Warning: There is some Adult Content in this chapter. It isn't graphic... and doesn't go too far. It gets rather uncomfortable, and. there is a rather traumatic procedure even though it isn't especially harmful. Just a heads-up.
The guards urged him through the first door on the left, and he 'registered' at the reception desk with the blond woman who seemed to be a fixture here, almost as if she were AI. But he doubted they were that advanced.
He sat down in one of the mauve chairs and flipped through a magazine without really seeing the pictures. He only vaguely registered it as a women's magazine. Eventually, he ended up reading an article in order to keep his imagination from running away with him. Miller had said the appointment wouldn't be strenuous this time, but you could never know for sure…
The article was about interior design and was rather interesting; he wanted to try some of the projects but at the back of his mind he knew how absurd it was to have such a magazine here, when the slaves could never change their cookie-cutter rooms, even if they had the materials.
He flipped to the next article, which was about relationship advice, and was going to see if he could find anything to improve his relationship with Connie, when the door opened and Miller appeared, wearing his white lab coat.
"Sorry I'm late. As the only doctor here, I sometimes have a lot on my hands. However, I've got a good team that fills the gaps. How are you feeling today?"
"Fine."
"Good, good. Let's get started then."
He led Jason back to one of the exam rooms, this time further back, in a rather shadowy area with low light. Jason's heart did several hard, irregular thumps as he stepped into the room.
Miller gestured to the bed and Jason sat down, wishing he knew what to expect. Miller checked his heart and lungs and then checked his wounds. Most of them were healing nicely and he was able to take the bandages off without replacing them.
Then Miller brought over a cotton swab. Jason slid away.
"Don't worry. Just open your mouth. We need a DNA sample."
He figured that was harmless enough, so he obeyed.
Next, Miller gave him several shots; Jason was used to vaccinations, although it was rather concerning they had access to his medical history in order to give him the right ones. Miller chastised him gently about not being up to date.
In the room furthest back, with exercise equipment, Miller directed him to run on a treadmill. Jason complied; there was no use resisting at this point. As he ran in place for about twenty minutes, exhaustion crept up on him, but he didn't want to stop—he didn't want to show he was weak. Not for Miller so much as himself.
I can't really be this out of shape, can I?
Finally, he had to admit defeat, but Miller had him run a little bit more and Jason was unable to disguise his exhaustion as he flopped back onto a bench.
Miller wasn't done, however; he had him do a strength test, and Jason pushed himself, wanting to find out what he was capable of. Again, he was disappointed; he wasn't nearly as strong as before. Of course, he really hadn't been working out regularly…. And his left shoulder ached, along with the most recent wounds.
Finally, Miller had him do a range of motion test, which was a lot less strenuous. But his left shoulder didn't measure up and when he tried to push it, pain shot through it.
"There are areas we need to work with," said Miller, making notes on his iPad, "but you're healthy overall. It'll take some time, but we'll hone you to optimum shape. First, we'll start physical therapy for your shoulder."
Miller led him back to the exam room to finish up. Jason stood up to leave, but Miller laid a hand on his shoulder. "Not so fast. One more test."
"What?"
"This should be pleasant for you. We need another donation—a more functional source of DNA." He handed Jason a plastic container.
Jason stared at it, uncomprehending. Then it dawned on him.
His vision faded into vague static. "I—I can't."
"Sure you can! There's a TV in the donation room and almost unlimited choices—whatever stimulates you. There are also slaves to—"
"No!" He grasped the doorframe to steady himself. "Don't ever suggest that."
"Not everyone is into slaves. But you've got to do this, one way or another."
"Why?"
"All men who are harem-level stock have to submit sperm. There is no telling what will happen; you seem healthy, but that's no guarantee. Elena wants guarantees. She has a bank of frozen sperm from each male slave. But she doesn't use just any. You should be honored you're at her level. In fact, you're the most valuable of all." He looked at him with admiration as if he'd given him the greatest compliment.
Jason shook his head, realizing the full impact of this.
To do this wasn't just humiliating—it meant in effect, giving his children to Elena.
Enslaving them.
Turning them into potential psychopaths like her.
That he would not do.
"You do know we can force you," said Miller, his face hardening into stern admonition. "You can do it the easy way—or the hard way."
"I'm not giving my children to you."
"Very well."
Miller strode out of the room and the door slammed shut behind him.
Jason looked around for a weapon. But the cupboards were apparently fingerprint activated. The only potential weapon was a model of a human head, layers on one side peeled back, gradually melting down to the skeleton. Jason grabbed it by the neck. Held it at his side, ready to attack.
The door opened.
He lurched forward, ready to charge.
It was Elena, so he stopped short. Several guards accompanied her.
She smiled. "I hear you're being a little obstinate. To be honest, I would be surprised if you complied. I'd like to offer you another option. I'd be happy to help out."
Disgust blazed through him. He backed away.
She caressed his face. Her other hand rubbed his chest.
He grasped her wrist. "No."
