Pieces of Autumn (37 page)

There was at least one door between the main part of the house, and any exit points. The only exception, of course, was the front door. But that would be taken care of.

"I keep having the feeling I'm forgetting something," I said, absently, rattling my bedroom door one more time. At first it had been a challenge, figuring out how to effectively block something from the outside. But Autumn had helped me rig a latch that would fall when the doors closed, sending a massive plank of wood into two brackets on either side of the doorway. I heard the comforting thunk and knew I just had to trust it.

The brackets were attached to the thick, heavy wood with railroad ties. There was no chance of it budging. Not in a short amount of time, anyway. Still, I frowned at it.

"Come on," she said, grinning, backing all the way across the hall and taking a stance like a fullback about to charge. "Let's test it out."

Shaking my head, but not bothering to argue, I joined her.

We crashed into the door together, and it didn't so much as groan.
 

"Again," said Autumn.

She whirled her body at the last second before she connected, every time, letting the meaty part of her back take the lion's share of the punishment. Smart girl. It would have been hard to carry out our plan with a dislocated shoulder.

"Satisfied?" I grunted, after the fourth or fifth time.

Her eyes shone. "Not even close. But we should probably move on."

I could see the lingering doubt, the worries, but I'd reassured her as many times as I could. Our biggest advantage was their paranoia. They would be armed, all of them, but the ammunition would be limited. Enough for targeted kills only - not a massacre. Holland was always very insistent about that, and from Joshua's research it seemed they still held with the tradition.
 

"Quality, not quantity, my boy," he'd said to me many times. "I'd rather have a few expert marksmen with a single clip than an army of monkeys with enough ammunition to last a lifetime. If my enemy turned one of my own guns on me, I'd rather it be empty."

Enough bullets for us, but not enough to penetrate six inches of heavy oak. Even if they were full metal jackets, it would take more rounds than any one of the men carried on them. More time than we'd give them. And if I knew Stoker, they'd be carrying hollow-point only. Bullets meant to maim, to kill, to mangle flesh, to stop inside the body and mushroom out instead of passing right through. It would take twice as many to do half the damage to one of the doors.

As the appointed time drew close, we hovered by the door, waiting.
 

Everything had been set in motion.

The knock came just on time, and I went to answer it, just the way Holland had taught me to walk. Shoulders back, confident, smooth like flowing water. Leave no room for doubt in your speech or actions.

Be a knife. Sharp. Deadly.
 

It was about to begin.

I pulled the door open, slowly. I let the Viper take over my eyes.

Mr. Charles had aged terribly since the last time I saw him. Hair coming out in tufts, he looked like someone's decrepit grandfather, not the head of a multi-billion-dollar slave trade.

"Come in," I said to him, in a measured tone.

"Goodness gracious." His eyes darted around the room. "What a lovely home you keep here."

He made a gesture to the men behind him, and two armed bodyguards stomped their way in first. They scouted the room, then turned and gestured towards Mr. Charles.

All seven of the Devils came then, filtering in, one after the other. Some I recognized, but others were new to me. The youngest of the bunch eyed me suspiciously. He might be a problem. I made a mental note.

As I'd expected, half of the bodyguards came in with them, and the other half lingered outside by the cars. Everything was going according to plan.

"Gentlemen," I said, when they'd all gathered in the hall. "You remember Autumn."

Her eyes lifted, slowly. The blankness on her face chilled my blood.

This was almost real.
 

This was almost what you wanted.

But I knew that wasn't true. Not even the Viper wanted this, this smiling, lobotomized version of Autumn. But knowing how close she came to this reality was more than I could stomach.

"Hello," she said, softly. "Can I offer any of you a drink?"

Thankfully, my role called for more attention to be paid to my guests than my slave. I sat down and watched her out of the corner of my eye, hoping it would pass as idle concern that she was doing everything correctly.
 

She served the drinks silently, bowing her head slightly to each of the men.
 

"Do you think she remembers me?" Mr. Charles looked at me with a twist of a smile.
 

"Why don't you ask her?" I suggested, easily, taking a sip of my whiskey.
 

