In Consequence

TEN


The shower was better than she imagined it could be. Washing off the grime and stink that went with going several days without bathing seemed like a treat that Riddick was giving her, while in reality he probably just thought she smelled bad. She knew how sensitive his nose was.

She felt positively luxurious as she shampooed her hair. Wonder where this stuff came from? It was difficult for her to imagine Riddick with hair of any length.

~*~

Riddick listened to the shower run and contemplated joining her. It would be a much more… sensual experience, he was sure.

No. She wasn’t ready for anything of the kind.

When he was younger, he’d stayed with a professional acquaintance. That professional acquaintance, a man named Devin Freed, was a small-time slaver. His time with the man had showed him several things about the trade, yes, but it also showed him the depth of a true bond.

He’d had his pick of the pleasure-slaves, and he’d made full use of them, but there was one girl that always held his attention. She belonged to a friend of his host, and the pair visited often.

After seeing how his ‘friend’ ran his business, Riddick was shocked at the closeness between Master and slave that was displayed. Freed hadn’t approved, but Riddick was fascinated. Freed beat the four slaves he kept for himself, used them in awful ways. Riddick was never bothered by it. It was a big, bad universe out there, and the quartet of slaves was just dandruff. Just human debris that fell by the wayside with himself and the other unsavory characters that made up humanity.

But Mark Bentley and his slave were different. She adored him, and while he was never sparing with her, he was… gentler. It seemed to Riddick that theirs was something much deeper than a basic tie of ownership.

One night, after a few beers, the two men were sitting up. Freed was out, and Bentley and his slave were visiting. Bentley sent his slave into the kitchen to make some snacks for the two men. During her brief absence, Riddick found himself asking the other man about her.

“Got her from Freed a couple of years ago,” Bentley explained. “She was trained, but she wasn’t all there, you know?”

Riddick shook his head.

“It’s like… ever ridden a horse?”

Riddick shook his head again. “Saw a remake of The Horse Whisperer on the vidscreen once, though.”

“Close enough. Well, at first she was skittish. Freed isn’t exactly the gentle type, if you haven’t noticed. She was terrified of upsetting me. Thought I’d beat her, too. I’m not like that. I just wanted… someone who would always be there, someone who would do what I want, someone for my comfort. It was hard at first. She didn’t trust me for shit. But now… well, let me show you. Giselle!”

She appeared and bowed her head slightly. “Yes?” she responded. She was meek, subservient, but she wasn’t afraid. Among Freed’s slaves, there was always an acrid reek of fear present. It clung to them like a pervading musk. Giselle didn’t smell like that.

“How’s that food coming?”

“Almost done. Do you need another beer?” She was soft-spoken, but sounded like it might have just been a facet of her personality. Her submission was there, but it was subtle. It intrigued Riddick.

“Yeah. Bring two.”

With some unspoken command on Bentley’s part, she disappeared into the kitchen.

“Now, I ask you. How would one of Freed’s girl’s responded?”

Riddick didn’t need to answer. “I get your point. So how’d you get like that with her?”

“Just retrained her. Consistency and sensitivity. It’s funny. Freed doesn’t give a shit about his slaves. He just wants to be sure that none of the ones for sale are damaged. He doesn’t even train them well. But me and Giselle, well… I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Riddick wondered privately if the man wasn’t just a weak, sappy fool. It sounded almost as though he were in love with his slave. If he had any interest—or the means—to take a slave, he couldn’t imagine being so giving of himself.

When Riddick’s obsession with Jack made itself known, his mind had immediately reverted back to Bentley and Giselle. He still thought of it as a weakness on Bentley’s part. He was sure that he’d never be so… well, shit. He didn’t even know how to explain how he felt, even to himself.

He was the dominant one, damn it! He was in charge. Why was he wasting his time on all of this pointless introspection, anyway? Jack was his. She wore his collar, and she’d told him herself that she was his slave. The words had crossed her luscious little lips, and no power in the universe could unmake them.

~*~

Jack’s stomach rumbled, forcefully reminding her that she needed to get out there and make herself something to eat. She toweled herself off and looked around for a hairbrush. Apparently Riddick’s ingenious powers of forethought hadn’t extended to what she would need when she got out of the shower.

Making do by running her fingers through her damp locks, untangling each knot she found, she looked longingly at the dirty hospital gown. Riddick was so… invasive. So intense. She hated being exposed to him. It wasn’t so much that he would be seeing her naked body, but she couldn’t see him as he looked at her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that each time he looked at her through those ice-and-mist eyes, he was stripping her even further, like he was looking into and through her, inside and out.

What if he didn’t like what he saw? What if she wasn’t good enough?

“Don’t be stupid,” she chided herself, cautiously approaching the main cabin. Her mind didn’t listen, and she couldn’t assuage her fears. They were probably unfounded, she reasoned. He wouldn’t have kidnapped me and forced me to have that… whatever the hell is was… done to me, if he didn't like me... on some level, anyway.