Her other hand snaked down his spine then rubbed the small of his back. "I can do so much for you. You have no idea until you let me."
"I'm never, ever doing anything willing with you." He pushed her away, turning toward the wall.
"You don't know what you're missing." She laughed. "You do know that if you don't do this willingly, the extraction will still happen anyway. But you'll have to go into surgery. Wouldn't it be much nicer to just give in? It's not betraying anyone; this is necessary."
"There is nothing you have that I want." His jaw tensed as he looked at her. Despite her objective beauty, she paled in comparison to the one he could only see in his mind from now on. "Besides, I'm not giving any of my children to you."
She laughed. "Ah, well. It was worth a try. Know when you're lying on that table you could have experienced something much more pleasant." She whirled around, her loose white shirt swirling like a cape.
The guards came for him. He fought, and when they grabbed his arms, he struggled, fighting with all of his strength. When he got one arm loose and punched one of them, the guard rammed the shockrod against his injured side and he collapsed awkwardly onto the bed, the paper crinkling beneath him.
Everything a haze, they dragged him to the operating room and strapped him down. Then the sharp prick of the local anesthetic.
He only became more aware as the operation went on, coming out of the daze from the shock. At least he didn't feel any pain…. But it was agony knowing what they were doing. He tried to distract himself… and his thoughts drifted to Connie.
He didn't want to contaminate her with being here, even in his imagination, but it was the only thing that worked.
And so while they took away from him what he would never have given, he thought of her— copper glints in her hair, playing with the children in the garden… her beautiful laughter… she came over to him and sat down beside him and they snuggled together, a rainbow gracing the heavens….
When it was done and the surgeon—Miller—was washing up, guilt crept up on him. To use her to escape….
At least I never gave in to Elena in the slightest, he thought. None of this was voluntary. I'll always take the hardest path if it means staying true to you.
But now… it's all out of my hands. She may not be able to force me, but she's already won. She will be able to have children with me, and I won't be able to stop her….
He turned his head away from them, shutting them out, shutting out the world.
The steady beep, beep, beep of a heart monitor crept into his consciousness, and he realized he was in another room. Beside him was a sleeping woman. There was something familiar about her face… where had he seen her before….
Then it hit him. It was because her face was drawn and thin, bearing fading scars and bruises, that he hadn't recognized her at first.
It was Farah, the scientist who had developed amina in Egypt. There had been a lab leak somehow…. Jason had tried to protect the drug, but the other mercenary had found out…. At least Jason had been able to disguise it as another weapon, but Will had pursued him for it, sending Gray after him. The fake weapon had led to the death of Nadira's sister… and Gray had eventually found out that amina existed. In the cabin, Jason had told him its capabilities. He hadn't given him its name then, but he'd found out at the stakeout a few days ago. Had Gray told Elena?
Somehow, he didn't think Gray would have done it. He was only on their side because the alternative was torture.
Like what had apparently happened to Farah.
Jason wondered if she'd given in… whether Elena had amina now as well as roxyen.
Farah knew the danger more than anyone. She was strong. Jason wouldn't doubt she had resisted… and paid heavily for it.
He hoped she wasn't seriously injured. And that they hadn't brought her family into it.
In any case, Jason had to make sure he didn't let on that he knew about amina or that he knew Farah. Or they'd have another reason to focus on him.
Perhaps they already knew…. Perhaps that was why he was in this room—they suspected, hoped he'd give something away….
A nurse came in and he asked casually what had happened to the other patient, leaving out her name.
"She overdosed on roxyen," said the nurse, shaking her head.
"Why?"
The nurse pursed her lips. "She should have just given in. It would've been much more comfortable for her. Now she'll never get back to her family."
Jason turned away, not hiding his revulsion at the nurse's callous attitude.
The nurse brought him some clothes—the nondescript navy blue slave uniform. At least it was soft. Shakily, he put it on after the nurse left. He glanced at Farah, feeling a little uncomfortable dressing in front of her even though he knew she couldn't see him.
After he was dressed, he felt a little better, though he couldn't shake the horror of what had happened in the operating room. He sat in the chair beside Farah; there was a hint of tenderness at the site since the anesthetic must have been wearing off.
He held her hand and whispered, "I don't blame you for taking this way out. I'm so sorry for all of this… I kind of feel responsible. For not containing it well. Now…." He dared not say more in case the monitor had picked up his whisper.
The guards met him on the way out the door and escorted him to the residential side. His heart plummeted when he saw Elena's ornate door.
They forced him inside, and the door slammed shut behind him.
He knew enough now that testing the door would only tax his energy unnecessarily. And he didn't have any extra energy for something that probably wouldn't work.
He wandered around the room while the lyrebird screeched in her cage. He dreaded hearing the sounds of Elliot's heartbreaking voice, but this time Rhapsody imitated other things. After a few minutes, he stepped into the next room and sat down on the couch beside the fake window. It was hard to avoid looking at the full-length portrait of Elena, but he turned from it, trying in vain to get into a comfortable position.
