"Hurry up!" the guard barked, his voice cutting through the air. Jared winced as the guard's whip lashed against his bare back, the pain sharp and searing.
"Stop. I need to piss." Jared gasped, desperation creeping into his voice.
The guard leaped from his chair, grinning as he retrieved a set of keys from his black pants pocket and unlocked Jared's chains. "You're revolting. Go shower," the guard sneered.
Jared scurried to the grim building. As the water from the shower ran over his wounds, he stared at the rusted drain, wondering how many others had bled into it. His thoughts scattered like ash. He wished the water could carry him away, too.
After a brief shower, Jared's attention was drawn to the black limousine gliding through the camp, a stark contrast to the surrounding desolation. Curiosity propelled him to follow it to the women's section, where he hid behind a tree, knowing he was trespassing in a forbidden area.
Osa emerged from the vehicle in a grey Kaunda suit. He strolled toward the ten women lined up in the dirt, a single guard watching over them with a rifle slung over his shoulder.
"A saviour has arrived," Osa said, terrifyingly smug. "I need a second wife, so I'm offering a lucky girl an exit from my camp. You will live in my palace and learn to please me."
Jared leaned his back against the rough bark of the tree. His stomach twisted, the shock stinging him like a wasp.
Osa stepped closer to Kerra, now a mere shadow of her former self.
"You'd suit the role."
Kerra met his stare. "I'm not anyone's property."
Jared nodded in agreement. Even from his hiding spot, he could smell the stale cigarette smoke rolling off Osa.
Osa's expression cooled. "Wrong answer. I didn't ask for an argument. I asked for a wife."
He grabbed her wrist, but Kerra wrenched herself free.
"Get the hell away from me!" she snapped.
Osa's hand flashed out—a swift, brutal strike that left a red mark on her cheek.
"I don't ask," Osa said flatly. "I take what is mine."
"Over my dead body," Kerra replied.
Osa let out a low grunt, then gestured casually to his guard. "Shoot the slut. She's dirty anyway."
The guard raised his weapon and fired. The crack of the gunshot echoed through the camp as the bullet caught Kerra square in the chest. She collapsed onto the yellowed grass, a dark crimson stain spreading rapidly across her ripped, plain dress.
A woman stepped forward. "I'll go," she said weakly, trembling under Osa's towering frame.
Osa measured her with a cold eye. "You'll do."
He seized her wrist and pulled her toward the vehicle.
"Get in."
The woman stepped into the vehicle, her shoulders rigid with fear.
Osa held the door open and called out, "Guard!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Shoot the rest. Clean up the trash." He slid into the vehicle and slammed the door shut.
The limousine rolled away, and then the screams began—followed by the sharp crack of firing bullets.
Jared sprinted back to his cabin before he could be spotted. He collapsed onto his burlap sack, weeping and moaning, his heart sinking into the black depths of despair.
**************
Osa leaned toward the trembling woman, his heavy hand sliding possessively onto her bony thigh.
"Aren't you overjoyed that I chose you?" He asked smugly.
The woman bit her lip hard, fighting back tears. "Why… why did you shoot the others?" she whispered. "Some of those girls were my friends."
Osa let out a deep, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through the limousine. "Friends?"
His head tilted, eyes gleaming with mock sympathy. "I promised to save you, my dear. The rest were already dead women walking—starving, filthy, useless. I granted them a quicker end. Call it mercy."
"But they were harder workers," she protested weakly. "You need them for the fields—"
"Silence," Osa snapped. "I am cutting rations in the camp. You didn't think I would be generous with food forever, did you? Not when the harvest season is dead."
He squeezed her thigh harder, his fingers digging in.
"You should be thankful I even chose you," he continued. "Normally I wouldn't bother with someone so… painfully thin."
"We only get one meal a day."
"When we get to the palace, we'll have a proper steak dinner. You need to put some meat on those bones." His grin widened. "My first wife, Rachel, will show you how things work around the palace."
The woman swallowed. "How do you know her?"
"Through my buddy Noah," Osa said, leaning back comfortably. "I rescued her from the streets, from selling herself to filthy men for a quick buck. Now she belongs to me, and I know exactly how to treat my queens."
"Tell me, were you a hooker before this?"
"No," she said, her voice tightening. "I was a university professor. I taught the history of the Aka-pak language."