She didn’t understand him. He was so violent, so harsh. He’d stripped her, humiliated her, and damn near broke her down completely. But he kept his promises. She hadn’t been hurt, she hadn’t been starved or abused in any way. She didn’t think his mindgames counted as psychological abuse. It was just Riddick. He had been the same when she labeled him her hero when she was thirteen, except his subtle venom and arrogant condescension had been directed at the adult members of their little party.

What was so damn special about her that made him want her like this? It didn’t add up. The only thing she could see that made her different was that she wasn’t afraid of him like everyone else. Even Fry, brave, stubborn Fry, had been afraid of him.

Jack remembered watching Fry approach Riddick as he sat with his arms spread out, crucifixion style. He should have been helpless.

The young girl had known he wasn’t helpless—far from it. He may have been physically restrained, but his mind and mouth were both cruelly sharp. Jack hadn’t missed the amused smile on his face as he coaxed the pilot closer and closer, and she hadn’t missed the way she wiped sweaty palms on her stretchy blue pants. He had been playing mindgames even then. She hadn’t quite seen it for what it was. He was full of himself, and the knowledge of his own power.

The she saw his eyes, and the side of her that wanted strength was even more awestruck than before. If she emulated him, strutted her bravado before him, than maybe—

“Jack.” A reserved, feral growl beckoned her, and she quickened her pace unconsciously.

She slowed down as she rounded a corner and saw him. He was done with his meal, and obviously waiting for her.

“Still hungry?”

Jack nodded, and when he gestured to the food prep machine, she didn’t wait for him to change his mind. She programmed herself the same thing she had seen—and smelled—him eat, and within seconds, the perfect aroma of synth-beef and potatoes filled the air.

As she ate, Riddick studied her. She tried not to look back at him, tried to ignore the wicked silver gaze. It made her uncomfortable, though. It put her in mind of her earlier thought, that he was learning her from the inside out.

When she was done, she rose and took her plate to the small incinerator. With a rag wet with disenfectant and water, she wiped down the dishes and replaced them in the food prep machine’s belly, for later use.

“Do mine, too,” Riddick said casually, and a flash of annoyance startled her. So much for me not waiting on you. Balking wasn’t worth the hassle it would bring, however. She took his plate and silverware and repeated the rather Spartan ritual.

~*~

He wondered how she would react to that little command. A bit to his surprise, only a tightening of her shoulders belied her irritation .“Sit down,” he said.

She did. The scent of her fear was nearly gone. The shower had something to do with it, yes, but if she were as afraid of him as she had been, then she would have begun to reek with it right away.

“What did you do wrong in the clinic?” he asked her in deceptively simple tones.

She frowned. “I’m not sure.”

“Sure you are. I told you to do something. What was it?”

After a pause, she replied slowly. “You wanted me to… be quiet?”

With mock sympathy, he said, “That’s right, Jackie. You were supposed to shut up, weren’t you? Just sit there beside me and keep your big mouth shut, remember?”

He knew his words were hurting her. Well, she deserved it. She didn’t take him seriously when he told her what to do, did she? She ignored him completely and kept on whining.

She was nodding. Riddick feigned a smile at her. “I’m sorry,” she said meekly. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right, it won’t. At least, not for a long time. The only time you’re going to be leaving this ship is when I say so, and what you showed me at the clinic tells me that you won’t be leaving this ship for a very, very long time. Hope that’s okay with you.”

She picked up on his sarcastic dig, as he had known she would. He could see her battle with anger and shame as she digested what he told her. Which would win out?

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered.

“Look at me, Jack.” Voice suddenly severe, he took her by the chin and forced her eyes to meet his. Fear, but not very much of it anymore. Frustration, and yet another realization of her helplessness. Anger, that delectable little streak of wildfire that he never wanted to stomp out. It made things much too interesting for him to consider it. “You do know you have to be punished, don’t you?”

Her eyes widened, and she jerked her head back. He was too fast for her. He dug his fingers into her chin, forcibly holding her still. Keeping his voice low and even, he told her, “Stay put. Did I say you could move?” She would probably have bruises from where his fingers pressed into her thin skin when he tightened his grip. Tough shit.

Jack shook her head as best as she was able, considering the grip in which he held her. “You’ve got to start obeying me, girl.” He drew his shiv.

Jack’s eyes widened. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she said, sounding both accusing and half-panicked.

Riddick chuckled, and he knew that it sounded cruel and damn near inhuman to the terrified girl. She’d get over it. He was just going to give her something to remind her of her place.

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Riddick ran his calloused thumb across the cutting edge of the blade, testing its sharpness. Perfect. “Don’t move. Don’t speak.”

Jack’s eyes were like two green puddles of fear adorning her face. Was that a tear forming in one corner? “Please, you don’t have to do this,” she begged, eyeballing the shiv, trying to move her head from his unrelenting grip. He gave her no leeway, no room to turn her head. He held her still and stared into those two puddles.

“Really,” she went on. He could hear the desperation in her voice. “Please, don’t hurt me. You said you wouldn’t hurt me!” Two tears spilled neatly over the rim of her lower lashes, and he bent his head down to hers. Ignoring her pleas, he licked first one, then the other tear away.

Where should he cut her?