Page 2 of Reclaimed

Five excruciating seconds later, the convulsions stop, the screen of my cuff lighting up with another message.

Now.

My fingers tremble as they curl around the edge of the countertop. With a groan, I slowly pull myself up, leaning on the cabinets for support. My palms splay against the granite, my pulse thrumming in my ears as the last tremor races up my spine. Unsure of how long until he’ll issue another zap, I choose to ignore the mess around, pluck his mug from the counter and force myself down the hall.

The Registry already got paid, so my Guardian can do whatever the fuck he wants with me– nothing is off limits for the lawless elites of Northbrooke.

Hell, no one even batted an eye when Commander Martin sent me on an all-expenses-paid trip to the infirmary.

For the most part, he’s not a particularly cruel Guardian. He rarely uses the cuff's compliance functions, and his rougher moments mostly stem from piss-poor moods. But the fact that he was rough last night and has already shocked me twice over a goddamn cup of coffee leaves unease prickling beneath my skin.

Anxiety burrows deeper in my chest with every soft thud of my feet against the floorboards. A sliver of light spills through the cracked office door, and as I move closer, the frustrated murmur of my Guardian’s voice gives me pause. My throat aches with a phantom pain, my mind flooding with every twisted way he's tortured me over the years.

No.

He already owns my body, I won't let him have free rein of my mind.

Shoving away the fleeting thoughts, I push open the door and steel my nerves as I step inside.

Commander Martin darts me a glance as the hinges creak, his jaw tightening while his eyes return to his computer screen. He waves his hand, the smoke of his cigar scattering as he motions for me to come in.

"It's almost done," he mutters into the phone, depositing his cigar in the ashtray.

He swipes a hand over his stubbled chin as numbers cascade into rows across his screen, data quickly populating. Registry documents scatter the surface of his desk, my eyes flicking over them as I search for a place to set the mug down. Right as I start to lower it, his hand shoots out to grab on and I flinch, hot coffee sloshing over the rim.

He doesn't react. He just takes the cup, raises it to his mouth, and takes a sip while humming absently into the phone.

Too uncertain to leave and too nervous to ask whether I can, I linger in silence, picking at the skin around my nails. My focus shifts to the flow of numbers on his screen, the seconds stretching as I watch in a trance.

The computer chimes, a notification popping up, and the sharp clap of his hands makes my pulse stutter. The chair creaks as he leans back, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, disheveling it further. "Nineteen hundred hours," he barks, hanging up and tossing his phone onto the desk. Then he turns toward me with a sigh, slapping his thigh. "Sit."

Without argument, I move closer, lowering myself onto his lap. He huffs softly, arching a brow as his hand circles my waist possessively. "So you haven't forgotten how to follow orders after all."

I swallow thickly. "No, sir."

"That was a very important and stressful call, I needed that coffee," he grumbles, his other hand resting firmly on my bare knee.

"I'm sorry," I reply softly.

"You should be," he scoffs. "I take care of you. I give you a home, a comfortable life– an easy life– hardly asking anything from you."

I bite back a laugh.

What goddamn life? The Registry killed my father, hunted me down, and auctioned me off like a prized poodle. But even Commander Martin’s dogs are better off than me. I would know, since I attend to them, too.

"Isn't that right, my pet?" he presses.

"Yes, Commander."

"Yes, what?"

My jaw clenches, the words bitter on my tongue as I amend, "You take such good care of your property."

"And yet you couldn't be bothered to get out of bed to bring me a single cup of coffee this morning without me having to use the compliance functions of the cuff. Maybe I've been too lenient with you." He pauses, his hand abandoning my knee to collar my throat. "Maybe you need a firmer hand."

My breath hitches, my spine going rigid as I await his next move. He studies me, the cruel edge of his gaze dulling with a memory as he murmurs, "just like her." The moment fades just as fast as it appeared, his eyes darkening again, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

"That's why they advised me not to buy you. Said I'd be fixated by the illusion and forget you were property." The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. "Guess we both could use a reminder."