Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“Dr. Hansen tells me you failed to conceive once again.”
I suppress my urge to pick up my fork and stab him in his meaty red face. I have to be smart. The damage from head injuries compounds, and after nearly a month of daily beatings when I was first brought to his home in handcuffs and proclaimed his wife, I started getting terrible headaches and blurred vision.
My father taught me well, so I got the better of Lochlan several times. I escaped him and ran for my life.
But I never even made it out of his home. Every door is tightly secured and guarded around the clock. The property is surrounded by a tall iron fence that’s been reinforced with electrified spikes on top. Every person inside the home who doesn’t wear an olive-green uniform is a prisoner, and all of us are women.
“Yes. I’m sorry.” I eat my salad, playing the game I have to play until I find a way out of here. “The salad is delicious.”
He loves compliments, even if he’s already heard them dozens of times. Anything that makes him feel powerful, in control, and a man of taste always lands well.
“That cheese in plastic bags never compares to freshly shredded,” he says. “But don’t try to distract me, Briar. You’re lucky Caroline is pregnant.”
I’ve been his prisoner for eleven months, and he’s tried to get me pregnant every one of them. He still has a scar on his face from that first time, when I bit and clawed him as I tried to fight him off.
Those faint bite marks on his cheek are like the woman in the painting behind him: they remind me that I’m still me. I may be his prisoner, and I may submit to his assaults to avoid irreversible brain injury, but this won’t last forever. I’ll never have his child—the tea one of the housekeepers secures for me every month will ensure that. And I will get out, even if I die trying.
He has several mistresses, but Caroline is currently number one because she’s expecting his baby. I felt guilty when he told me the news two months ago, because I knew it would take some of the pressure off me.
“She’s over the morning sickness,” he says. “Our son is strong and healthy.”
Our son. It sickens me every time he says it. When Caroline gives birth to her baby boy, he intends to take him from her and bring the child here to be raised as mine and his.
There’s no end to the cruelty of the regime and those who power it. There are a few women in high-ranking positions, but only because they already had military leadership experience when the virus hit. So few people survived that Whitman had to put any women on his team who were willing.
Those are the ones I despise most. The women who sit in those meetings and say nothing. They know damn well the rest of us are treated like objects. We’re housekeepers, childcare givers, cooks, service workers, and vessels. Whether they call us mistress or wife, none of us wants this. But the instinct to survive runs deep.
“Our son will give you purpose,” he says.
“Yes. I look forward to it.”
Servers clear away the salad dishes and bring the second course, which hides beneath stainless domes over each plate. One server, Robbie, stands beside me and the head butler, Alonzo, stands beside Lochlan. They remove the domes at the same moment, steam rising from whatever’s inside.
“Bone marrow consommé with whipped marrow and sea salt,” Alonzo proclaims.
Lochlan’s newest head chef has a strong will to live. Her name is Amanda, and she works tirelessly to make sure every dish Lochlan requests is made perfectly. The last chef, Marcone, had his right wrist shattered by Lochlan after serving undercooked pork chops. Since he couldn’t use his hand anymore, he was sent away.
No one in this house gets medical treatment after beatings. So if bones are broken, they probably won’t mend the right way. For an art professor, Lochlan is surprisingly brutal. He loves drawing blood and inflicting pain.
“This is very good,” I say, dipping my spoon back into the soup.
I consider myself part of the staff in this house, though I’d trade my job for anyone else’s in a heartbeat. And we take care of each other as much as we can.
When Lynette, one of the housekeepers, recently had the flu, we waited for Lochlan to leave for the day and then Tony, one of the gardeners, helped me get Lynette’s work done. She instructed us on what to do in between trips to the bathroom.
I slept better on those nights than I have in a long time. I miss my life before. Not just before the virus, but also after the virus and before Lochlan saw me at that market.