Mine

Less - 15

My first meeting with Hiram was a disaster. Blade carried me back to my room, placing me on the extravagant couch that I had hardly noticed before now, and left. I lay there, head throbbing and my ankles sore until I fall asleep.

A brutal shaking by my shoulders wakes me from my dreamless state. Blade’s face is inches from mine as he pries open one of my eyelids. I slap his hand away, pushing myself up with one arm.

“You’re concussed. You’re not supposed to sleep.” He defends himself.

“What?” I rub my sore neck and catch a glimpse of my red wrists. They’re raw from whatever he’d used to tie my hands together.

“Concussed. A concussion?” He says with a hint of concern.

“Yeah, I know what you meant by that, I just…” my voice trails off as I remember what happened what feels like days ago.

“You slept for a few hours, but you didn’t die so that’s good."

“Says who?” I chuckle. He shoots me a look.

He gets off the couch, helping himself to my fridge. Is it my fridge? Am I even still welcome here? He warned me not to push Hiram and I did. Perhaps a little too far.

“You know, I think I’ll just call you Baldie instead of Blade.”

“Is that right?” He asks, his attention on whatever he was smelling in a Tupperware that I know for a fact isn’t mine.

“Yeah. I think it suits you better. Hey, I have to ask you something.” I try to get up, but my head spins. Okay, so maybe I do have a concussion.

“Anything as long as you don’t try to leave that couch.” He says, tossing the Tupperware out.

“Am I staying here?”

“It’s your room. I already told you that.”

“No, I know, I mean… Here. At The Order.”

He laughs as he puts a pot on the stove and fills it with water.

“You’re not at The Order. You’re at the warehouse. It’s owned by Hiram who’s owned by The Order. You’re here. He can’t sell you back out to the rings.”

I think on that. It’s interesting.

“Why not?”

“Why can’t he sell you?” He asks, not bothering to look back at me even though I only nod my head in answer.

“Because Hiram doesn’t own you. He oversees the man who does.”

“And who is that?” I ask, butterflies flitting through my core.

“Tate Loren?”

I feign confusion as Baldie looks over his shoulder at me, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Stop. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him. Everyone knows Tate. Famous designer. Save Space host?”

I shake my head slowly like I’m confused at every point he’s making. He sets down his spoon, eating against my fridge.

“Wow. I’ve never met anyone so out of the loop. I mean…” he trails off, probably realizing that I’m supposedly from some huge s*x ring and probably haven’t been treated too nicely over the years.

His face looks sorry and I realize, that’s exactly what he’s thinking.

“So, how did you get here? Into The Order?”

I try changing the subject in hopes to further my plan of getting close to him, but my question only makes his slack demeanor harden as he turns his attention back to the stove.

His face is stone now as he violently stirs whatever he’s making. I don’t press for an answer, maybe it’s top secret.

“We’re born into The Order.” Is the answer he settles on. I eye him as he works.

“Not you, though. Right?” I sprinkle in a tone of arrogance and naivety for good measure.

Again, he doesn’t answer, slamming a cabinet that never sounds because the soft close feature takes over.

“Damnit.” He huffs.

‘Don’t respond.’ I think to myself as I watch him. Waiting for him to come to me has been tiring thus far. He’s not like the others here.

“Why would you say that?” He throws a bowl onto the counter and starts spooning in some white sauce.

“I don’t know. I mean… You’re not like the others… what are your titles? Goons? Guardians? You’re not like them.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He brings a piping hot bowl of pasta with white sauce to me. There are veggies and even bacon in it. When he made all of that, I don’t know but I take it with two hands, sighing gratefully.

It works. He softens a bit as he takes a seat in the armchair across from me, leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs.

He studies me as I take generous bites of the food. It’s so good I can’t help shoving my mouth full of the stuff. I’m aware of his eyes but when I meet them, he looks into the palms of his hands. I swallow.

“You’re nice. You seem to care about us all and you even stood up for us. In your own way, but you did."

He smirks.

“I just want him to remember that his normal girls are used to this. They chose the lives they live as prostitutes. You and the other girls... You come from a s*x ring. You didn’t choose any of this.”

His brow furrows as he remembers something that cut him deep and it sparks an interest in my dark core. What has he really been through? Maybe I’ve been naive to think these men were just machines. There’s something dark in him and I’m going to uncover it.