needed him.

Even if it hurt.

Allie’s mind began to drift as she forced herself to stay. She froze and Roman, probably thinking that she was already feeling the haze of withdrawal, began to undress her. When he was naked, too, he pushed her onto the bed, arranged her in front of him on her knees, one strong arm circled vise-like around her waist. She braced her hands on the comforter and Roman relaxed slightly behind her, his free hand pressing against the small of her back as he lined himself up. The comforter was cheap synthetic, the fabric slightly slippery under her grip. At the first thrust, she started to lose her balance, but Roman hiked her effortlessly back up, gathering her hair in his fist and using it to steady her. Allie arched her back against the sting of his grip on her hair, the familiar pressure of her body stretching to accommodate his generous size. She almost welcomed the distraction. The more Roman hurt her, the less she had left to experience her surroundings.

Then, the television in front of her flickered to life.

On the screen, blurry camera footage began to play. Allie and Crash, in grainy black and white.

Allie watched in horror as her former self stretched out on the bed. She remembered so much about that day. At least, she thought she did. But seeing it again was different. In her memories, she looked almost the same as she did now. But on the screen, she was so young. Small next to Crash’s tall form. A ghost who had yet to make all of her mistakes.

She didn’t want to see it. She tried not to look. But Roman knew--he always knew. He forced her head back up when she tried to lower it.

“Keep your eyes open,” he commanded.

Allie stared, watching as Crash laid her out on the bed. He had said sweet things to her. She remembered that. Or she thought that she did. But the experience itself hadn’t been kind. He had hurt her. Not because she was a virgin, but because he was careless. Because he didn’t take the time to make it good. He decided he was ready. He deigned to want her. And then he took her.

And she had loved him. Deeply. Foolishly.

Even Roman was more gentle. No, not gentle. But careful. He knew her body. Cared about every response he elicited. It was that thought that finally brought her to tears. On the screen, Crash moved over her, behind her Roman still moved in deliberate strokes.

Allie shifted. The boost of adrenaline from Roman’s little surprise had been more than sufficient for her dose to kick in. She didn’t need this anymore. She could get away. She had to get away. She might not be able to escape the manor, but she could at least make an effort to escape this room, with its painful memories.

Roman let her struggle, adjusting his grip as she moved. They were both covered in a thin film of sweat from exertion, their bodies slippery against each other. When he had had enough of her attempts to escape, he dragged her backwards and flipped her onto her back, covering her body with his before she could adjust.

It had been luck that led him to the tape. Well, not luck, exactly. Alliana had led him to Crash and it was his files that contained the breadcrumbs that had, impossibly, led back to this very house. A perfect trap to spring and he hadn’t even had to break his promise.

Judicature facilities were full of cameras, of course, but most of the footage was wiped upon review. Roman kept the occasional record for blackmail or other archival purposes. But it was his predecessor’s more prurient instincts that had given him the footage of Allie and Crash. He had kept it to enjoy the show at his leisure. Even linked it with Crash’s file since no one would dare question it.

It wasn’t much of a show. The boy didn’t know what he was doing. Had never known. Allie--that was what he called her, Allie--was a fiery, intelligent girl who needed to be dominated. Crash didn’t know how to handle her.

She was crying underneath him. It wasn’t the first time she had cried while he was inside her. It was the first time it made him angry. He threaded one hand into her hair again, forced her to look up at him. She sniffled.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why won’t you tell me what I want to know?” He had been moving inside of her with a leisurely, tortuous pace, but now he thrust hard, forcing an involuntary gasp from her lips. “Do you still love him, Alianna?”

Allie cried harder. She tried to hide her face against his chest but he put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back. “Well?” he asked. He felt foolish asking her that. It would explain why she wouldn’t confess what he needed to know. But it also made him sound like he was jealous. He didn’t need to be jealous. She belonged to him now.

“I don’t love anyone,” she said. “Not anymore.”

Her face was bathed in the flickering shadows of the television. Roman moved inside her once more.

Mine. Mine.

He came hard, pulling out and spilling his cum onto her chest.