A shadow darkened the doorway. He shifted to see Elena standing there, wearing her red and gold kimono.
"You're looking a little under the weather."
"I wonder why."
"I have something that'll make you feel better." She sauntered up to him. Slid her hand into his hair.
He scrambled away. "Don't."
"It was hard on you, wasn't it. But it was necessary. Don't worry, you'll be as good as new in no time. It is too bad that you weren't amenable to my…original proposal."
"What do you want."
"I want a nice evening with you before I leave. Something beautiful to sustain me. And I want to give you a reward."
"For what."
"For your generous donation. Maybe it wasn't voluntary, but it was extremely valuable. I like to hedge my bets. I'm planning on keeping you for a long time, but you never know. This life is unpredictable. There are a lot of potential children being frozen as we speak. Your half, anyway." She rubbed her stomach. "Soon, your child will be here."
"I won't let it happen."
She laughed. "You have no say in that."
"Maybe not from the operation—but I'll never be willing enough for it to happen naturally."
She smirked. "We'll see. In the meantime—I hope you're hungry." She beckoned him into the other room.
The smell of cooked fish wafted toward him; his mouth watered. He realized it was probably suppertime. And he'd had a long day. But his heart rebelled at sitting down for dinner with her.
I've got to keep up my strength, he conceded. And—I've got to get intel from her….. it's probably good I'm here.
He wasn't holding his breath he'd find out anything particularly valuable. But there was always the chance…. As long as he didn't give up. No matter what new horrors they'd force on him.
He wasn't going to make it easy for them.
Reluctantly, he sat down on the couch opposite her, food spread over the coffee table, a champagne bottle sparkling in the middle.
She spread out her arm, elegantly indicating the food. "It's fresh caught salmon. We grow it here in the aquarium. Try some."
He didn't want to do anything she said so he picked up the champagne bottle instead and poured some into his glass.
"Easy, there," she said, smirking. "The night is young."
He sipped some, her smirk visible beyond the bubbly golden liquid. He closed his eyes and sipped, then gulped the rest down.
When he opened his eyes, her smirk was still there. "How do you like it?"
"Fine." He'd barely tasted it. All he wanted was to get out of here. But he'd have to play along to some extent to get anything of value.
"It's one of our glorious creations. I know you're something of a connoisseur."
"What do you mean."
"You seem to enjoy the wine I left you. What would you like next? Beer? Vodka? Something more exotic? Something…stronger?"
"I don't want it."
"I know it helps dull the pain. Perhaps you'd like to try some of our experimental drugs."
"Definitely not."
She shrugged. "All in good time. Either you'll take some voluntarily, or we'll have to use…persuasive measures. I see you've found out about our resident coma patient."
So…she did know. It would be an awfully big coincidence for them both to be here and Elena not to know…. But how much did she know?
"What happened to her."
"She overdosed on roxyen."
"I mean before that." He stabbed the salmon on his plate. Then realized he didn't want to accommodate her in any way and lifted a piece to his mouth with his fingers. It nearly melted on his tongue; he had to fight to not react to the deliciousness.
"Oh, you know, we had to put pressure on her. She was being recalcitrant."
"What did you do to her."
"I suppose we were a bit hard on her… but she has something especially valuable locked inside her head. Unfortunately, she overdosed before we could pry the formula out of her. We did learn something else…. That you know about amina as well. What a small world! And that you know its location."
His stomach knotted. "So that's really why I'm here."
"It's not just about amina. You are valuable in your own right. But if we're looking at this objectively, it's the information locked in your head that's more important. I'm doing it in my own way; perhaps you will volunteer the information eventually. I'm not permanently damaging you if I can help it. If it comes down to you or the information…. Well. It's not like we don't have other means. Amina is an integral part of our plan, but it's not absolutely essential. We are flexible enough to adapt when needed." She took a sip of her champagne.
He picked at the salmon and the peas. He couldn't say he hadn't discovered some valuable information… although what he could do with it he wasn't sure. He at least could brace himself for what was to come. He was relieved in a way it wasn't all about him. It was another run-of-the-mill interrogation; he was wanted primarily for the information in his mind, not—his body and soul (although that was still on the menu). Interrogation—familiar territory. Not this creepy obsession –but the purity of blood and pain.
On the other hand, he was not looking forward to more torture. Now, he was more trapped than ever. His heart felt like it was being squeezed just thinking about it. They could do anything to him.
And…it hit him that the two objectives might not be as separate as they appeared. The interrogation could be mixed up with her desires and demands… She'd already been playing another game. Keeping this from him.
"I'm rewarding you with the benefit of the doubt," she said. "Farah was only as valuable as her information and perhaps the ability to recreate the drug. You—you're too beautiful to shatter." She stood, her dinner massacred, her champagne glass holding just a drop in the bottom. She glided over to him and slid her hand down the back of his neck.
He slid his chair away, bringing the champagne with him. He needed it to endure an evening with her.
She placed a hand on her hip, the kimono draped elegantly. "Don't be like that. I just want to give you a good time."
