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  Wilt

  (The Order Book Two)

  Nikki Rae

  Wilt © 2018 Nikki Rae Colligan. No part of this work

  may be sold, shared (except some quotes for review/promotional purposes), posted, or uploaded

  anywhere else without express written permission by the author. If you have this file or a print out of this work, you are depriving the author and the publisher of their rightful royalties and are punishable under law.

  Trigger Warning

  This book features depictions of human trafficking, dubious consent, and graphic descriptions of sex that may be disturbing to some readers. Proceed with caution and take care of yourself.

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  Wilt

  (The Order Book Two)

  Nikki Rae

  One

  The room was always dark when I woke, not even letting the smallest amount of light through. For the briefest of moments, I believed I was back in my closet at the Compound, trained to wake myself up since I had no way of telling time other than when I heard movement from the other girls. It had been raining before—at least I thought it had. I was no longer sure what was real and what was imagined, and I could only partly blame it on the painkillers Elliot gave me every six hours.

  In the days since my failed escape, I’d seen little of him, though I always knew when he’d been there. I could smell the lingering scent of cloves, lavender, and cigarette smoke through the fog of drugs and sleep; it was nothing my mind could conjure on its own. A few times I had even heard his voice, saying or asking something with gentle words I couldn’t make out. I’d always hated drugs, but right now they were welcome. They made bad things like pain and confusion disappear and my mind could only focus on pleasant sensations; my eyes closed whether I was awake or asleep because I would be met by darkness if I opened them anyway. My imagination was given free reign for the first time since I was a child and I let it wander where it wanted.

  Mostly, I imagined had been buried under ground for safekeeping, which in my cloudy thoughts felt nice. Yet when I gave the idea too much attention, I thought too much. The earth was full of roots that went far deeper than I could see. I could be right beside one, become tangled and hurt before I saw it coming. Other than that, I was in the dark. I was nothing.

  It must have been morning. The last time I was more awake than to just roll over and go back to sleep, Mr. B had told me it had been evening and given me my dose of meds like I was his patient. I ate sometimes, but mostly the trays he left went untouched. Nothing interested me lately other than sleep, not moving, and avoiding the pain.

  It wasn’t just my injuries that hurt. Deeper than the wound in my chest and broken ribs, there was a sharp knife which twisted whenever I became too alert.

  The door opened, letting in the dim light of the hall. It was still enough to make me squint and I struggled to sit up to see who it was. I didn’t catch more than his shadow before the door shut again and I could no longer make out the figure taking steps towards the bed. I hadn’t spoken in days; didn’t feel the need to or see the purpose in it, but I was about to ask who was there when I sensed them sit down in the chair beside me.

  They set something down on the nightstand, so sure of where everything was that they didn’t need any light. “Tu dois manger.” You need to eat.

  The sound of his voice made the knife twist all the more and I held in the urge to wince. My mouth was dry, lips chapped, and my stomach felt hollow, yet I still didn’t see the point in eating or drinking. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone to the bathroom and it occurred to me that I was dehydrated and possibly even beginning to starve, but it didn’t matter anymore.

  “I know you’re awake,” he said in English, perhaps wondering if comprehending a different language was too much for me right now. “Marius tells me you’ve hardly touched your food.”

  I stared at what I guessed was the ceiling despite the fact that anywhere I looked was the same: black. The voice was still soft, but it slammed into my sternum with the force of a brick, shattering any bones that hadn’t already been broken and making me stifle a gasp.

  “Your medicine will be wearing off soon,” he continued. “If you want more, you need to eat.”

  I wanted to cry, scream, and fight at the power he had over me, but what good would it do? I couldn’t save myself—not right now at least—so why bother?

  He let out a long exhale and then stood. I wanted him to leave. I couldn’t handle him being here right now no matter how lonely I was. However, instead of walking back towards the door, I heard him opening the curtains behind my bed.

  Muted light filtered through the glass and I had to shut my eyes. “Please,” I whispered without realizing.

  I heard him shift on his feet; he was closer than he’d been before and I could smell him again. “What is it?” he murmured.

  My throat was so dry I had to cough to make the words come out. “I…don’t want to see you.” It sounded stupid out loud and I wished I hadn’t said it.

  I heard him shift again. Then a feather-light hand on my face, grazing my cheekbone that was still swollen from falling off his horse. “You have to face me,” he whispered. “You cannot be blind forever.”

  The knife gouged deeper. I couldn’t get the tears to stay back. I either had to open my eyes to blink them away or show him how truly weak I was. I chose to stay strong.

  The ceiling greeted me, bathed in the glow from outside. I blinked away the tears and after a breath, met his face.

  Elliot

  appeared nothing like the always in control Owner. His hair, though tied in a knot at the back of his head, seemed as if he hadn’t washed it in a while; the few strands that had escaped stuck out in all directions. Though the light from above us was dull, I could make out dark circles underneath his eyes, and his once neatly trimmed beard appeared more scraggly than the last time I’d seen it. His mouth twitched, but he neither smiled nor frowned. I wasn’t sure how to feel either.

