Master B-0077

“No fucking way, Pete; you’re so full of shit.”

“Fuck you, Anthem. Ask Pistol. He knows the truth.”

I stayed quiet, ignoring the argument between my drummer and the kid movie star, Pete Fitzgerald, aka Master B-Thirteen. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but I assumed that didn’t stop him from getting the benefits from his legendary producer father and actress mom. The same went for my drummer, Master, B-Eighty-four, who’s dad happened to own a record label. It’s like no matter where I went, I couldn’t escape the rich and famous. Not in Hollywood, not at the Gardens, and not even at the fucking auction. Maybe I should have expected this after a good hour or two of watching the slaves take their turns. I shouldn’t have sat so close to the stage. It’s not like I didn’t have the money to pay for privacy, I’d just wanted a better view. What I got was two bitch-ass whiners who wouldn’t shut the fuck up and let me enjoy the b’s1 as they took their turns heading for the stage.

Laughter exploded to each side of me at something Anthem said in response. “Fine, you think you know everyone’s secrets. Boxed seat directly to the left. Old man winter up there with the pasty skin. What’s he here for?”

“Ooh, you don’t know?” Pete let out something between a laugh and smug humph. “My dad has a friend named Rosco. Dude is as dirty as they come, but that guy up there is who he works for. Benjamin Gorby.” Pete craned his neck as Anthem and I glanced over. “Weapons. Foreign shit. Mommy fixation. He’ll be here for the crows. For the breast milk and still swollen bellies. What he wants is tit and diaper changes. One of the most powerful men in the world who’s still hung up on Mommy. Ain’t that some shit? Literally.” He laughed, and my teeth grinded into each other, angrily.

“See, I knew you were making this up. Kinks alone won’t get you here, dumbass. He could get that shit anywhere. Especially if he’s as well off as you make it seem.” Anthem rolled his eyes, but I went back to watching the stage. “Besides, there’s no babies here.”

“That’s what you think. There’s a fucking nursery somewhere in this place. I hear kiddies are by demand only though. It’s a not-so-secret-secret amongst those who are interested. Think what you want, but I am not making this up; it’s the truth.”

“How do you know all this? No way this dirty Roscoe guy spilled the beans on the lies you’re telling. I sure as fuck know it wasn’t your father who clued you in. You may be here because of his status, but I doubt he even knows about the Gardens. Mine doesn’t, and he’s a hell of a lot more fucked up than your dad.”

“Of course he doesn’t know. Elliot has connections, but he’s not into the stuff we are. More…prostitutes and trannies. That doesn’t mean his circle isn’t vast. I’ve met many people who are here tonight, in connection with my father. The one who invited me happens to be sitting not far away from us.”

“You’re talking out of your ass and avoiding my question. You’re social, so what. Explain how you know the secret stuff.”

Pete’s lips grew tight. “I can explain without creating an elaborate story. I made a friend who was part of the contracting crew that helped get the apartments ready. Gorby, up there, had a man-sized crib installed in his room. No bed. A crib. And, the closet was filled with extremely large cloth diapers. I don’t think those were meant for the slave if you know what I mean. What else he’s into besides that, I don’t know. What will come out of it, no fucking clue. But that crib and diaper part are one hundred percent real. Do you think he’s wearing one now?”

“Disgusting. I don’t want to know.” Anthem shook his head, and I couldn’t stop the annoyed sound from escaping my lips.

“Disgusting for who, Mr. Vampire, Werewolf-wannabe?” I snapped. “Did you have your teeth sharpened before you got dressed up in your all-black gothic get-up? I’m sure good ‘ol Ben up there wouldn’t find ripping out throats and drinking blood is all that appealing either. Did you not hear the Main Master? We’re all fucked up. That’s why we’re here. He likes…that shit,” I waved to the side, “you like yours. The whole point of this place is to escape judgement and unleash our true selves without fear of getting in trouble for it. I guess you both were talking so much you missed the fucking memo.”

Lights flashed indicating another winner, and I turned to see a vibrant blue in the distance behind us. The sheer material parted as she started to walk forward, but with how the bidders behind were lifting to stand, they were suddenly blocking my view. I couldn’t see. Next time, I’d be up top. Alone. In the quiet.

“Holy shit,” Anthem breathed out, standing all the way. “I should have bid on her instead. Maybe I will anyway. You have two slaves, Pistol. Maybe I should get another too.”

“Fuck you, Anthem, she’s mine.” Pete pushed to his tiptoes. Both men were standing, and I groaned as I followed suit. Even at six feet, I still couldn’t see much. Blue floated around a curvy body and in-between suits, blonde, wavy hair reached the middle of her back. It covered her breasts as she swept by. I couldn’t see her face, but I couldn’t shake the odd sensation as I watched her climb the stairs and enter the stage. Everyone lowered. Everyone but me. My feet were cemented to the ground, and my spine was stiff as the hood floated back from her head and her pace slowed. Her profile. I would have known her face anywhere. It wasn’t just a soft jaw, full lips, and defined cheekbones. It was the feminine version of me.

“Pistol, sit.”

