“Be a good girl and pour our drinks.”
“Of course.”
I glide around the room while powerful men debate the fate of the women kneeling at their feet. They masquerade as men of culture with their whiskies and Cuban cigars. Yet, they’re obsessive in their quest to destroy innocent lives.
Prostrate and naked, the women are defenseless. Earlier today, they demonstrated new talents drilled into them through fear, coercion, and punishment.
I wish I could hold them and tell them things will be okay.
But they won’t.
They never will be again.
We’re all prisoners with one thing in common. Our fate is very grim.
The buttery smooth silk of my evening gown brushes across my skin. It’s the exact same shade of scarlet as Benefield’s tie, a subtle reminder to the guests that I belong to him.
I move around the room, serving the men their drinks.
“Come, Bethany.” Mr. J barks at one of the girls, calling her to him. “I want to feel your hands on me again.”
Bethany Weatherfield is all of eighteen. Three years younger than me, she’s a pretty brunette with copper-colored eyes and a heart-shaped face. She’s pretty—beyond pretty—and she’s terrified. Mr. J shows far too much interest. At the banquet tonight, I bet he finalizes his purchase.
This is how time passes: week by miserable week, month by deplorable month.
How many girls have passed through The Retreat since I arrived? Thirty? Forty? It feels like hundreds.
If I’m ever released—and my hopes diminish with each passing day—I want a record of their stolen lives.
Poor Bethany crawls to Mr. J’s feet.
“Touch me, girl.” His command isn’t one she can refuse.
I tense as her small hands reach for his ankles and travel up his shins. It’s a delicate touch, a sensual touch, a touch drilled into her from the very first days she arrived. All the girls are trained to be visually, physically, and most importantly, sensually pleasing.
Tomas Benefield is selling more than a girl. He’s selling an entire fantasy of devotion and abject adoration.
Mr. J slouches back and spreads his legs, preparing for what comes next. Bethany’s hands travel up his legs and over his thighs, caressing and stimulating a monster.
Too disgusted to watch, I turn my back and fill the rest of the glasses with the finest whiskey money can buy.
The men sit in the Oasis. They gather here to finalize their selections before the banquet and subsequent auction that culminates their stay at The Retreat.
Conversation never falters as they speak of shooting clay pigeons, fishing in the sparkling waters, riding horses, or tearing up the trails on ATVs. But no matter how civil their words, none of these men are friends.
They’re all adversaries, and the real power-struggle will occur later tonight when they battle against one another to secure the slave of their dreams. Money is power, and at The Retreat, that saying is never more true.
There are plenty of slaves-in-training to take care of their needs. As for the girls in this room, they will either leave with their new master or they’ll be transferred to one of Benefield’s many brothels scattered across the globe. Frankly, I don’t know which fate is worse.
The idea of serving one man twists my stomach. To feed that vileness day after day surely is a living hell. But is a brothel any better? Instead of one man, there’s a never-ending stream of monstrous men taking what’s not freely offered.
There is another option, not one I would take.
In this place, the only freedom is through the sweet embrace of death. There have been three girls since I arrived who found their freedom through that route.
I no longer believe my father will come through and pay the ransom demands which hold me hostage. This is my fate.
It’s a living nightmare, and I’m terrified I’ll be next in line, auctioned off to the highest bidder.
“Come, Evelyn.” Benefield pats the armrest of his plush leather chair.
No need to ask what he wants. Benefield isn’t interested in me, not like that. He’s far more interested in showing his guests that he gets to touch what they may not.
As for me, I waste no time responding to his call. With that same plastic smile fixed to my face, I gently lower myself down and sit on the armrest of his chair.
Benefield places a possessive arm around my waist while Bethany serves Mr. J’s pleasure. I give in to the pressure of Benefield’s embrace and lean against his hard, unforgiving, frame.
“Your father refused our demands again.” Benefield’s oily voice raises goosebumps on my arms.
I don’t believe him. I can’t. There’s no scenario on earth that would make me believe Benefield. But my faith wavers. It weakens with the passing of every day.
I believe my father will do whatever it takes to bring me home. I just don’t know if he can.
“Maybe he needs more time?” My voice shakes more than I like. There’s no need to give Benefield more ammunition than he needs. As far as his patience, I only hope he has more than me.
“Your father has had plenty of time.” Benefield snaps his fingers and points at Lisette, a pretty blonde with springy curls. “Attend to Mr. B, girl.”
All the guests go by a single letter. Benefield calls the women, his prisoners, girl. Only the guests call them slaves. I don’t know why, but for me, he uses my name.
No one uses my full name. My father calls me Evie. My friends call me Eve. Each time Benefield uses my full name, a little piece inside of me shrivels up and dies.
No man should have this much power over so many lives.
Wealth leads to power. Power wields control. I don’t know who Benefield is except he must be an extraordinarily wealthy man.
As far as power and control go, Benefield’s guests surrender all means of communication with the outside world while at The Retreat. The only thing they’re allowed is the presence of a single bodyguard to protect their interests while they are guests beneath Benefield’s roof.
“If your father does not come through by the end of this week…” He lets his words draw out, torturing me with what he might say next.
“My father will pay.”
Benefield touches my thigh with the pad of his thumb and draws a lazy circle over the smooth silk of my gown. His vile touch makes me want to retch, but I control my emotions and hold onto the only power I wield in this despicable place. Benefield feeds off fear. I refuse to give him what he wants.
“If he does not, you will pay for him.”
I shouldn’t fall into his trap, but I can’t help it. I give him exactly what he wants. I feel the blood drain from my face. I let my mouth gape and my eyes round in fear.
I can’t stop my chin from trembling or the tears pricking at my eyes. I blink furiously, trying to regain my composure, but the damage is done. He got exactly what he wanted. My fear feeds his endless appetite to hurt others.
“Yes, my dear. One way, or another, you will earn your keep around here.”
From the glimmer in his eyes, I don’t want to know what that means. I duck my head and swallow against the bile rising in the back of my throat.
Death may not be such a bad option. I understand the decision those three girls made.
“My father will come through.” Keeping my voice level comes with great difficulty. I have to believe my father will free me.