"Aka-pak is a dead language," Osa snapped. "Which means you need a new job. Don't worry, you're going to love this one much more—you get to be with me."
The woman lowered her gaze.
"I miss my old life."
Osa struck her across the face.
"There are certain subjects we don't discuss," he said coldly. "Your old life is one of them."
Her hand drifted to her sore cheek. Tears blurred her vision.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Osa nodded approvingly.
"Good. You're learning."
He smiled.
"I am making you my queen. That means teaching you what is and isn't acceptable."
His voice stayed calm.
"First lesson: show gratitude to your saviour. What's your name?"
"Zyla."
"That name is from the Aka-pak language," he said. "You'll need a new one."
He smiled faintly.
"I'll call you Lyra."
"But my name is Zyla—"
Osa snappd. He seized her by the face, forcing her chin up until she was staring directly into his eyes.
"Do not make me strike you again," he hissed. "Your name is Lyra. In my palace, it is forbidden to speak a single word of Aka-pak. If I had a bar of soap, I would make you wash your mouth."
He squeezed her cheeks, bruising her skin. "Now, let's try this again. What is your name?"
"Lyra," she whimpered.
He let go of her jaw, his expression instantly clearing. "Very good, Lyra. Before dinner, you need a bath and some new clothes. You can borrow something of Racheal's until I take you on a shopping trip. A queen of mine doesn't wear rags—she wears only the finest dresses."
"When I came to the camp, I was stripped of my clothes-"
He snarled, grabbing her hair and pulling her close.
"What did I say about speaking of the past?" Osa whispered. "I knew the day you saw me that you wanted me. Your nipples were hard for me."
He reached down and roughly grabbed her right breast.
"You're too flat-chested for my taste. But I saved you, didn't I? The guards don't waste bullets unless I tell them to, and yet, here you sit in luxury. I saw something in you, Lyra—now, don't make me regret it."
His hand slid up her grey dress, forcing his way between her thighs. He sneered, his fingers catching on her hair. "You're completely untamed. I'll have my staff attend to your grooming first thing. Now, tell me, are you a virgin?"
She shook her head, swallowing hard. "No. I was married... until my husband died in the camp. He had an allergic reaction to the potato soup. He told the guard he was allergic to wheat, but they insisted it was safe—they told him to eat it—"
"Do I look like I care about your dead husband?" Osa sneered, twisting his fingers tighter into her hair. "I thought you were a virgin. You certainly have the flat chest of one."
"You asked," she gasped.
"From now on, you never speak of him again," Osa cut her off, his voice dropping to a low, heavy purr. "You answer only to me. I am your husband now, Lyra. And a good wife doesn't let other men cross her mind."
"But… I… miss—"
"Don't you remember our first lesson? Do you really need a reminder? Please, don't make me do it. I don't want you looking too bruised for our first romantic dinner together. I love you."
He kissed her on the lips, ignoring her stiffness. Then he pulled back, wiping his mouth.
"You need mouthwash. A queen knows how to take care of herself, so I'll have my staff attend to your every need. Tell me—have you ever given birth?"
"Yes," she said, choking back a sob. "I had a daughter, her name was Sarela. She died in the camp... she was less than a year old."
"What a pity I arrived so late," Osa said, leaning back comfortably. "I could have saved her. By the time she grew up, she could have belonged to me, too."
"I don't think that would have been any life to give to her—"
Osa rolled his eyes in disgust. "You're right. She was probably ugly anyway, looking like your dead husband."
Then he shifted, his hand sliding back down to squeeze her thigh with bruising force.
"Lyra. We all make mistakes in life. I forgive you for having that child with him. But please, make a child with me. We can call her Kimmikoto. Sarela is such an ugly name for a child... Let's make things right and have a baby together."
"But it won't be the same as my daughter-"
"Lyra. You forget that you need a fresh start," Osa said coldly. "That child was a mistake. You were selfish for wanting her, and she didn't deserve to be born to an unloving father. With me, you're giving our daughter the perfect father. No one can refuse that."
Tears streamed down her cheeks. "She wasn't a mistake," she choked out, her grief finally fracturing her fear. "She died because she was taken from me, and I couldn't breastfeed her—"
"The camp is no place for a baby, that's for sure," Osa said, leaning in to brush a tear from her cheek. "But I saved you. No child of ours would ever see the inside of a camp. You see? You don't have to worry about losing a child if we have one together."
