Page 26 of The Seller

Fuck. No. Fuck. No.

* * *

“You’re a piece of shit,” she hisses. She has gone pale with fear. The idea of me knowing who she is obviously scares her, I’ve known that all along.

What she says is true, though. I am a piece of shit. But that doesn’t change my need to know who she is. I’m one step closer to finding out what the hell is going on with her.

“You could just tell me now. Save me the trouble of having this run,” I say swinging the baggie containing her sample up just out of her reach.

“Run it. You won’t get any matches. I’m not a criminal.”

“I have access to extended databases. Not just criminal ones.”

“Enjoy your science experiment,” she says bitterly. “It won’t work.”

I think it will work. I think that’s why she’s scared and angry, and rude.

“You stay there,” I tell her. “Get some rest. Your training resumes tomorrow, once I find out exactly who you are, and what you’re up to.”

She bites her lower lip and lifts her chin. She’s brimming with defiance and interrupted orgasm. I could fuck her right now, bury my dick in that creamy tight cunt, but the need to find out who she is trumps that desire. We will have plenty of time together once I know who she is.

* * *

The rest of my day is busy. I get Siri’s sample sent off, and then I get down to business. For the past few days, my world has revolved around Siri, but there is much more to my portfolio than the girl upstairs. Selling girls is not my primary source of income. It’s more of a passion project, a sideline. Commerce is my profession, in all its forms. I own multiple businesses, selling everything from cotton wool to caviar. I should have stopped selling women long ago. It’s risky and of course, it’s wrong, but there is a thrill to taking raw material in the form of a female, and turning it into a perfect fuck doll. In many respects, it’s a bad habit I’ve yet to shed, like smoking.

As I work, my mind keeps returning to Siri. I don’t like not knowing things, and she is the most unknown thing I’ve encountered in human form. I have a camera feed to the room she’s in so I can make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, like try to escape.

I see that as soon as I left, she closed the curtains again and re-dressed herself. When my servants bring her food, she eats. She goes to the bathroom. She takes a shower. She goes through the closet I had prepared for her ahead of time and she picks out a blouse and a skirt to wear. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was settling in, but I do know better and I know she has some end goal in mind that lies outside Athens.

In the end, she retreats to the bed and covers herself, as if the blankets might provide additional protection from whatever lurks outside the walls of my home.

My work is mostly tedious and I find myself checking my email repetitively, hoping there is a missive related to Siri, even though I know her DNA sample hasn’t even been sequenced yet. Around dinner time, I eat, then retire to bed early. My room adjoins hers, not that she knows it. I am just a few feet away from her as I lie in my bed alone, tempted yet again to have her join me.

I never let my material sleep in my bed. I never share true intimacy with the girls I train, that is for their new owners to enjoy, or not. I lie there all too awake and I think about Siri, who I might sell her to. Usually I have someone in mind for a girl within hours of meeting her. There are men who like blondes or red heads, some who prefer tall, or short women. I’ve gotten to know my client’s types very well over the years. I can’t think of a single person to match Siri with, but not because she wouldn’t suit my clients’ tastes - because she suits mine.

The implications of that thought are complicated, much too complicated to explore as the night grows later and darker. One thing at a time. As soon as I know who she is, I can start to make decisions. Tomorrow should bring that revelation.

I close my eyes and go to sleep, feeling that old feeling of satisfaction which comes with being in control. Siri might have her secrets, but I have my ways of uncovering them, and soon I’ll lay her bare in every way possible.

Chapter 5

Stavros

The clock by my bed is blinking 2 AM when I am jolted awake by gunfire and the sound of Siri screaming. I am out of bed and across to her room before I’m even fully aware of what I’m doing. Thank fuck I kept her close. If she was anywhere else in the house, there would be a hail of bullets between her and I right now.

“He’s coming for me! He’s coming!” She’s screaming almost incoherently.

“Shhhh, nobody’s getting you,” I reassure her as I drag her from the bed and back into my room, throwing open the doors on what is usually a hidden bank of camera feeds.

Multiple screens reveal that we are under attack. There are people fucking everywhere. The main doors have been rammed open. There’s a small armored vehicle parked in my vestibule, and there are mercenaries pouring in through every accessible spot on the lower floor. Windows are broken. There’s glass everywhere. I have dozens of armed guards on site, but there are more than three times as many hostiles pouring in and my men have no fucking chance at all. My beautiful, ancient home has been turned into a war zone, marble statues blasted to smithereens by high powered weapons which destroy everything in their path. This is my worst case scenario multiplied. My house is a fortress masquerading as a common home, and that means I have some defensive capabilities, but nothing equal to this onslaught.

Fortunately, I designed my bedroom for the worst case scenario. Not because I expected an invasion force, but because with my sideline of work police interference is always a possibility. My bedroom has not one, but two hidden exits, one of which emerges in the house next door, the other which descends into the catacombs of Athens. We’ll take the latter one.

I grab Siri and together, we escape through the back of a closet which opens up and descends down a ladder. I pick up a go bag stashed inside, sling it on my back and pull Siri to my chest before sliding down the ladder, my hands and feet on the outside of the vertical bars so we slip down as quickly as possible. Every second counts right now. My men held off the attackers until we could get out of the room, but they won’t be able to hold them for long.

Siri is terrified, clinging to me with desperate fear, her arms and legs wrapped around my body as we descend, holding on like a monkey.

Even I’m being affected by fear. I can feel adrenaline coursing through me, making my muscles bulge with tension. I don’t want to be running. I want to be grabbing weapons and fighting. My men are fucking dying up there, and I’m dodging down into the tunnels like a rat.

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