Maid for It (A Maids for It Novella) (9 page)

Swallowing, I look back up at Ben. “None of
that was real? The immigration raid, the trial?”

He shakes his head. “It was all a show for
your benefit.”

“So, when my family paid El Nariz to get me
across the border safely, he knew all along I would become a slave
when I arrived in the US.”

“I’m afraid so.” He frowns. “I’m still
working on getting him taken care of, but with Daniels and Van
Cleve out of the picture, his business should plummet soon. He got
paid a premium at both ends of the deal.”

I set down the newspaper, dizzy with what
I’ve learned. What a fool I was, my family was, to trust a
pollero
! We should have known better.

And why hadn’t I realized there was something
wrong with the raid and the trial? It all seemed so real, but in
retrospect, I should have known something was off. A judge ordering
me to work for a specific company in exchange for being permitted
to stay in the country? Without a green card or a Social Security
Number? I may not fully understand the US legal system, but I know
enough to know it doesn’t work like Mexico’s. And what happened in
that courtroom was
Mexican
in feel, not American.

Ben reaches out and lays a hand over mine. I
realize I’m trembling. With rage. With humiliation. With
self-disgust.

“You were running for your life. Few people
in your position would have questioned what happened, and even if
you had, what would you have done? Run to the police? Called the
Mexican consulate?”

I sigh. He’s right. Like always. So
perceptive, my master who is no longer my master.

“And now I’ve made it possible for you to go
home to your family, where you belong. I learned while I was
tracking down Cantavares that you used to teach English and English
Literature at the college in Sinaloa. They haven’t filled your
position yet, apparently. And your family is desperate for you to
return. They miss you terribly.”

“You’ve spoken to my family?” I want to ask
if they know what’s happened to me, if they’ll be ashamed or
embarrassed by what I’ve been through, by what they inadvertently
put me through.

“Not directly, no. I doubt they would take
kindly to me if they discovered I’d spent the last two months
treating you like my property and effectively raping you.”

A fierce burst of anger singes my veins. “You
didn’t rape me. It was never rape.”
I love you.

“I’m afraid many people wouldn’t agree with
you. Especially the people who love you.” He removes his hand from
mine and stands up. “You were never meant for this life, Gabi. I
may have been able to make you want me, but only because you were
too frightened to resist.”

“That isn’t true. I was never afraid of you.
Not really.”

“I should have known right away you were too
good to be true, but I was selfish. You were so beautiful and so
submissive, I wanted to keep you. But you were also so afraid I’d
send you away, and that didn’t make sense. None of the other maids
Daniels sent were afraid of that, and I believe it’s because none
of them were coerced as you were, that they came to the US of their
own volition. Somewhere along the line, Daniels must have started
running out of willing victims and so he started recruiting
unwilling ones as well, you among them.”

I nod, but inside I’m a riot of emotion. I
can go home! Back to my job, my family, my friends. Back to
everything that’s beloved and familiar. But to do that, I have to
leave my master.

I’d rather cut off a limb.

I’m ready to get on my knees, to throw my
arms around his legs, to beg and plead with him to let me stay.
It’s worked before. Why not this time?

But before I can even start to get off my
chair, he holds up a hand. “You need to go home, Gabi. Nothing you
can do or say will change my mind on this. Right now, you see me as
the person who saved you—first by letting you stay when your life
was in danger and now for eliminating that danger. And what we
had—the master/slave bond—it’s very powerful. You had no experience
with anything like it before. You can’t make a rational decision
about where you belong under those conditions.”

“I do know what I want,” I protest. “I want
you. I want us. I even want the…the playroom.”

That makes him raise an eyebrow. I can tell,
for a second, I’ve almost gotten through to him.

“Please, don’t treat me like a child,” I
plead.

He looks at me for a long time. At last he
opens his mouth, and I have a glimmer of hope. He’s going to let me
stay.

But what he says is, “I’m not treating you
like a child. Since you’re still wearing my collar, I’m treating
you like my slave. And your Master says you need to go home.”

I bow my head, blinking back tears. Even now,
I can’t defy him.

A rustling sound tells me he’s gotten to his
feet, but I don’t dare look. I imagine he’s leaving me alone again,
but instead, I feel him push aside the hair at the back of my
neck.

I tense, every muscle in my body going rigid,
poised for flight. I know what he’s about to do.
No, no,
no.

But it’s already too late. The key is already
in the lock, the lock is already turned, the hinge is already open,
and the glorious, defining weight of the collar is gone.

He was right when he told me his punishments
would be worse than anything I might experience in
that
room
. Nothing could be worse than being free.

“Aeromexico Flight 934 to Culiacan will now
begin boarding. Please have your boarding passes and passports
ready for inspection at the gate.”

The loudspeaker announcement repeats in
Spanish while I rifle in my handbag—Coach, a parting gift from
Travis of all people—for the Mexican passport Ben procured for me.
I can only assume he has as many important clients in the Mexican
government as he does to the American, because it’s the genuine
article, not a fake, delivered by a high-level representative from
the consulate who arrived in a liveried limo.

