The Boss (Chateau 3)

“The boss?” Irene had only been there a few months longer than I had. She was still being integrated into this new world of snow-covered cabins, of torchlight that lit the pathways to and from the clearing.

The most surprising aspect of the veteran girls was their acceptance. When weeks turned into months, when months turned into years, they molded to this new life, spending their time in the cabin reading their books, playing their games, like they had gotten off work after a long day and were spending the evening at home. There was no discussion of an uprising, of freedom. They didn’t even talk about the things they missed, their families and friends, the outside world that was just a few hundred miles away.

Raven could never be that way.

Not in months.

Not in years.

Not in a lifetime.

She would never forget the taste of pumpkin-flavored coffee in the fall, the lights of the Eiffel Tower, the picture of Mom on the coffee table in the living room, and she would never forget about me either…and the life I deserved.

A life she deserved more.

Petunia was in the rocking chair near the fire, drinking a mug of hot cocoa that her guard had given her. Some of the girls had special relationships with the guards, getting extra items through their obedience…or other things. Sometimes a guard would show up in the evening and escort the girls to another location for thirty minutes before he dropped her off again.

We all knew exactly why. We just never talked about it.

The only way I’d sleep with one of them was in exchange for freedom.

But freedom would never be an offer on the table.

Petunia spoke again. “He’s in charge of the camp.”

“How do you know that?” another woman asked.

Petunia shrugged. “You can just tell…”

She was right—you could totally tell.

Footsteps sounded outside the front door, heavy boots that announced a pair of guards had shown up to the cabin. It was normally one at a time, so this was unusual. The lock was undone, and then they stepped inside, scanning the room until his head faced my direction. His face was covered by the garb of the guards, so there was no way to discern his identity. Sometimes I could tell them apart based on their size and mannerisms, but I could never be certain.

But I was certain they were looking at me.

All the girls turned to follow his stare, to draw the same conclusion.

My body tightened in fear because I knew they were there for me, to take me away and remove my consent, to force my servitude in ways I refused to agree to. The fear was like acid in my stomach, but there was no escape from this. This was my punishment for my stupidity, for a situation that could have been easily avoided if I had just listened.

“Get your things.” He stopped at the foot of the bed.

I was still on the bed, still sitting with my knees pulled to my chest, unable to understand the request.

The other guard helped himself to my dresser and pulled out my belongings, which wasn’t much. He set my boots beside me and dropped my jacket over the bed so I could pull it on.

Then they both stared at me.

“W-w-why?”

The second guard scooped up my belongings into his chest and waited for my compliance.

The other just stared, but he never moved to touch me, to try to yank me to my feet and force my obedience, which was odd.

When I didn’t move, the first guard spoke again. “Because he wants you.”

I knew who he was.

The boss.

Two

A Man of His Word

Melanie

I was marched through the darkness to the northern part of the camp, past the flickering torches in the clearing, past the cabins with wooden rails covered in snow. The sky was dark, and delicate flakes of snow drifted down, landing on the bridge of my nose and melting instantly.

I walked between them, flanked on both sides, the sound of our footfalls crunching as we condensed the snow under our boots, grinding it into dust. Nights spent alone in my bedroom as I tried to fall asleep were never as quiet as it was now, when the tall pines of the forest shielded any sign of life from the outside world.

We reached a small cabin in the rear, a perfect square with a small patio on a rise, three pieces of wood making the stairs that led to the front door. There were windows, frosted in the corners from the cold, and a stone chimney that showed smoke rising from the top like it was occupied.

The guard opened the door and gestured for me to walk inside.

I halted in front of the wooden steps, so afraid that I was actually tempted to run. But there was nowhere to go. To face this sort of cruelty was enough to bring tears to my eyes, to experience my terrible fate before it happened, to become a slave in a new category. It was more demeaning than anything else I’d been forced to do. Crying wouldn’t change that, would probably make him enjoy it more, but I couldn’t control myself. I was in utter despair, unable to believe this was my life now. And when I thought about it happening to Raven, it made me cry even more.