He strode over to the doorway to the other room, giving himself an escape route, although it was only an illusion. He drained the glass of champagne, savoring the taste; it had gained a little flavor after putting space between him and Elena.
"I've got a wonderful evening planned for us. First, we'll get totally relaxed with a soak in the hot tub and a massage. Then enjoy some treats while watching a movie. What do you say?"
What do you think, he almost said. Could she actually force him to do any of those things? He needed to find out information…. Although how much would she actually reveal….
He wasn't looking forward to any of the things she'd proposed. Especially being in such…intimate quarters with her.
"Maybe… I do need to take some time to relax…." He admitted. He doubted he could relax with Elena there; he'd be on edge. But perhaps some luxurious activities would help a little… if not psychologically, then physically.
"That's the spirit!" She turned to her bedroom, beckoning.
He followed. Hoping she wouldn't want him to go any further than what she'd mentioned. Would she be doing the massage? He'd refuse in that case. Even if there were potential benefits, he wouldn't betray Connie like that.
Elena gestured to the bed and his heart stopped. There were some items where she'd indicated, so he hoped that was what she meant.
An assortment of swimsuits for men.
"Go ahead," she said. "Pick whatever you like. Or—pick none." She smiled lasciviously.
He turned away and snatched up the least revealing one.
She pouted in disappointment and laid a hand on her hip. "I suppose I can't expect you to fall in my arms right away… I may be beautiful, but you are gorgeously stubborn. This dance, this tension—it's delicious in its own right." She headed toward the bathroom. "Why don't you get dressed in here, and I will in there. Don't worry, I won't peek." She winked and disappeared behind the screen.
He wasn't going to take her word for it. He hid behind the bed, where she wouldn't see him if she stepped out, and undressed quickly. Pulled on the blue swimming trunks. He shivered, feeling vulnerable without the uniform. But at least she hadn't tried to force him to do anything…. So far.
A moment later she emerged, wearing a surprisingly modest yellow swimsuit, which also was flattering to her pregnancy. Her golden hair was undone, draped over her shoulders. She was stunning, he had to admit. But there was nothing to tempt him in the least. A cold heart could not warm such beauty into something beyond cold, dead gold, like a lifelike statue born from Midas' touch.
"All right, the water's ready," she said. She looked him up and down appraisingly. His face heated; he hated being seen as just an object of desire. Longed to burst out of here, no matter the consequences.
But he forced himself to move forward and followed her into the bathroom.
The hot tub was gurgling, the scent of chlorine cloying. It was large and shiny coral pink. The heat emanated from it, plastering his skin with humidity.
"It's full of beneficial minerals. Downstairs, you get the bare minimum. Up here—there's no expense spared. The elite live like royalty." She slid into the tub, her long leg snaking down into the water. She sat down and lay against the edge, closing her eyes, her hair draped over the side.
He felt sick; a potential headache was already throbbing behind his eyes. But he took a deep breath and slid in opposite her.
Warmth crawled up his shins, then his waist. For a moment, that was all the sensation he could register. Then the boiling of the surging bubbles massaged his back.
His mind jumped to the time he'd shared the hot tub with Connie in the palace. There was a particular magic to soaked, heated skin. Immersing in her presence, astonished every second at who she was.
Now, just a snapshot of the past. Echoes of it lingering in him—horrified at its cruel parody here.
Never able to share such a wonderful time with her again…. Always drowning in darkness…
No. I will get out. I have to cling to that hope—
A splash against his chest. Elena was smiling slyly, eyes sparkling. She splashed him again. "Come on, let's play."
"I'm not in the mood."
"Well, if you just want to relax… that's okay too. I want us to have some good times together. I want you to know how it could be. I can see it now—us together—"
"There is no us."
Her smile grew wider. "I think you underestimate my power. Eventually, you won't be able to help it, but by that time, perhaps, it will be much harder on you…. I don't want to see any more scars on that beautiful skin." She slid over and sat beside him. Her eyes fell to his scars and flitted over them almost sadly. Then, she slid her finger over one of the whip scars on his chest.
He gasped with the shock of it, trapped in the moment when it had been given to him. Phantom pain twinged down the path of the scar like electric current. He was about to move when her finger lifted away.
"How does it feel?" she said. "Do you have the same amount of sensation as here, for example?" She touched next to the scar, delicately gliding over slick, unmarred skin.
He grasped her wrist. Gently pushed it away. She laid her hand on her bulging stomach, still looking at him curiously, her head tilted.
"It…isn't the same," he admitted. He hadn't fully realized, but he'd lost some feeling with the addition of the scar tissue. In some places, he felt more than others.
"Ah, interesting. That tends to happen." She reached beneath the water and grasped his left wrist, lifting his hand out of the water. She rubbed near the nail scars. "How about this?"
He couldn't move. His mind told his hand to pull away, but it stayed there, bound by her hand. Her fingers rubbed in circles, plunging him into a sort of paralysis, trapped between past and present. These scars were direct links to the past. She was pushing him back there, while also tying it to this—a place where she could also rake more scars across his back… she could scratch him right now and he could do nothing, bound by respect for the life inside her.