A hand tugged against the sleeve of my suit, but I still couldn’t process words. Nothing made sense, and an odd emptiness burned through my insides only emphasizing the hole that was growing inside of me. Thoughts wouldn’t even form outside of the name that repeated in my head. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. The drugs and liquor mix were messing with my mind. They were doing this. It had to be, and it wouldn’t be the first time. How many shows had I put on barely functioning? Had I not known my songs like air, I wouldn’t even be here now. I lived my work. I breathed music. It was my life. This…this was nothing but a mere merging of a memory and a deep-seeded hate from another life I never wanted to remember. After all, wasn’t it—wasn’t she…part of why I was here?

“Up next, we have slave one-fourteen.”

Doe-shaped eyes blinked, and she turned forward, her chin high as she stared straight ahead. No fear. No emotion at all.

Not me. I lowered, gripping to the arm of my chair like an anchor. With my free hand, I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the hallucination that had me. It wasn’t her. It was her, but it wasn’t. Or could I be wrong? Hadn’t it been six years since I’d visited Rock Springs? Since I…discovered more than I wanted? Fuck, I was going to be sick. Eight siblings from my deadbeat, trucker father. Eight, and from four different women, in three different states. And she was the only one I’d gone to visit. The only other single child born from his affairs. Texas…Ashlee. She’d barely been a teen back then, but that face. My face. I’d ran after I saw it, and I almost wanted to now. It was mine. His.

A sound left me as I let go of my seat, wiping the sweat away as it began surfacing all over my forehead and cheeks.

“Dude, you’re pale as fuck. Are you okay?”

I barely felt the buzzing to each side of me. The room swayed, but I forced my gaze to cut up. Rage. It was making me shake as I took in the zombie blonde who stood on the stage. Her breasts were full, pushing into the fabric, drawing my gaze and immediately making me even angrier at the reaction I felt to them. To any of it. Fury met lust. Lust met loneliness. Loneliness created even more of a need to react. To hurt. To kill.

“Pistol. Pistol Stephens. Hello?”

My head snapped to Anthem, and I bared my teeth, only to stop and grind them together. “Fuck. Off. Give me a minute.”

“You don’t look so good.”

“Because I’m not. Where the fuck did you get that shit from you gave to me earlier? Is it bad?” I went to jerk at my shirt, only to realize I wasn’t wearing anything under the jacket. That’s right. The fancy suit was required, but not the actual shirt underneath, so I hadn’t bothered wearing one. Tattoos covered almost every inch of my body from the neck down, even some on my face, and it was my signature. It helped me deal with the pain. It hid the pretty-boy who’d spent his life getting beat up by peers in the system. It was me. And this me learned to fight back. This me was dangerous.

“Bad? Fuck no my shit isn’t bad. You know better than that. Did you take too much?”

Real concern passed over my drummer’s face as he studied me.

“I don’t know. I…fuck. I’m seeing shit.”

“What? Not from my stuff you’re not. It’s not a fucking hallucinogenic, Pistol. I’ve had the same batch for a week. I bought a brick. It’s good stuff.”

Again, my eyes rose, this time more in horror. And not even because I was afraid. It was quite the opposite. The emotions hitting me were strong. Unfamiliar. Overpowering.

“Stop bidding.”

“Stop?” Anthem threw me a look. “Are you kidding me?”

My gaze shot to Pete. “You too. Stop bidding.”

“Fuck no.”

I reached over, pressing my body into his powerfully as I pushed his hand away from the buzzer.

“I’m dead fucking serious. I said stop.”

“Why, so you can bid on her yourself?”

I turned back to Anthem at his question. Bid. Yes…I could do that. No, I had to do that. There was no other way. If I didn’t take her, someone else would. I couldn’t allow that to happen. Not with what she represented, which was the disaster of my entire childhood and life. She was here, here to die, to be punished, and she was being served to me on a silver platter. If she was going to be the root of anyone’s pleasure or pain—good or bad— that person was me.

“I think I will. Do you really want to try to outbid me? I’ll win. You know I will.”

“Maybe not against me.”

I glared at Pete. “You don’t think so? You won’t get this one. I guarantee it.”

“Then perhaps I’ll make her cost you a fortune just for being a dick. Anthem’s right. You already have two. Why her? What makes this one so special?”

Anthem wouldn’t let his gaze leave my face. He knew something was wrong. Out of all my episodes, I’d never reacted like this. I hated that I couldn’t control this meltdown. Weakness was something I never showed to anyone. The fact that I even appeared vulnerable had me letting out a frustrated sound as I looked back up towards the stage. The slave wasn’t staring ahead anymore. She was looking right at us. At me.

Anthem moved in.

“Pistol, spill it. What is going on? Why not her?”

I clicked my button, swallowing back the need to split skin, fight, or strip flesh. My fist tightened around the buzzer, and I wasn’t even sure I could say the words out loud. Not to one of my only friends, and sure as hell not to myself.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re wrong. It does. I’m about to give you one hell of a fight unless you start talking.”

Pete leaned closer at Anthem’s words, darkness drawing in his unhappy features. Unmasked, the evil shone through, not at all making me flinch or blink in its presence. “That goes for both of us. I’m not stupid. That’s not a stranger you’re freaking out about. You know that girl. Who is she, Pistol?”

My lids closed, only to open and connect with light eyes. Honey brown eyes identical to mine. They were curious. Maybe even afraid as they held my stare from the stage.

“Here, it’s Master Seventy-seven, and I don’t have to tell either of you shit. Push that button if you must, but you’re not going to win. That slave is mine, and the only one she’ll be leaving with is me. Don’t believe me…start bidding and let’s find out.”