  I couldn’t imagine anything I wanted to do less, but he was right: This—whatever I was doing—wasn’t going to save me any more than him handing me over to the Wolf would. If I wanted to survive, I needed to make my survival the priority. I needed to believe that I could be free again no matter how ludicrous that sounded now.

  “Can I please have some water,” my throat actually hurt, but I still added, “sir?”

  Another unsure twitch of his mouth and his thumb smoothed over my cheek. “Of course, Doe.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek as his hand left my skin and he turned his attention to the tray on the nightstand. I tried to sit up on my own, but helped me lean against the headboard as he handed me the glass.

  I sipped it, afraid I’d make myself sick if I was too eager. My hands felt like they didn’t belong to me and trembled if I wasn’t mindful of them. He sat back down in the chair by the bed and I took it to mean he trusted me to be able to do it myself.

  He took the glass from me when I was done and just reaching towards his outstretched hand sent a sharp pain through my chest. It bounced off each broken rib and reverberated down my spine and legs. I lost my grip, but his fingers were already secured around the glass.

  “Your pain is coming back,” he said as he placed it on the tray. I wasn’t aware of whether I’d grimaced or let out a sound that indicated this fact, but he knew it all the same. He could see how weak I was even as I tried to hide it.

  Picking up a plate, he set it into my lap. In the middle were two croissants; one with butter and one with chocolate. The smell was heavenly, but it turned
my stomach. I didn’t know how I was supposed to eat when bigger things were going on, but it was necessary.

  “You’ve lost a lot of weight,” he said. “If you want more, just ask.”

  I stared down at my plate, toying with the edge of one pastry. I didn’t want to eat for him. I didn’t want to do anything for him ever again. Sacrificing myself for his wife was enough.

  Pride was more dangerous than starving, beatings, or any other punishment. It would only hurt me, and it did nothing but make me feel better temporarily. Though the mere thought made me worry about vomiting, I bit into the chocolate croissant and chewed. Immediately, my mouth filled with saliva to compensate for the overpowering sweetness after such a long time without food, but I quickly recovered and swallowed. Now that I was prepared for the sugar, the next bite I took wasn’t as intense and I could almost enjoy it.

  All the while, he watched, silent and studying—waiting for the moment I would defy him, as if it was inevitable. He’d known me for such a short period of my life, yet he knew me better than anyone I’d ever met. No one had been able to determine my thoughts or emotions like that since the girl in the Safehouse the first time I ran.

  By the time I finished, I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but Elliot took the plate from me and placed it back on the tray. He handed me a cup and saucer next—chamomile tea, by the smell of it—and its warmth made me shiver as I held it. I drank without him having to prompt me, and it soothed my raw mouth and throat even better than the water had.

  Before I was halfway through, he was opening a pill bottle and shaking out my dosage into his palm. “We’ll have to wean you off these soon.” He said it as if he needed to fill the silence; he wasn’t any more comfortable with his thoughts than I was with mine.

  I the pills from him and swallowed them with the remainder of my tea before I gave him my cup.

  I was ready to lie back down, but he stood there staring at me for a moment. “Marius should wash these sheets,” he said.

  I looked up at him, confused.

  He moved forward and without asking, picked me up. My arms naturally wrapped themselves around his neck for fear I would create more pain for myself if I didn’t. Elliot carried me out of the room and down the hall to his.

  He had no problem turning on the lights here, where I assumed he felt the most like himself. The room was as tidy as the last time I’d been here, the dark blue-grey blankets tucked in around the bed. He pulled them back and laid me down, covering me before he turned off the one light near my head. Now there was only the overhead one; there were no windows open.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asked.

  Swallowing, wishing I had more water but too stubborn to ask, I nodded.

  He hesitated, unsure if I would allow it—as if I had a choice—but he pushed the hair out of my face. The small amount of comfort it gave me overruled any guilt I could have felt in enjoying it. “I’ll be right back.” He let go of me and stepped into the bathroom. He came back not long after carrying a deep bowl filled with steaming water, a sponge, and a towel.

  Elliot sat on the edge of the bed as he set it all down and uncovered me. I looked up at him with wide eyes, suddenly afraid of what he would do.

  “I’m only going to bathe you,” he said. “You don’t need to be scared.”

  I couldn’t remember another time he’d said that: I didn’t need to be scared. It meant almost as much as an apology.

  Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, I watched him reach into the bowl and ring out the sponge. Starting at my face, he gently washed away any sweat I’d accumulated in the past few days, careful not to touch any of the areas that hurt most.

  He repositioned the blankets, helped me out of my dirty clothes and into fresh, clean smelling ones. I hardly flinched anymore when he cleaned the wounds. Pain didn’t mean much. My life would soon become nothing but this, so I considered myself lucky I was already numb to it.

  New bandages and pajamas later, I was more exhausted than I’d been since I woke up less than twenty minutes ago and I was already lying back down without needing help.