She gently turned his hand over, the top of his hand touching the surface of the water. She traced his palm, softly running her fingers down each line. Then gliding across to the scars again. He was grateful this time that he felt almost nothing in the center where the nerves had been severed. But he detested the fact she was touching him—especially a place so personal.
"Please," he said. "I don't want this."
"You just had to say so." She withdrew her hand. Her eyes still caressed his body, and he looked away.
She pressed her hand to his chin, guiding it to face her. "I do wish you'd enjoy yourself. I have some ideas of how to make you feel better. You'd be much happier if you'd let me help you."
He shook his head. "That'd only make things worse."
She made a frustrated sound. "What's you problem?"
"I don't want you. Not at all."
"You'll come around. I can…speed that process." Her hand dipped beneath the water and rested on his thigh. "That girl is far away. What's wrong with having some fun? Even if you stay loyal to her, there's a lot we could do together, here in the HQ. She'd never have to know. We wouldn't even have to go to the point I want… I could show you some things. Then, when you go back to her, you can show them to her, and she'll be delighted."
"I thought I'd be here forever."
She laughed. "Only until you start to cooperate. We'll gradually allow you more freedom. If you are a really good boy, we'll let you go back to her. If you still want to."
If he became such a person, he probably wouldn't go back. Even if he did, how could he go back to someone he'd betrayed? How could he go back to his former life at all?
"Giving in to you at all is betraying her."
She slammed the water, splashing droplets into his face. "I'm tired of being so patient. I could at least give you a taste, and then you'd start to melt into my touch. Become mine, inch by inch." Her hand snaked over to him.
He stood, sloshing out of the water, drips cascading from him onto the white and green tiles.
She barely blinked, as if she'd expected his reaction. "However, that's not what this evening is about. I want you to be in my presence and experience some wonderful things. What it could be like someday."
"How could I be with you and…go back?"
"I wouldn't like to share you, but it could be a compromise. Go back to your old life, perhaps… work as an agent, disguise the side of yourself that works for us. Perhaps not even willingly. That's an option. If you don't cooperate, I could attach you by a leash… shock you if you didn't obey. I could kill the ones you love with the snap of a finger. I have to admit, it has a certain attraction… to hold someone in the palm of my hand like that, unwillingly loyal. Longing for something else, but broken inside, because you belong to someone you hate, and yet love at the same time."
Anger raged through his soul. "That'll never happen."
He stepped into the bedroom. To his surprise, his clothes were gone from the other side of the bed. So were the other swimsuits, as if they'd vanished into thin air.
Elena sidled out, a towel wrapped around her. She offered him a towel and he snatched it away from her and stepped behind the bed again. She sauntered over and watched him; he wrapped the towel around his waist.
"Where are my clothes?"
She smirked. "So you do think of slave clothes as your clothes. They were whisked away, of course. The servants are adept at being invisible. If I ever know they're here before they've done their job, they're severely punished."
He strode into the next room where two men stood, shirtless, beside two black massage tables, side by side. One was a black man, tall and muscular; the other was blond, shaggy long hair falling past his shoulders. They gestured to the massage tables, and Elena began undressing.
Jason turned away before he saw much. He heard a creak as she must have slid onto the table, then a muffled, musical laugh. He turned back; thankfully a towel covered her lower half. The black man gestured to the other table, which was near the tangle of vines around the bird cage. When the man gestured to his swimming trunks, he shook his head. The man looked at Elena; she made a thumbs-up sign. The masseuse nodded and Jason lay down on the table.
The leather was smooth and soft; he sank into the foamy cushion. He turned his head away from Elena so at least he could pretend for a few moments she didn't exist.
Warm hands pressed gently into his back, then slowly worked deeper. He tried not to squirm as the masseuse dug into the sore muscles. Jason tried to focus on the vines, tried to relax his body. Gradually, he realized it felt wonderful. He didn't even mind as much that he touched his scars; he even seemed to avoid them to some extent. There were so many, you couldn't totally avoid them.
The man tapped his shoulder and gestured for him to flip over. Jason slowly turned onto his back, liking this way less because he could see Elena out of the periphery of his vision.
"Thank you," he said, grateful for touch that didn't demand anything from him.
The man nodded.
"What's your name?" He hadn't seen him Below yet.
Elena scoffed, still lying on her stomach, although she was facing him. "I've forbidden them to speak. They're my personal masseuses, to be ready at a moment's notice. That's why they live here, in the closet."
"The closet?"
She gestured. "There's a large walk-in closet on the other side. They stay invisible until I require them."
"That's—inhuman."
"I am the most human here. The ultimate, you could say. Until my eugenics program takes off."
"Couldn't you—I don't know—give them something for their time?"
"Being here is a privilege. That's a reward in itself."
"What's wrong with kindness?" he said, exasperated. There was no use trying to make her a decent person.
