A short, but still somehow very frightening Japanese man came into focus above her. His accent was thick, but his words had been clearly spoken.
“That’s the fucking Gaijin whore you were going to pay one and a half million for?”
Mina’s head swiveled to the left to see another man in the room. Larger, also Japanese. He looked like a bodyguard and probably was.
She scrambled to a seated position as her eyes continued to adjust to the light. The room had the sparse, minimalism of a zen garden. There was a bright red mattress and bedding on the floor. Meditation pillows sat in a row next to a short, square table. Lamps lit the space. The floor was bamboo with rugs on top. The room had sliding doors that were pale cream and looked translucent like fine quality paper.
“Do not let the room mislead you. You’re in a cell underground. There is stone surrounding the outside of this oasis. You will not be allowed to wander the property unescorted. This will be your room, and you will call me Master.”
It had to be another dream. The implausibility of landing back in another sadistic master’s hands without even seeking it out was too much.
A crack sounded as the back of his hand connected with her face. The sting seemed to come years later, but it arrived with a crushing brutality that stole the breath from her lungs and sent her to a crouched position.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“M-Master.”
“Good.”
“H-how… w-why…” She cringed as his face darkened at the words she hadn’t been able to keep under wraps.
“You were greatly resented at the house. One girl overheard a conversation where my name was mentioned. After being punished for you, she reflected on the conversation and stole my contact information. She called after you left. The only thing she asked was that I make you pay for the suffering you caused her. To be truthful, I don’t care about her suffering, but I do like to hurt people, so granting her request is no burden. I would have done it anyway.”
He clapped his hands together in two sharp snaps. The doors slid open, and a couple of men brought in familiar dungeon equipment.
The men set up the equipment, then brought in a box of whips and shackles and riding crops. They slid the doors shut again on their way out.
The man now known only as her master, stared at Mina as if he were trying to decide if she’d been worth the trip to pick up, even though no money had exchanged hands. She didn’t beg him. She could already tell by the hard glint in his eyes that begging would only excite him more. It was the look Brian got when dealing with other women in the house, and no amount of begging had ever resulted in mercy from him.
Her new master would force it out of her when things got bad and she was desperate and babbling just to prove to herself she was still alive.
How long that might be the case, she wasn’t sure. After all, this man hadn’t invested anything in her. Had he actually paid all of that money, she might have the hope of long term survival. Not that she thought that would be a better outcome at the hands of a sadist.
Her ring was gone. Of course he wouldn’t let her keep it, but could he know it was one of the few physical objects that meant anything to her? Only her collar had come to mean as much. But Brian had taken that.
All at once she started to cry. She cried for the foolish decision to try to escape Brian when she’d already begun to miss him as they were pulling away from the house. She cried for his rejection and how coolly and easily he’d tossed her aside. She cried for the jealousy and pain that crawled up her throat trying to choke her from the inside as she’d watched Michael and Vivian the past few days, seeing how happy they were, how healthy their dynamic was, wondering why it couldn’t be her. Finally, she cried for the fate she’d been sealed into as if bricked in behind a wall piece by piece where no one would ever find her.
Her new master watched as she wore herself out. He hadn’t laid a hand on her yet, and surely he must think all of her tears were for him. She hoped to cry herself out so almost none of them would remain for him to claim as his own.
He clapped again—this time, once. The doors slid open again, and in walked another American girl. But her style of clothing was more Japanese. The fabric was transparent, and Mina could see the other woman’s breasts and bare mound. A dragon tattoo snaked it’s way around her belly, gently touching the top of her pubic bone as if it might crawl down just a few inches to tease an orgasm from her.
The girl knelt in front the man who’d summoned her. “Yes, Master?” She brushed her lips over his bare feet and waited. There were deep purple bruises around her throat and wrists. And it looked as if she’d been recently beaten.
“Meet your replacement.”
“N-no, Master, please. Please keep me. Whatever I did… I’m sorry to offend.” Her next words were a string of unintelligible Japanese.
Somehow Mina didn’t think the other girl wanted to stay because she liked him so much—more likely she only wanted to live.
“Bring me the tapestry,” he said.
She disappeared out the door and came back with an elegant, embroidered white tapestry. She spread it out under a Saint Andrew’s Cross the men had placed against one wall.
“You may go. Use this time wisely to find a way to convince me to keep you instead of the new whore.”
She made a small, dignified bow, having seemed to collect herself, and made her way to the door. The bodyguard gave her a long once-over, his fingertips brushing over hers as she left. The movement wasn’t noticed by the master, but it was significant to Mina. It was a crushing blow, that even here in this place with this cruel man, the other American girl had found someone to show her kindness, perhaps even love.
The bodyguard’s hard gaze went back to Mina, leaving no doubt that his softer expression wouldn’t extend to her.
The master circled Mina, observing her. “Do you know your name means love?”
She shook her head.
“How ironic that you appear to be so unlovable at the hands of every man who touches you.” He paused, seeming to enjoy dragging out her torment. “Do you know what the tapestry is for?”
Again, she shook her head. It earned her another hard slap.
“No, Master,” he said, sharply.
“N-no, Master.”
“You will spill blood for me tonight. You will spill it many nights. You’ll spill it on that tapestry, and then I will hang it on this wall. When every wall is covered in these tapestries, the full weight of your enslavement to me will have sunk in.”
Brian crouched behind a bush on a hilltop two hundred yards from the house. Matsumoto’s property stretched for thirty acres or more. Brian had already taken out the few patrolling guards outside. He’d made an extra few circuits over the path he’d watched them walk to ensure no more were coming.
When he was sure it was only him and the local wildlife, he set up equipment. He’d had night-vision goggles on since he’d reached the property. He took them off to switch out the batteries, then put a suppressor on the sniper rifle.
He’d picked this spot because there was a large flat rock and a clear view of the house. It was as if Matsumoto had gifted him with it specifically to eliminate his men and take down his well-guarded fortress. Perhaps the man had a guilty conscience and was begging for pain to absolve him of his misdoings. Brian was happy to oblige him.