Page 22 of Caging Liberty
Mr. A sighs like my dignity is a nuisance. “Staying down here is a choice, Ivy. It’s not one anyone wants you to make. Pitying yourself isn’t doing you any good, and neither is being prideful.”
“If I go up there…” I inhale a shaky breath. “We both know what happens.”
“I know what happens. You seem a bit hazy about it.”
“Naomi told me. You force women to have sex with residents like you, and then you sell them to the first person who’s interested. Sawyer even told me that, so stop trying to bullshit me.”
Mr. A stares at me without saying anything. For a moment, it’s a welcome stare down, but then my skin begins to crawl.
“I’m going to ask you a question that you aren’t going to like. But I want you to put that fighting spirit of yours aside when I’m gone and truly think about it. Okay?”
I press my lips together and remain still.
“You’re on an island with more wealth than you could know what to do with. You live in a mansion beside the ocean. You’ll eat great food, wear designer clothes, pursue as many hobbies as you want, and never have to worry about anything for the rest of your life. Someone will always take care of your every need, forever. And yes, in return, you’re expected to meet the physical needs of those who take care of you. You’re expected to be obedient.”
“Is your question coming anytime soon?”
His face sobers, and there’s no trace of empathy left in his expression. I was right… He doesn’t feel bad for me. He’s as vile as all the other men here, malevolent eyes or not. What did I expect him to do?Saveme?Understand? Why? Because he brings me fuckingcrumbs?
My face heats with fresh anger, and it’s good because it distracts me from my sinking heart.
“How different do you think this is from the life you’d chosen for yourself?”
My jaw goes slack, and my chest aches. I’m stunned. Not because he knows more about me than I’d realized. Not because I can’t believe he’d have the audacity to ask me that.
I’m stunned because instantly, I know what he means. And finally, I know why they picked me to come here.
Because they think I’m a gold digger. And they see this as a gold digger’s paradise. I told saltyshells—Sawyer—everything,everythingthat Robert put me through. So not only am I a gold digger in their eyes, but I’m also a doormat.
They probably had no idea I’d fight back.
“I won’t be back,” Mr. A says, his face hard. He turns and takes a few steps before looking over his shoulder. “I hope to see you around, Ivy.”
With that, he’s gone. And for the first time, I don’t hide my tears. They flow down my face freely, and a sob barrels up my chest.
Finally, I break.
7
Angel
My eyes roam the playroom, the low lighting making it hard to recognize faces. Light flickers like this is a nightclub—Sawyer’s taste, not mine—and I catch glimpses of women, but none resemble the blue-eyed beauty I’m searching for.
Yesterday, Sawyer told me she was being moved upstairs. I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt more relieved. I’ve been wanting Lib for years, and her stubbornness was beginning to make me think I’d never get my chance. Acting as if I’d given up on her was risky, but it was only hours before Sawyer called and told me she’d caved.
That gave her twenty-four hours to get cleaned up and rested for tonight. I didn’t ask Sawyer if she’d be here because I didn’t want to seem too eager, but now I regret that. If she doesn’t show up, I’ll have endured Sawyer’s affinity for strobe lights and club music for no reason.
I’d been lingering at a table off to the side of the playroom, but now I make my way to the bar on the other side. To call this a ‘room’ is a bit misleading considering the square footage of this space must be more than most houses.
Tables for two line a portion of both walls with two fully stocked bars on opposite sides of the room.
Several stages with poles and cages occupy the middle of the space with plenty of chairs surrounding them.
Couches are strategically placed on both ends, and various equipment is sprinkled throughout. Sibians, spanking horses, and pillories … one of which is currently being used to lock a girl in place while several men line up behind her. I watch her face twist with ecstasy and think I hear her moan, but it’s too loud in here to be sure.
The music blares, and the sounds of people fucking mix into a cocktail that can make any man hard. If I wasn’t slyly searching for Lib, I’d already be partaking.
In the back of my mind, I consider the possibility that Lib is already engaging in the fun. Jealousy sits like a weight in my mind, but I don’t allow it to claw its way to the forefront. Lib isn’t mine to have, she’s mine to share. That’ll have to be good enough.