The Captain’s Slave part 8

A/N: Happy July! I just came back from a short vacation so updates will speed up again. Next update is Swapped Luna 🥰

SEVEN

I list a hundred recipes for the man that listens intently. Tense and ready to sever my head if I stop talking.

He wants me to show my worth in the kitchen. Prove that I can carry my own weight in the household. It’s an intimidating, embarrassing demand.

But now he has claimed Kitto as his second servant, and he might not have as much need for me anymore.

We reach the house and I instantly help Kitto get settled. I store away the groceries and the show her to a guest bedroom. There are no chains here, only opportunities.

I’m not sure why I feel so tense around her. She’s a good person, somewhere between an acquaintance and a friend to me. We had different masters but ran into each other at the market a few times a month. We would finish our chores at the market and then walk around together, talking about pottery. Little perfect pieces of clay that we could never afford to buy. Pieces more expensive than our flesh. More valuable than an entire slave. I felt daunted by their price tags but bewitched by the twinkling jewels and smooth artistry.

Clay shaped by careful, loving hands. Touched and caressed just like Malik did to my body in the tub.

Kitto and I rarely hung out, but I always remember the sense of normalcy I felt. As if we were free girls able to buy anything in sight. As if we weren’t slaves.

Why aren’t I overjoyed that she’s now working in the same household as I am? It makes no sense. Her master was quick-tempered and mean. Now that’s she’s Malik’s, she doesn’t have to worry about abuse anymore. I don’t have to worry about news that she’s been beaten to death.

She looks around the guest room I’ve introduced her to, impressed that she has an actual bed. Shocked that there are no chains in sight.

“What happened to everyone?” She whispers. “Where is your master?”

“Dead like yours,” I reply. “Master Malik has a taste for slaver’s blood. He freed all the others. I stayed behind.”

“Malik…” she whispers, testing his name. “Is he…has he claimed a wife? Will we also serve her?”

My stomach tightens. I don’t like the thought of Kitto getting attracted. Of getting her hopes up.

“You should rest. Today was shocking and I’m sure you’re shaken.”

“Ancestors, no! I want to work immediately. He freed me from that animal. I can’t sit around. I must serve him until my hands bleed.”

But I’ve got it. I’ve got everything. Cooking, cleaning, organizing. I stayed behind so that my friends—the former slaves that ran off—could have a chance at freedom. I stayed to serve Malik so that my friends didn’t have to.

That’s my purpose. My reason for existing right now. Kitto doesn’t need to join. She should be free like the others.

“You may scrub the tub tomorrow, if you wish to help.”

“I want to cook for him,” she blurts. “Make something special as a…thank you for saving me. I won’t use many of the ingredients.”

“Kitto, you must save yourself and run off to freedom. Start anew like you deserve to.”

She chuckles. “Seven, I’m indebted to that man. I…” she smiles shyly and whispers, “he was kind to me, and my savior. No man has been both for me. I think my heart has been captured.”

I stare at her in absolute horror, and I don’t even know why. She’s not saying anything wrong. She just wants to admire and serve the man that saved her.

Seeing my cringe, she gaps. “Oh, no. Are you and him—“

“What?” I blurt. “No. Absolutely not. I feel nothing for him, and he would never look my raggedy way. We simply have business together.”

All lies. How could I feel nothing for a man whose body I’ve caressed in the tub? Whose larger calloused hands, oh so different from my own, washed me in a tub as if I mattered. As if I were a piece of precious clay.

Now there’s another soul under this roof. A gentle soul deserving of her own soak in a tub and a male to stir beautiful feelings in her heart and body.

I’m sick in the head for considering her competition. There’s nothing between Malik and I—just an attraction to his rugged, toned body. I don’t know this man, and Kitto should be free to pursue him.

“I should start cooking our meal. Excuse me,” I mumble and walk out, leaving her in her new room where she’s free to daydream and plan how to catch Malik’s eye.

I wish her well. I wish she gets to experience his rough hands on her scarred skin. It’s a mercy for us girls that have been beaten to unconsciousness and back. I wouldn’t want to deny the flush of hormones and new sensations to anybody. When I was in that tub, completely vulnerable, I felt more alive than I had in a long time.

I go to the kitchen and grab a few vegetables and jerky. I prepare a cold plate, paying more attention to my seasoning than usual because I want it to be perfect.

Heavy footsteps fall on the floorboards like a drum. My spine straightens as every inch of body stands to attention for the male that’s approaching. It’s a dance I’m very accustomed to ever since Malik swept into my life and claimed everything as his.

“Is Kitto settled?” He asks, retrieving a knife from the counter.

I dip my head and toss the pot.

“Is she uninjured?”

I nod again.

“I’m speaking to you, girl.”

It doesn’t escape me how Kitto gets called by her name and I’m just ‘girl.’

I lower the spatula and turn to face him, clasping my hands in front of me.

“Yes, sir. She’s settled and comfortable. She’s in her room, winding down, if you wish to see her.”

My words are polite, my tone tamed and my expression drained. Malik sees right through it. In these few days we’ve known each other, he has been learning to read me at terrifying rates.

“What troubles you?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He sets the knife back on the table with a heavy thud, setting his hands on his hips and glaring at me like a disappointed parent.

“You’re being strange. Tell me what you need to cease this tantrum.”

Ancestors. Does he think I’m a simple child, and he’s my daddy?

I owe this man nothing but my servitude. And that’s all he’s getting.

“You seem confused, sir. Perhaps you exerted yourself too much when you threw that punch. Shall I grab a chair for you to sit and rest?”

Oh, that does the trick.

This man is not weak, and he knows it. Throwing a punch is nothing to him. But if he wants to talk to me like a child, then two can play that game. I’ll insinuate he’s a senile, feeble grandfather.

“I’m going to ask one more time and you’ll answer me without any sass. What. Is. It?”

“Nothing,” I double down. “I’m not sure what reaction you’re looking for.”

“Something. Anything. We both know you’re a very expressive woman. You made that known when you were panting and melting through my fucking fingers in that tub. So don’t you start acting like that didn’t happen and you’ve lost all emotion!”

His voice rises in volume. He’s angry that I’ve taken something from him. Angry that I’ve distanced myself—or tried to. I didn’t know being close to me had become so important to him.

“Seven?” Comes a small voice. Kitto.

My cold expression shatters. I show something—though I’m not sure what. Exhaustion? Irritation at myself, at my friend, and this fucked up situation?

Malik looks between Kitto and I. She stays by the door, peering into the beast’s den as I get shredded apart.

“That’s it, then,” Says Malik. “You’re jealous of the new company.” His shoulders relax and he crosses his arms over his chest. Looking at me like he figured it all out. “Of course.”

READ PART 9>

Is Seven being outrageous?