Mr. Charles snapped his fingers, and Autumn went to him quickly, with fluid motions. Without a moment's hesitation, she kneeled at his feet and turned her face up to his expectantly.

"You may speak, child," he said, with a chilling smile. "Do you remember me?"

"Yes, sir," Autumn trilled. "We met a long time ago."

This answer seemed to satisfy him. "You can go. Thank you."

She stood up, bowing as she went.
 

"This is good," one of the men said, lifting his martini. "You've done a remarkable job with her, Tate. I have to say - when we sent you someone so green, I had my doubts."

"I didn't," said Mr. Charles. "Our Tate is a natural born dominant. Through and through. And the girl...well, she's obviously born to kneel."

Hearing him say those words, true as they might be, although he'd never know how - it made my stomach roil. I had to calm down, to keep playing the role I had to play tonight.

"She gave me some trouble, at first," I said. The Viper speaking through my mouth, his words in my voice. "But I knew I couldn't just send her away. It's very rude to return a gift."

"Oh, don't play it so close to the chest." Mr. Charles' smile was indulgent now, as he pillowed his glass of whiskey on his waistcoat. "We all know you have a soft spot for these girls. And I have to agree - I think it's a shame to see such beauty wasted. I don't quite have the same cruel streak as Mr. Holland, sad to say."

"He was just trying to run a business," I said, coolly. "Sometimes, there are necessarily casualties."

"I believe that's war you're thinking of, my boy," Mr. Charles chuckled. "Not business."

I half-shrugged. "What's the difference?"

Mr. Charles guffawed. "Sense of humor still intact, I see. I can't tell you what a relief it is to see you doing so well, Tate. A lot of us..." His eyes flickered. "Well, we were afraid, after what happened, maybe Holland really had broken you. Just not the way he planned."

"I'm not psychotic," I said. "I just wanted some blood in return for the gallons of mine that he spilled."

"And you got it." Mr. Charles raised his glass in a sarcastic toast. "But a man like you shouldn't be lonely. I was hoping you two would take to each other." His eyes glinted in Autumn's direction. "She's so beautiful. Have you taken her virtue yet? I know how you like to toy with your prey."

"Of course," I said, roughly, with a dismissive gesture. "I tortured her with the possibility as long as I could, but once she stopped being afraid of it, there was no point in holding back."

"Hmm." The glint in his eyes was taking on a quality that made my cold blood start to boil. I took a deep breath, voluntarily letting the Viper suppress my humanity. Inside, I panicked, but the voice in my head grew fainter and fainter.

I had never done this. Not purposefully. I had never worn the mask of the Viper unless it came over me instinctively, and part of me was afraid I'd never be able to come back.

But I knew that wasn't true. I was still here. I just had to be quiet.

Later on, I'd get the blood I lusted for.

"Tell me," Mr. Charles said, slowly, his voice lowering a little. "How sweet was it?"

Again, I shrugged. "Better than some. It had been a very long time. She's good with her mouth, too."

"You ever share her?" one of the other scumbags piped up. I swear I saw his cock stiffen in his pants while he stared at her, and I had half a mind to rip it off.

"With who?" I let out a bark of laughter. "No. She's mine."

"You open to negotiation?" the scumbag pressed, leaning forward, staring at me with his eager, beady little eyes.

"Lambert!" Mr. Charles barked, startling the scumbag out of his reverie. "Come on, now. This is a friendly social visit. Tate's been kind enough to extend the olive branch. Let's not strain his hospitality." He glanced at me, his voice going lower again. "He never was very good at sharing his favorite toys."

I indulged in a cold, quiet laugh.

"Do you mind if I ask her a few more questions?" Mr. Charles struggled to sit up in his chair. "Goodness. This is a strong vintage, isn't it?"

I took another sip and just watched him. "Ask her whatever you'd like."

"Come here, child." Mr. Charles crooked his index finger, and Autumn went to him instantly, just as she had before. "Tell me, this man, who is he to you?"

"My Master," she said, without hesitation. My heart constricted in my chest. "He's everything. He's my world."

Mr. Charles was still smiling his interminable smile. "Do you remember the first time he penetrated you?"

