Bright and happy colors that were painted by the mother Jackson and I shared. I’d argued to have it replaced with a more elegant piece, but Jackson held onto some sentimental value for a woman I barely remembered.
If she was anything like Carmine and Tobias’s mother, I didn’t see the point. Why mourn a slave that served her purpose? That’s what our father told Jackson, before he made him plunge that knife down.
Carmine didn’t understand why our brother was so upset, or the tears streaming down Jackson’s face, when our father instructed Carmine to climb on top of her.
We never told him that the little girl he watched die when he was eleven was his twin sister. That’s why I hated him.
How could he fist her auburn hair and look into her eyes and not feel the connection between them? Carmine was worse than our father, because he chose to believe his lies.
“Sir,” a slave knelt as I passed by.
Her head bowed in reverence, as her legs folded against the red carpet running along the large marble staircase. While I didn’t recognize this one, the braid in her golden hair told me she’d just finished training with Tobias.
“New one,” Carmine explained at my cocked brow.
The white collar around her neck should’ve told me that. It was her mastery of the pose that threw me off. It typically took slaves weeks to get it right.
I couldn’t help but imagine my pet at my feet, with the same black silk negligee on her small frame.
Blue would look better. It would bring out the hue in her lavender eyes.
Carmine shot the slave a disdainful glance. “She can’t suck cock to save her life.”
“She learned how to greet us fast enough.”
“You can thank Bias for that,” Carmine shrugged. “You know how he is when he gets his hands on fresh meat.”
Fresh meat was our youngest brother’s term for the new recruits. Tobias liked to taste them over and over again. With anyone who would play, in any way he could imagine.
By the time he was done, they were usually just thankful to be left alone for a couple hours. He probably hadn’t gotten around to using this one’s mouth yet. A situation that was easily remedied.
“Slave,” I barked down at her, “What is your name?”
Though her hands fidgeted, she kept her eyes down. “I have no name, Sir.”
“I call her useless slut.” Carmine stepped up in front of her, placing his shoes on the step below her view. “The only thing her mouth is good for is a gag.”
I glanced over at the red tags hanging off the door numbers in the foyer. We weren’t particularly busy, only three cabins were claimed. Not unusual for this time of year.
Since the only entrance to the island was through the private airstrip, our customers preferred extended stays over a weekend excursion. There were still enough to suffice for my plans.
“Useless slut,” I said, deciding to go with Carmine’s name. “How many men are on this island?”
“I-I don’t know, Sir.”
Well, that simply wouldn’t do.
“I suggest you find out. You have until the end of the day to report back to my brother with a proper count.” Her body quaked with a silent sob. She better get used to it. “And your mouth better be full of come. If you don’t wrap your lips around every cock on this island, Carmine is going to be very disappointed.”
That made Carmine smile. At least I had his attention off of my pet for a bit.
“Do you understand?”
She nodded her head.
I stood there for a few seconds, watching her tears splash down on the toes of my brother’s shoes, before snarling, “Why the fuck are you still here?”
Useless slut jerked once, and then quickly jumped up and scuttled down the stairs, blonde braid swaying behind her.
