A car was waiting outside the facility. Cara blinked painfully in the first dregs of morning sunlight. So it was morning. She knew from the way the prison turned lights off and on that days had passed, but she hadn't seen sunlight in . . . close to three months maybe? The trial had been quick, but nothing had involved going outdoors. The smell of the air alone was invigorating.
The driver opened the back passenger door as Matheson and Cara approached. Cara's rubber soled-shoes crunched on the pavement stairs. She wondered why he hadn't touched her yet. Why hadn't she run either? Was she crazy for just letting herself be led away from a prison by a man she knew nothing about and who had signed her rights away with a flick of his wrist? She stopped short of the car door, feeling a slow churn in her stomach like she would be sick.
"Climb inside," the measured lilt of his voice tickled her ear. For a moment, she tensed, thinking she would try and run. The courtyard of the prison was open, no gates in sight, and barely anyone else besides Matheson, his driver, and the car. How hard would it be?
"You have more dignity than that," Matheson chided the girl, already knowing what she was thinking. "I have been generous so far. Don't test me."
Something about what he said gave her pause. Dignity? Wasn't she a prisoner to him? Under Adeiran law, if he had paid the money and signed a court document promising upkeep, she belonged to him. Like a piece of furniture. Like a pet. She was a trinket for him. What did he mean by dignity? She'd been robbed of that.
"Captives don't have dignity," she replied tentatively. Her own boldness surprised her. Cara didn't know how he would react to her statement. Matheson simply tilted his head a bit at the statement, his unreadable expression never wavering.
"Humans always have dignity, captive or not."
The way she looked at him then revealed how confused his gentle reply had made her. He watched her sigh deeply and climb into the backseat of the spacious vehicle. The car was elongated, not quite a limousine, but larger than a sedan. When he got in, she sat facing him, her back to the partition that separated the back from the driver's area. He sat down, arranged himself comfortably, and unbuttoned his blazer.
"There are a few things we must go over, Cara, if you're going to make a smooth transition into my household," he began as Jacob made his way back around to the driver's seat. "First, is how you will address me. You will address me as 'Lord Matheson' in front of others. You will not be out in public for some time, so this will not apply. When we are at home, you may call me 'my lord' or 'sir'."
He could tell how this rankled her immediately by the sudden light of rebellion sparking in her eyes.
"I have no idea who you are," she butted in. "Why would I call you anything except a slaver? That's what you do in this land."
Adam's expression did not change. His voice took on a pointed edge, however. "Second, from now on you are not to speak unless I prompt you to or unless I ask you a direct question."
"How am I supposed to ask questions?" she answered.
"That is one for today," he said softly. One what? she wondered.
"I will give you opportunities to ask questions. You will wait until then to voice them." He watched her for a moment. "You are wondering what I am talking about when I say 'that is one'. Would you like me to explain?"
"Yes," she answered.
"The number pertains to how many times you have broken my rules. There will be consequences for the third infraction."
What would he do to her? Would he lock her in some dark cell and not feed her? Would he tie her up somewhere where no one could hear? Would he hurt her?
"Do you have a question?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said.
"Explain."
She did not like that commanding tone.
"What do you mean by consequences?"
Cara could only imagine the danger she could be in from this stranger who lorded his wishes over her and had bought her like an animal at a market. Here in Adeira the rules were very different, but she didn't want to lay her neck on a chopping block like a coward. If this was going to be a fight, she was going to challenge everything he said and did.
"It is only your first few hours with me. My goal for the first few weeks is for you to become familiar with me, my habits, and my wishes. Your comfort is dependent upon you listening to me. Which you cannot do when you speak out of turn and interrupt me."
He could tell she had something she wanted to say, but she wouldn't risk another threat of punishment.
"I will give you a choice this time. Would you like to continue with your petulance?"
Her eyes flashed for a moment, but she didn't want to find out what disgusting punishment he would most likely dole out for the most minor of what he perceived as 'infractions.' Besides, the more she knew about who he was and where they were going, the better.
"No," she replied. Adam was mostly satisfied, but he could still sense the harbored hostility. All of the girls had been careful with him at first, except for Alysa, of course. He would have to work on her sentence structure, also. She refused to use a title with each response. There would be a limit to his patience for that.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Remember the rules, Cara."
"Yes, sir," she huffed.
"Very well. Come and sit on the floor in front of me. Face toward the front of the car and sit with your legs crossed."
He took his time making himself comfortable while he waited for her to do as he asked. She looked suspicious about the request. He didn't offer an explanation, he simply stared her down and waited. Cara swallowed and got up, wrangling her limbs into submission. She settled down between his feet with her back to him.
With her there at his feet, he felt far more in control of the situation and of her reactions to him. He peeled off his blazer and unbuttoned one of the buttons at the top of his shirt. While he shuffled behind her, she turned her head in nervous little ways, exposing the pretty profile smudged with dust and days of grime. She was soft and the curves of her face were rounded and sweet. He found her very pretty despite the coating of prison filth, but this was not for his pleasure. This was for her to relax. She would not have an easy time if she continuously relied upon the things she had heard from rumors. The slaver comments made him unthinkably angry, but he knew that fear had no filter.
Matheson reached forward and pulled on the thin leather cord that held her thick hair in a plait. It was dirty and tangled, but that wouldn't bother him. He rarely touched the girls on their first day with him, but if she didn't relax a little, her adrenaline and anxiety would drain her before the day had even started. She felt his fingers in her hair, caressing slowly and easily. He took the pathetic plastic tie out of her hair and untangled it slowly with practiced hands.
She squeezed her eyes shut as Matheson caught a sharp tangle, her fists balling with a sudden deepening of hurt she'd never felt before. It felt as if her breath was caught in her lungs and wouldn't come out.
"Breathe," he'd noticed the heaving shoulders as she took deep breaths. "Certainly things can't be all bad at the moment?"