He pressed his lips hard against her mouth, forcing the kiss, before pulling away with a click of his tongue.
"I would put my tongue inside you if you didn't need mouthwash so badly. I'll take care of you, baby. I'll show you... I always take good care of my babies. You never had anyone take care of you before?"
"My husband took time off work after I gave birth—"
His hand cracked across her face.
"What did I say? I told you not to mention him! Again!" He screamed.
Then his voice dropped to a terrifyingly calm purr. "Now look at what you made me do. Your cheek is ruined. You know I hate seeing your face look like that... My staff will fix you up. They'll give you the makeover you so desperately need."
He reached out, gently tracing the welt forming on her skin. "You know it breaks my heart when I have to punish my baby, right?" He sighed, his thumb smoothing over the bruise.
"I love you far too much to ever want to see you hurt. So stop forcing my hand."
"I'm scared..." She cried. "Maybe I should have taken the bullet, it would have been less painful-"
"I'm scared..." she cried, shrinking into the corner of the seat. "Maybe I should have taken the bullet. It would have been less painful—"
Another slap cut her off.
"How foolish are you? Now you want to be dead? After I saved your life? Don't you see I can provide for you?"
He turned sharply and yanked open the mini-fridge. "Here. Take this." He shoved a glass bottle of water into her hands. "You know I only buy the best. This is pure—sourced straight from the Catwerp Mountains, the finest water in the world. You have nothing to complain about."
His lip curled in disgust. "If anyone should be complaining, it's me. I had to put my mouth on yours, even though it's filthy."
She stayed frozen.
Osa snatched the bottle back with an irritated huff. "Do I have to do everything for you?" He twisted the cap off sharply. "Clearly, you don't know how to take care of yourself. That's why you need me."
He shoved the open bottle back into her hands. "Now drink."
"I'm too scared-"
Osa's face twisted with irritation. "Do I have to pour it down your throat? Does my baby not know what's best for her?"
He leaned in closer, voice dripping with mock concern. "If I had known taking care of you was going to be this exhausting, I never would have brought you in."
She sipped the water swallowingly.
"Good, isn't it?" Osa smiled.
"Yes, it is very good."
"You see? I know how to take good care of my babies! That's why I have so many of them? Now, do you have a sister?"
"My sister fled the country. I should have gone with her, but I didn't want to leave my husband behind—"
He grabbed her by the throat, squeezing tight. "Why do you keep breaking the rules?"
Her face turned a deep crimson as she choked.
"Do you like hurting me? Is that what this is?" He snarled.
"No," she choked out.
He let go. "You made me mark you," he said, inspecting the bruising skin with a disappointed sigh.
"No matter. The staff will fix it before anyone else has to look at what you did. Drink some water. It'll stop the coughing. You really are quite helpless on your own, aren't you? Lucky for you, that's exactly what I'm here for."
The limo came to a stop at the palace. The driver stepped out of the limo to open the door for them. They exited the limo.
Osa smiled he saw Noah standing next to the guard.
"Who's she?" Noah asked.
"Her name is Lyra. I pulled her from the camps."
Noah recoiled, casting a disgusted look at the girl. "The camps? Why would you bring her here? She's filthy."
"Because I require an alternative," he said smoothly. "Racheal is unavailable during her cycle, and I dislike waiting. I chose to extend my grace to this girl. If I hadn't claimed her, she would have rotted in those camps. I am her saviour."
Noah's eyes drifted from her ruined clothes up to her face, lingering on her throat. "Is she okay? Her face looks pretty red. And her neck..."
Osa snapped, irritation flashing beneath his calm exterior. "Noah! I just rescued her from the camps. Of course, she looks bruised — the guards beat her. That's why she needed me."
Osa clamped a heavy, inescapable grip around Zyla's wrist, pulling her close to his side. "Noah, you don't need to worry about her. A good husband always provides for his wife."
Noah raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "Osa, you don't even know her, and now you're talking about marriage?"
"Noah, I don't have time to waste. I'm calling my private doctor to check her over. Let's pray she's clean; if she isn't, well, it would be a real pity what would have to happen to her. I really do want her to bear children for me."