Chapter 14: The Creep
WARNING! This chapter contains scenes of graphic abuse. There is no sexual abuse, but the content may still be disturbing or triggering for some readers. Please proceed at your own discretion.
The merchant yanked the cell door with a huge power.
"Out. Both of you. The Baron doesn't like to wait."
Nadeira stayed still, chin high. "We're not dogs you can order around."
The merchant's grin stretched, showing yellow teeth. "Like I said, I like the spirit. The Baron will enjoy crushing that out of you." He grabbed Nadeira's wrist so tight her skin burned. "Move, shiny hair. You're worth more if you're alive, but I can always sell you for parts."
Maribel gasped. "Don't hurt her!"
He shoved Maribel forward, making her stumble on the uneven wooden floor. "Quiet, bitch. You'll fetch a price too, but the Baron gets first pick."
Nadeira pulled at his grip. "Touch her again and you'll regret it."
The merchant laughed, but it felt so greasy. "I like when they make promises. It makes breaking them sweeter." He dragged them out into the bright sunlight.
The docks were busy with sailors unloading crates, but nobody looked their way. The merchant's men formed a circle, forcing the girls down the pier and onto the dirt road.
Every step was painful. The ropes around Nadeira's wrists rubbed her skin raw. The merchant kept jerking the rope whenever she slowed, making her stumble forward.
"Keep walking. Lift those pretty legs," he sneered. "The Baron doesn't like his gifts dirty. Unless…" He smirked. "Unless he makes them dirty himself."
Maribel winced as she tripped on a rock. The merchant yanked her back up by the arm, hard enough to make her cry out.
"Stop hurting her!" Nadeira snapped, twisting against the rope.
He smacked the back of her head with his hand. "Shut up! Both of you. You're merchandise. Speak only if spoken to."
Nadeira's teeth clenched. Her blood was boiling hotter with each step.
Hours passed as they were dragged across land. Dust stuck to their faces. Sweat dripped down their necks.
Their ankles ached from stumbling on stones. The merchant seemed to enjoy their suffering. Every time Maribel slowed, he gave the rope a cruel tug that nearly pulled her off her feet.
"Do you know what happens to girls like you?" he asked in a sing-song voice. "The Baron breaks them. Some he keeps. Some he trades. Some he sells for parts…hair, blood, eyes. People pay well for rare things."
Maribel whimpered, "That's… that's horrible."
He chuckled. "Horrible? No. Profitable. Your shiny hair alone will fetch enough coin to buy me a new ship, girl." He gave Nadeira a long, greedy stare. "But I think the Baron will keep you. He has a taste for fighters. Likes to make them kneel. Likes to hear them beg."
Nadeira spat at his boots. "I'll never beg."
The merchant kicked her knee from behind, sending her crashing into the dirt.
He yanked her back up roughly by the rope. "They all say that. Every single one. And they all beg in the end."
Maribel tried to help her up, but the merchant shoved her aside. "Don't touch her. She's not yours."
By the time the Baron's mansion was ahead, the sky had turned orange with dusk. The gates were tall and black, guarded by men who didn't blink twice at the sight of the bound girls.
The merchant pulled them inside with a satisfied wide smile. "Home sweet home. The Baron has been eager to meet his new treasures."
The mansion was so quiet that one could think it was a cemetery instead of someone's home.
The merchant dragged them down a corridor and kicked to open a heavy wooden door.
"Your lordship," he called, eagerly. "The gifts have arrived."
The smell of perfume and rotten rats filled Nadeira's nose, forcing her eyes widen.
There were little girls inside….that looked way too young and small. Dressed in thin scraps of fabric that barely covered them.
Nadeira noticed their pale faces, some bruised, some blank as if they had already learned not to feel.
Near the Baron's bed lay one girl curled up on the floor, her back striped with red marks, as if she had been whipped. Her arms shook as she tried to push herself up.
"This girl!" Nadeira gasped to herself, recognising that small doll.
The Baron sat lazily in a chair, and with a goblet in his hand.
He looked at the broken child by his bed, then at Nadeira, and smiled slowly.
Nadeira's hands balled into fists. Her blood roared in her ears…
"Monster," she whispered, not being able to stop shaking.
The Baron raised his goblet toward her, as though in a toast.
"Welcome home, my dear, Nadeira…"