  This time when he covered me, he was overly careful, taking in my expression for any hint of what was going on in my mind. “Fawn,” he whispered, and I hadn’t realized I’d been drifting until I heard his voice.

  The medicine worked its way through my limbs, making my head fuzzy. But I knew he was really here. I knew he was real. That I still was. I wasn’t yet lower than the dirt Members walked on. I was a person for now.

  “I…”

  My eyes opened at his sudden pause. He was looking up at the ceiling as if trying not to cry, but that was impossible; he wouldn’t cry. Owners didn’t cry in front of their slaves, and Elliot never wanted me to see him crack. We were a lot alike in that way. Nearly identical.

  He sat on the bed, cautious of moving too much. He wouldn’t look at me, instead focused on the floor. “I never wanted this.” I almost didn’t hear him, but his strained whisper was even more real in the stillness of the room.

  I closed my eyes and gave him a sad, if not sardonic smile. “Me either.”

  Though I only peeked the tiniest amount, I could see the smirk I’d come to know.

  Silence enveloped us, and this time it seemed impossible to lift. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I said, “Are you staying?”

  Fleetingly, I realized I hadn’t addressed him properly and even though I knew he didn’t expect it right now, some small part of me was still afraid that I was mistaken. He did that to me. Made me second-guess every move and motive. Before him, I wouldn’t have questioned my instincts, but he’d managed to change them. When I should have run, I remained still. When I was supposed to hate things, I loved them. No one before him had accomplished this. Elliot—Master Lyon—hadn’t trained me. He hadn’t reprogrammed my mind. He hadn’t even necessarily forced me into anything. Yet he’d conquered me, and no matter how much I wanted to argue with myself, the idea didn’t bother me quite as much as it should have.

  “I can’t treat you…as an equal for much longer.” My Owner wasn’t often one to struggle for words, but I appreciated how delicate he was being with them. I agreed. I’d already wasted too much time trying to get him to see me as Fawn that I wasn’t preparing myself for who I would have to be next.

  “I understand.”

  A second passed between us, but it was heavier than the silence had been. Then I heard him walk around the bed and he slipped under the covers next to me.

  Two

  Through weeks of healing and trying to come to terms with my new future, the subject of his wife was never discussed again. Although I hadn’t completely gone back to being a glorified slave, I was Doe once more and he returned to the title of sir. However, I began to find an odd comfort in following his instructions. No matter what was going on in my mind, how much time we had left together, or what would happen when we parted, he would call me “Doe” or issue a simple command and I instantly knew where I was. Who I was.

  Being caught a second time, and perhaps because it had been him who’d torn me away from freedom, had changed me.

  It was week three that he began to expect more of me than resting, eating, and keeping hydrated. We spent time each day stretching my sore, stiff muscles to rebuild their strength, limping around the house or up and down the stairs. He had even started to test my knowledge of the traditional positions that had been pounded into my head since as far back as I could remember. Things like “kneel” and “wait” were more common, but sometimes we would be in the middle of reading or eating a meal and he would say “expose” or “floor”. I was expected to stop whatever I was doing and kneel with my hands behind my head or lie face down on the floor until he said otherwise. I thought it would be more difficult, doing these things he demanded, but it was far easier than I could have imagined once I reminded myself that it could have been worse. Here, with this man, I was safe and cared for. I was Doe and never Dog. It was far less dif
ficult to do as he said when I thought of how Jäger would handle things.

  Afterward, Master Lyon would rub my head or tell me I was doing a good job and my heart always swelled with pride. These things made him proud, and slowly, they began to make me feel the same.

  He spent more time with me now, in his study or mine, eating together and working on all the skills I’d need. I no longer slept alone in my room. Now I exclusively slept in his bed and he stayed up reading beside me. He was always awake when I fell asleep and staring at me when I opened my eyes in the morning. Sometimes, as I lay there with my eyes closed and waited for sleep, I wondered if he had somehow broken me into more manageable pieces on purpose. Had it been his plan all along to make me trust him, find out his secret, and then trust him again so I was compliant when he threw me back into the jaws that had first claimed me? Had I simply spent too much time here without any outside interaction that I was growing to care for my captor?

  No, I wanted to tell myself. I’m doing the same as before: surviving. This was the least painful way. I needed to learn so I could continue to survive once he was no longer physically there to protect me.

  And you love him.

  It was a tiny, dismissible voice at first, but with each day it grew louder, waking me from sleep or distracting me from a book. No, I repeated. Even if it was true, there was no such thing in our world. There was no room for something so ridiculous. Love wasn’t something I’d ever known, and what I had been conditioned to think it was were only lies the Order fed the Compound, who regurgitated their agenda to us as if we were baby birds. Love was for people like him and his wife. Elliot and Odette. The kind of devotion that would take a man like him, who had made it his life’s purpose to put an end to suffering like mine, and turn him into the Owner he never wanted to become. To trade a girl for a woman who owned his heart.