The Prey

Stepping to the door, she rapped hard against it. Alex, who must have been waiting just outside, opened it immediately. He held a dark green garbage bag open in his hands. “Put the soiled newspaper in here,” he ordered, turning his head away with a look of distaste.

Mara retrieved the nasty bundle. Stepping out of the room, she dropped it into the bag. Alex bunched the top and tied it into a knot. He pointed to the ground. “You know better. Hands and knees. Now.”

Mara, achy and sore, bit back a sigh, though she didn’t dare refuse. She lowered herself stiffly to the floor. Still holding the garbage bag, Alex stepped around her and reappeared a moment later, the bucket in his other hand.

“Follow me.” He walked through the living room into the kitchen, Mara crawling as fast as she could behind him on the hard tiles, hating him with every fiber of her being.

Once in the kitchen, a small but sunny space with a table for two set in one corner, Alex opened a backdoor that led outside. Turning to her, he said, “You may stand this one time.”

Mara scrambled gratefully to her feet. She stepped behind him into the fresh air and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. It was twilight, the air tinged with a dusky, pleasing blue. She must have slept longer than she’d thought, which her rumbling tummy, now empty of its breakfast, confirmed.

They stood in a small backyard, the lawn neatly cut, a wrought iron fence running the perimeter of the space, the sandy beach just beyond the fence. There was a large metal trash bin on the side of the house. Alex went to it, lifted the lid and dropped the garbage bag inside.

He returned to Mara, a rock rake in his hand. Holding the rake and bucket out, he said, “Here. Dump the piss bucket in the sand over there and rake over it. Then rinse the bucket at that tap.” He pointed to a spigot near the backdoor.

Under Alex’s watchful eye, Mara walked to the small gate set in the fence, lifted the latch and stepped out onto the warm sand. She dumped the contents of the bucket on the sand and pulled clean sand over it with the rake.

Turning away from the house, she looked out toward the sparkling ocean. What if she dropped the bucket and rake and ran as fast as she could toward the water? She was a good, strong swimmer. She would swim as fast and as far as she could, treading water until someone appeared to rescue her.

A hard hand clamped on her shoulder from behind. Mara jumped, giving a startled cry.

“Stop dawdling.” Alex propelled her back through the gate and let it clang closed. He watched as she rinsed the bucket. She used the opportunity to wash her hands as well, and splash a little water on her face.

They returned to the kitchen. Alex pointed imperiously to the floor. “Back down on your knees, zero.”

As Mara lowered herself, she saw a bowl of peaches and pears on the counter. They looked wonderful. Hungry. Thirsty. Please. Alex walked to the counter and selected a peach from the bowl. He took a paring knife from the drawer and cut a slice.

He ate the piece of fruit, his eyes on Mara as he chewed. The tantalizing scent of its juice filled Mara’s nostrils and made her mouth water. She swallowed.

“Would you like some, zero?”

I’m not zero. I’m Mara.

“Yes, please, sir.”

He cut another slice, but instead of offering it to her, he popped it into his mouth. Mara pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor.

“Let me hear your mantra first.”

Mara looked up, her exhausted mind not quite processing what he was asking. “My what, sir?”

“Your mantra,” Alex said impatiently. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten it already.”

Mara continued to stare at him.

Alex sighed with exasperation. “I didn’t think you were so stupid, zero. We’ll take it slowly. Repeat after me. ‘I exist to serve, to suffer, to please and obey.’”

Alex held the paring knife in his fist. He pointed the blade in her direction, his eyes glinting with sudden malice. “Say it,” he spat.

“I exist to serve, to suffer, to please and obey,” Mara said quickly.

“’I am a cunt, a piece of ass.’”

“I am a”—Mara hesitated involuntarily over the word but forced it past her lips—“cunt, a piece of ass.”

“’I am the property of Pirate Island.’”

“I am the property of Pirate Island.”

He lowered the knife, using it to cut another slice of juicy peach. “There, now. That wasn’t so hard. Say it again. Put it all together. Say it like you mean it.” He ate the slice and licked his lips, his eyes fixed on her face.

Mara took a breath. Words. Only words. She repeated them woodenly.