She flipped over onto her back, and he turned away. "I give kindness where and when I choose. If people deserve it."
"That's not—" He shook his head, done with this futile line of discussion.
"I'm offering kindness now, in fact. If I didn't like you this much, I wouldn't be spending this much time on romance."
The masseuse started up again and he let himself be carried away with the sensation… immerse in his own little world… here at least, he could think of the one he loved. He held Connie up in his mind, her beautiful face, her graceful self, dancing in the garden…. Laughing, holding out her hand to him…
He joined her, and they danced under the starry sky….
A palm tapped his stomach gently, near one of the bullet wounds. Elena looking down at him, wrapped in a white towel. "Time to get up."
He rolled off the table. His body tingled, invigorated from the massage.
He looked at the man who had at least given him some moments of calm and relaxation. "Thank you."
The man nodded, a sad, quiet dignity in his eyes.
"Thank you," he said to the other man, who looked at him, startled, then his eyes darted to Elena, as if asking her how to respond.
"Yeah, go ahead, you can accept it," she said. "You did a good job."
The blond man nodded carefully. Then he turned his attention to the table, folding it up.
"Come on," said Elena. "I've got some clothes for you."
Happy she'd at least provided him with clothes, he followed her into the next room, the one with the full-length portrait. He tried to block it; he didn't want to deal with two Elenas.
The planted flowers in the middle of the room had changed from last time. Now they were yellow roses. Their strong fragrance suffused the room. With their beauty and their thorns, they seemed allies of Elena, and he had less empathy with them than the flowers from the previous day.
Some clothes were draped on the back of the couch. One was a flowing, diaphanous white gown; the others were red silk pants and a golden silk shirt, embroidered with a red rose.
"You can't be serious," he said.
"It's either this, or nothing."
She grabbed the white nightgown and swanned over to her portrait. Then she began to undress. He turned away; this time, there was nowhere to hide, and the door to the other room was shut. Probably locked. He ducked behind the couch and quickly pulled off the shorts then yanked on the pants. At least they were so smooth they didn't rub against his damp skin. He slid the shirt over his head then leaned against the back of the couch. Letting himself breathe.
The soft rub of bare feet on the carpet approached.
He scrambled to his feet.
She cradled a wine bottle; it was rich, dark red. "It's one of the best years on record. I've been saving it for a special occasion." She swept her hand toward the couch at the far end of the room, where a screen flickered to life.
A movie. That won't be so bad. I'll just have to watch out for wandering hands…
He followed her to the couch; unfortunately, the chairs that had previously been there were nowhere to be seen, so he had to sit down beside her. Smooshed on the furthest end, so there was a gap between them.
Beside the couch's arm stood a small table laden with fruits and chocolate and nuts and tartlets. He wasn't especially hungry, but they did look good. It hit him perhaps she may have laced them with something. He made up his mind to resist eating them. Since they would presumably share the wine, he could allow himself to drink that. Dull everything enough so that he could block out her presence.
She handed him a wine glass and poured some of the dark wine. A smooth, tangy scent tingled into his nose. His mouth watered. Such a tempting thing—perhaps he should resist it.
But the wine looked so beautiful scintillating in its glass. There was no harm in drinking this much.
He sipped it; it was rich and strong, yet with hints of several flavors that melted in his mouth. It burned down his throat pleasantly, then rippled into his mind, giving him sparks of delight almost instantly.
Her eyes lingered on him, their brilliant blue glimmering with just as many facets as the wine. "It's fantastic, isn't it."
He nodded, unable to deny it. In fact, it was nearly the best wine he remembered tasting.
"We've got even better bottles, but we'll save them for later." She picked up the remote and pressed play.
A woman appeared on the screen; she had long, auburn hair. She was packing quickly. One of the things she packed was a gun. And several passports.
On the run in Central Asia, the woman got in trouble, trapped, several agents after her. As she raced down the hallway, a man opened the door and let her inside. The enemies ran past, not finding her.
The man was startlingly handsome, with black hair, striking green eyes. It turned out he was a freelance agent, and he was after the same thing she was. An artifact that was supposed to contain some lost wisdom or technology, it wasn't clear yet. It was rumored a billionaire who had a home in the area might have stolen from its original owners.
The woman had to stay in his room until they were sure the agents were gone. They got to know each other as well as two agents could, but since they were rivals, they couldn't trust each other. It was obvious there was chemistry between them. He let her have the bed, while he took the couch; in the morning she was gone.
The man headed to the mansion to steal the artifact; the woman got there first. They fought. Some of their maneuvers ended up very close, lips almost touching. Quips flew like barbed darts. The woman had him pinned when a cage came down and trapped them.
The billionaire swanned in and gloated over his capture. He felt he would keep them as trophies. Some of the former trophies he displayed for them in his artifact room; they were dead. But he would keep the agents alive, in a zombified state. As he was preparing the formula that would ensnare them forever, he kept them in a cell in the basement.
They had to work together to get out, but first they shared a long, passionate kiss.
Elena sipped her wine and glanced at him, smiling. He focused back on the screen.