“We will begin our boarding with passengers
seated in first class.”

I stand up, sling the bag over my shoulder,
and grab the handle of my rolling carry-on bag. My feet are leaden
as I thread my way through the throng of coach passengers who crowd
the path to the gate, waiting to charge when their “zone” is
called. I fall in line behind a tall, neatly dressed businessman
with graying hair. The gate attendant is scanning his boarding pass
when the full import of what I’m about to do comes crashing down on
me.

Once I get on this plane, I’ll never see Ben
again. Never touch him, never kiss him, never suck his cock, never
sit in his lap on the pool deck while unsuspecting passersby watch
us fuck. Never feel him trail his fingers through my hair as though
he’s discovered some mysterious new element or lie in his arms
while he falls into one of his all-too-rare, all-too-brief
slumbers.

Even if he’s right and I would never have
chosen to become his slave if not for the threat of deportation and
death, those threats no longer exist. Cantavares is dead. And
there’s no reason for me to worry about deportation. If Ben can get
me a legitimate Mexican passport in two days, he can get me a visa
to stay in the US at the snap of his fingers.

Free will.
I have it again.

And there is no way I’m getting on this plane
of my own free will.

“Miss,” the gate attendant says expectantly,
holding out her hand for my documents.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I find I’m in need of
the ladies’ room.”

The attendant gives me a sympathetic look and
points to the left. “The closest one is that way, miss.”

“Thank you.”

I walk as sedately as I can in the direction
of the ladies’ room. As luck would have it, it’s also the same
direction as baggage claim and the exit. Once I’m past the entrance
to the restroom and out of sight of the gate, I break into a
jog.

Ben was right when he said I needed to go
home. He was just wrong about where home is.

I swing the door to Ben’s office open,
knowing that’s where I’ll find him. It’s his retreat, his
sanctuary, and the only place he’s going to be on a day like
today.

I’m not wrong. He’s sitting in front of his
computer, but he’s not working. Instead, he’s looking at a picture
on the screen.

My picture.
The one Evan Daniels had
taken of me for the
Maid for It
website. The website is long
gone, shut down on the day Daniels was arrested, but Ben managed to
save my photo.

Confidence swells in my chest. He didn’t send
me away because he didn’t want me anymore, but because he did.

I’m not sure if it’s the sound of the door
opening or the sudden flood of light as the summer sun cuts through
the interior darkness, but he shifts in his chair, disturbed by the
intrusion.

“I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed,
Travis. I don’t need a fucking nursemaid.”

My lips tug at the corners. “How about a maid
to fuck instead?”

His reaction is every bit as dramatic as I
expected. He swivels his chair around violently. For a second, I
think he’s convinced I’m a hallucination, but it doesn’t take long
for him to realize I’m flesh and blood.

He stands up, his expression menacing. “What
the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on a flight to
Mexico.”

“I decided not to go.”

In two steps, he’s looming over me. “It
wasn’t up to you to decide.”

“Yes, it was,” I say evenly, despite the fact
that I’m trembling, half with fear, half with arousal. Or maybe
they are the same thing.

“I’m your master. I ordered you to go
home.”

I could argue that since he took off my
collar, I’m not his slave anymore, but I don’t. Instead, I say
simply, “I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

I blink up at him and shrug. “I realized that
this is home.
You
are home.”

That takes him aback, at least for a few
seconds. He grabs my shoulders, probably to shake some sense into
me, but as soon as his hands close around my flesh, his eyes darken
and his nostrils flare. We’re both reminded of all the times we’ve
done this before, the times he’s exerted his power and I’ve
submitted. Only neither of us is thinking about me leaving. We’re
both thinking about him pushing me down and fucking me
senseless.

His lips thin. “You’re not going to change my
mind about this, Gabi. You’re going back to Mexico if I have to tie
you up and put you on the plane myself.”

“Then I suppose that’s what you’ll have to
do.”

He tightens his fingers on my shoulders, and
I wince.

“You’re not going to cry and plead for me to
keep you like before?”

“Would it make a difference if I did?”

He pauses, a flicker of indecision crossing
his features. “No.”

But in that space, I see opportunity.
Hope.

“Then you had better go get the rope.”

“Don’t test me, Gabi,” he warns.

“I’m not testing you.”
You’re testing
yourself.

He releases my shoulders and a tense silence
dances between us. We’re both breathing fast, both angry, both
aroused. I don’t have to look down to know he’s sporting a healthy
erection.

“Fine,” he says at last. “You can stay. On
one condition.”

My stomach tightens, not only because his
tone is ominous, but because it was too easy. Swaying him should
have taken a lot longer, a lot more effort.

But I stiffen my spine. “I’ll do it.”

“You don’t even know what the condition
is.”

“It doesn’t matter what it is. I place myself
at your mercy.”

He drags a finger along my jawline. “You’re
not going to get much of that.”