Autumn swallowed audibly. "Yes," she said, softly. "I'm sorry for my hesitation, sir. I'm not used to answering these kinds of questions."

"That's perfectly all right," said Mr. Charles, softly. "What did it feel like?"

Her voice was dreamy and remote. "Like being torn apart, and made anew, with every thrust."

"You have the soul of a poet, don't you, my dear?" Mr. Charles, for one heart-stopping moment, looked as if he might lean forward and touch her. I wouldn't have been able to hold myself back if he did, but thankfully, he just sat back in his chair.

Autumn looked to me, her face still a carefully held mask. No one could have seen the cracks, except me.

"She doesn't understand the question," Lambert murmured. He was the closest to Mr. Charles, so Autumn was practically kneeling at
his
feet, and he probably thought I didn't notice him adjusting himself in his pants. But I did.

"She understands," I snapped, a little too quickly. I passed it off with a vicious grin. "She just doesn't know how she's meant to answer. You can't really expect her to address questions about her sense of self, can you? She's a slave. And
my
slave, no less."

"Of course not." Mr. Charles was regarding me carefully. I got the strong sense that this whole conversation was a test, and I felt we were passing. But of course, I couldn't be sure.

"She
is
poetic," I said. "Did you know her parents died when she was young?"
 

I tossed it out, carelessly, and their reactions were exactly what I'd expected. Even a man like Mr. Charles was surprised that I talked about it so freely, so casually.

"I didn't know that," he said, looking down at her. "I'm sorry, dear."

"Don't talk to her about it," I said, sharply. "It makes her upset. No tears, right, my pet?"

She smiled brightly. "No tears," she agreed.

God, she was good. My hair was practically standing on end. The time was close. But not yet. Not yet.

"Would you check on dinner?" I asked her, with the coldest smile I could manage. She hurried to her task, and I turned back to the men.

They were suspicious, but they were hopeful.
 

"I have to say, I'm very interested in this business proposition of yours," Mr. Charles said. "I know you're hardly a gossip, so I don't mind telling you - and I'm sure it's obvious to anyone who can do simple math. We're going to run out of customers. Sooner, rather than later." His lips pursed, thoughtfully. No wonder he was losing his hair. Profit margins were the only things that truly mattered, to a man like him.

"Not many left who can afford to buy a girl," Lambert piped up.
 

Mr. Charles nodded. "Most of our loyal customers already have a harem. And it's a bit like selling mattresses, you know. We can try to convince people they need a new one every year, but there's a limit. Pretty soon, it'll only be the sadists keeping us in business."

I laughed, because I was meant to laugh. Inside, my blood went very cold, and then very hot.

I knew the clients like that. The ones who bought girl after girl after girl, but whose houses were mysteriously empty. The ones who always had a new basement under construction, or a new vegetable patch they'd dug up in the garden.
 

How narrowly had Autumn avoided being sent to one of them?

"Such a waste," I said, as flatly as I could.

"Oh, I agree," said Mr. Charles, with a wave of his hand. "But their money's green, so to speak. I can't rely on them - which is why I hope you'll be able to broker a deal."

"There's quite a demand," I promised him. "The trick, of course, is getting past the cartels who already run the business in those parts of the world. They have a monopoly, so they're creating a false scarcity. We have to bypass them, and go straight to the source."

"That sounds like an all-out war," Lambert put in.
 

I smiled. "Not if we play our cards right. And that's why you need me."

I wasn't lying, exactly. Stoker had always attempted to be an international agency. And they were, more or less. But in some parts of Eastern Europe, and the occasional pockets in Asia and South America, other corporations sprung up to get a stranglehold on the market there. Stoker was hungry for their business. I knew if I came to them with a proposal, they'd be eating out of my hand.

Autumn's voice came, soft and demure, from the doorway.

"Dinner is served," she said, gesturing towards the dining room.

It was massive and disused - I never liked it, the huge hulking table reminding me of exactly how quiet and lonely it was in this house. But it was perfect for this. Autumn had laid the table beautifully, the crown roast taking center stage, surrounded by carrots and potatoes from my garden, and six of my best bottles of wine. It seemed like a shame to waste them on the Devils, but I knew it would be worthwhile.