They broke the bars in an innovative way, and then dashed through the labyrinthine hallways, dodging traps, until they broke free. On the way out, the woman snatched the artifact.
The man, however, at the last moment, was captured by the goons, his legs cut by some flying whirligig blades. She almost went back for him but had to keep going in order to save herself.
Since she had what she'd come for, she could head back to the agency. She was about to leave when her conscience caught up with her, and, acknowledging her feelings for him, she formulated a plan then ran back to set her lover free.
Through some complicated maneuvers, she swept through the traps, avoiding them expertly. She looked for the man in the basement, but he was gone. Heading back upstairs, she found him in a secret laboratory, strapped to the table. They were about to inject him with the zombifying formula. She knocked out the doctors and guards and ripped off the bonds. He was a little unsteady from the anesthetic, but she managed to support him out.
The billionaire set his guards on them; they fought back to back, using fists and blades. At last, the woman took the billionaire hostage, a poison dart at his throat. Trembling with fear, the billionaire told the guards to let them go. On the way out, he broke his promise, and the man shot an arrow at the house, hitting a fuel tank and blowing it up.
They rode away on a motorcycle into the rising sun and kissed, the man looking away from the road for an unreasonable amount of time.
Jason thought it was the end, but the couple stopped at the hotel, and, ignoring their injuries, their passion built, and they fell onto the bed, kissing.
He looked away, but it wasn't hard to tell what was going on from the sounds coming from the speakers.
Elena looked at him, bemused. "Not to your taste?"
"The whole thing was a bit ridiculous."
"It's a fun diversion. They go through all that, and this is their reward." She looked back at the screen, the scene reflected in her eyes.
The movie ended with them flying on an airplane, teamed up this time; the woman had joined him in the freelance world.
It had been entertaining. But it would have been better without the scene tacked onto the end…
He stood a little unsteadily. "Well… I better get back. It must be nighttime."
"You are allowed to stay up late tonight. Besides, I've got another movie for you."
"The sequel?"
"That's not made yet. We're filming as we speak."
"So you produced it."
"We've got a burgeoning film department. Anything that's particularly lucrative, we have our hands in."
"So how's this movie doing?"
"It's not out yet. We'll send it through our proxy. No one will ever know a country within a country has exported it."
"You're your own country here? Where is it?"
"We live by our own rules."
"How? How can you avoid taxes and things like that?"
"We have…arrangements."
"So someone else knows about it. Someone on the outside."
"You ask too many questions." She proffered the wine bottle. He shook his head. His mind already felt a bit too fuzzy; he didn't want to be compromised. What he really wanted to do was go back down to sleep. But perhaps he could find out something else… every small piece of the puzzle mattered…
She turned on the next movie. The same characters appeared onscreen.
"I thought there wasn't a sequel," he said.
"It's not a sequel per se; it's like an interlude. Watch."
The couple were living in a small apartment in France. Jason waited for their happiness to be disrupted, perhaps by some agents. But it was like a calm space after the storm; presumably before the sequel, when things might get worse.
Before long, they couldn't stay away from each other and began kissing in the park and had to go off to a secluded cluster of trees to continue.
That was the rest of the movie. Different locations, rather graphic love scenes, which Jason only glimpsed. Interspersed with some "normal" activities.
Jason ate some of the snacks. Anything but watch what Elena wanted him to watch…he could guess her motives.
A hand patted his arm. He jerked it away.
Elena pouted. "I thought we could get some ideas of what we could do together."
He almost swore. "Don't you dare suggest that. I wish you'd just—stop this."
"This is my first screening. I must admit, they did a good job."
"Why is it the same characters?"
"We thought that it would give more dimension to know the characters. I'm fed up with some of the flat X-rated films out now. A certain demographic will like this. Perhaps more women than men….
"It's tempting, isn't it? To feel something pleasant." She caressed his cheek delicately. Slid her fingers down his arm. "Let me give you something nice." She lifted his wrist. He tried to pull away; her hand was surprisingly strong. She glared at him admonishingly, a glint of danger in her eyes. He wondered if she were capable of fighting rather than just sending others to do it. When he tried to pull away again, her fingernails dug into his wrist, stabbing him. She relaxed her grip, but each time he attempted to pull away, the fingernails dug deeper.
How to escape, he thought. I could kick her—but—how can I do it so I don't harm the baby?
Knock her out with the wine bottle… but the alarm would probably catch that. Would probably catch anything violent against her.
She traced his hand, this time, the one without the nail scars. She looked at him, smiling, as if this must be nice for him, but it was just an unpleasant tickle, along with the threat of more pain.
"How was that?" she said, releasing her grip.
He rubbed his wrist, pain still pricking where her fingernails had left red marks. "You're wasting your time."
"You're just a bit more stubborn than most. Most men would be worshipping me at this point."
