Page 21 of The Seller

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean I’m not going there. I’d rather stay here in your basement.”

“Well, that’s not a choice you have,” he says, patting the towel between my thighs and moving it back to the crevice of my bottom.

I don’t have the power to tell him what to do, but I might have the power to change his mind.

“Athens is a big city. I might escape into it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You beat my ass, came on me, and locked me in a cage. You don’t think I’ll run at the first chance?”

“No.”

I bite my lower lip. Shit. Does he know? There’s no fucking way he knows.

“Put this on.”

It’s another dress. Blue, and very conservative this time. It falls all the way to my ankles, covers everything from my neck almost to my feet. It doesn’t fit very well, but it is quite comfortable. I find myself fixating on the small things, because these are the things I might be able to control. I am on the verge of very seriously panicking, more than I have been this entire ordeal.

The length and cut of the garment tells me he doesn’t want me to draw attention. He’s making me look plainer and maybe even bigger than I am. This is a disguise, of sorts, and I am glad for it.

Taking me out of the bathroom, he leads me up a winding staircase which leave the interior of his home and winds around the exterior with thick stone steps. From the outside, his home is a bright white Grecian house built in traditional style. It has an ancient elegance and solidity to it and being planted on top of the hill, it forms a natural fortress. We are going up atop it, to the roof where a helicopter is perched like a dark bird of prey.

He puts me into the passenger side of the helicopter and takes the controls himself. Of course he’s going to fly. Most men have pilots, but Stavros is the sort of male who can’t hand over control to others, not in any way. I hope he’s competent, and I suspect he is. He’s also the sort of man who does things right.

The helicopter roars with the beating of the rotors and soon we are rising into the air. I didn’t know where I was until now. I could tell that it was an island, but which island? Now I see that we have been tucked away on Cephalonia, hardly one of the least inhabited islands, but far smaller and much more remote than Athens.

My stomach churns as I think about Athens. After all I went through there, to be taken back… I try to breathe and relax. I have a plan, and that plan doesn’t actually depend on me being in any particular place. As long as he sells me, that’s all that matters.

Greece is a stunning country to fly over. Under any other circumstances, I’d be enjoying this trip immensely. After a few dozen minutes in the air, I may be enjoying it immensely anyway. Being high above the world, in the company of an attractive, ruthless man who can fly his own helicopter is quite an experience of freedom, ironically. It’s like nothing can touch us up here. We’re free, not bound to follow the rules of man, or the solid attachment to earth which is usually forced on us.

My mood dips as we cross over open land and approach the Acropolis. Soon, the city of Athens is laid out below us. It is an extensive, sprawling mass of buildings which almost completely blanket what was once pristine land. This is a place where innocence has long been lost.

Stavros’ aircraft descends over an exterior part of the city, not quite suburban, but far enough out from the center that there are large mansions with grandiose grounds. We are heading to another island of sorts, but this time it is not bordered by water, but by high walls and extensive gardens. As we drop down toward the roof of the place, I can see men patrolling with dogs in the gardens below.

Suddenly, Cephalonia seems like a paradise. The cage I was taken from was small, located in the dark, but outside the bars, and then the walls, was an expanse of rock and water which protected me with its remoteness.

Athens is a hive of activity, and as much security as he has at this place, there’s no way he can stop people coming in if they really want to. My stomach twists with nerves as we start to descend toward the flat roof, marked with a helicopter symbol.

“We can’t stay here.”

He doesn’t look over at me. He’s concentrating on landing. He shouldn’t be. He should be sending this thing rocketing into the sky and getting us as far away from major cities as possible. The middle of the Sahara would be preferable to Athens.

There’s nothing I can do as we descend toward the rooftop - not without potentially killing us both, but the moment we touch down and the rotor blades have slowed enough for me to be heard, I reach out and grab his arm.

“We can’t be here.”

“Why not?” He frowns at me.

“It’s not safe.”

“How would you know what is or isn’t safe?”

“I just know.”

“That’s not going to be enough to make me leave my home.”

---