"None of this is consensual. Even if you managed to get some reaction from me, which'll never happen, it would be against my will. You're keeping people as slaves. Even if they appear to be willing sometimes, the threat of force is always behind it. It's all an illusion. Even setting aside the horror of it. It's hollow, meaningless. No one here could love you. Not really. Forcing someone isn't love. To love, people need free will. Or it's really the other person controlling them—fear casts out actual love. I'll never even give you a semblance of love, you'll have to fight for it and you'll get nothing. Because there's only one woman I'll ever love. We're two halves of the same soul and you cannot tear us apart, no matter what you do. Give up, Elena. Just get this over with and ask me some questions. I won't give you the answers either, but there's more of a chance I will than that I'll give in to your disgusting advances. I hate every moment with you."
Her eyes flashed. She stood. For a moment he thought she might attack him. But then she backed away, folding her arms. "You don't know what you're missing. I can also give you other things. Days and nights of complete luxury. Long days to yourself, relaxing. The thrills I can give you, tailored to your every need." She sat down beside him, nudging closer. "I can also give you this." She laid her hand on her stomach and rubbed it affectionately. "One way or another, we will have a child together. Unlike your wife, I can actually bear children—"
He shoved her away, perhaps a little too violently. She fell against the couch arm, hair flying. Her hand leapt to her stomach.
A twinge of guilt hit him, along with a flash of how just a fall had triggered Connie's miscarriage. This was Elliot's baby, not Elena's. She'd forfeited her right to her child by the act that had led to his existence.
Fear seized his heart when he realized he could be shocked for this.
But nothing happened.
She sat up, smoothed her hair. Then, slowly, she stood, the controlled anger in her eyes fading into a proud, arrogant look, full of resentment yet indulgence. "You are good at putting up a fight. For now, you will have no consequences. I would have thought you would have been a bit more careful with an unborn child,…" She clutched her stomach. "He's kicking me in indignation." The ghost of a smile swept across her lips. "He's strong, it'll take a lot more than that to cut him down. Unlike the child your wife lost—"
He whirled on her, fists clenched; he longed to grab her neck, wrest her to his knees. Instead, he backed away, and headed for the door.
To his surprise, it opened, and he stepped out into the hallway glowing with gentle blue.
He headed downstairs without escort, and his door opened for him, and he collapsed onto the bed and plummeted into dark, disturbing dreams.
When he woke, he was relieved to be in his own room.
He realized, though, he probably should get closer to Elena, gradually, so she wouldn't be suspicious. It was an advantage to be wanted by her, in a way, because he had a path to gain intel no one else had.
I did learn some things, he realized. I learned about Farah—and that she resisted revealing the formula of amina. I learned that Elena knows I know about amina. I learned that she might allow me to go back—but I'd never want to return under those circumstances. I learned she might be leaving—which could be a potential opening—less attention on me. Perhaps without her, Yavesh won't operate as smoothly… although there's no evidence for this. Nothing else specific to escaping… so what was the point of getting close to her?
Doesn't mean I won't ever find out something. Above is where operations are. Perhaps I'll see something accidentally….
How exactly can I pry anything out of her? Will she really let anything spill by accident? She's always in control, always knows what she's doing… always one step ahead, manipulating everything… who knows the secrets she keeps. Who knows her overall plan or what exactly she's thinking and feeling.
Perhaps her attraction to me is just a façade… to make me uncomfortable. To shake me and twist info from me… bend me to her will…
If not… maybe that is an advantage. I know it is potentially helpful to be near her…. She wants me…is maybe even compromised by me. Kell suggested that, but perhaps that was another manipulation…. Maybe this is what she wants.
I don't know. Her obsession has been clear from the start. There are several goals where I'm concerned, perhaps intertwined… one of them is personal.
It made him feel awful to think about this.
But it would be foolish to ignore such a great advantage—to be able to compromise the leader of the entire organization!
How would I do it? I can't stand being in her presence.
I'd have to act like…she was getting to me. I would have to let her touch me—pretend to be drawn to her, gradually, against my will—
It made him sick just to consider it. To use himself like that.
It'd be using her, he reminded himself.
But it would be betraying Connie. Even if it were for a good cause, even if it meant getting back to her…
I wouldn't go beyond a certain point, but even that is too much.
How can I sell my soul like that?
What if it's the only way to get out?
He leaned his head in his hands, at a loss.
Let's try another way. Anything else. She'll be gone anyway. Who knows how long.
Relieved he could shelve that idea, immensely grateful that Elena wouldn't be around to harass him, he got up and got dressed. Happy to be back in the slave uniform. It was better than the silk pajamas, anyway. He tossed them in the wastebasket under the sink.
At breakfast, Serhii invited him to his room and subtly taught him the code. Each would then teach two others the code, until the entire group knew. Just the small group—Kara, Karim, Sahara, Elliot, and Zakhar, who would have to wait until he was back down after his treatment. Perhaps add someone from the harem; Jason suggested Nalika, instinctively feeling she was trustworthy, though he'd only spoken to her a couple times.
Soon, they would pool their knowledge and plan in earnest.
Jason couldn't wait.
He could almost taste it.
Freedom.