The Binding Tie


Maderlin Bidmead


Disclaimers: This is an Alt/Uber story that is for people over 18 as it contains violence and sexual violence.

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Chapter Thirteen

Damn that fuckin' bitch!, fumed Douglas, slamming down the phone. How dare she refuse to talk to me! I have as much right to see my children as she does...Hell, I have more! I'm not having a nervous breakdown, I was there for them while she was out with that whoring slave! It had been three days since Salvatore had him thrown out of the house. In that time all of his phone calls had been refused and any attempt to visit his children had been denied.

He picked up his glass of scotch, taking a large gulp, before placing it back on the coffee table. He caste his eye's around the living room, noting once again the subtle changes made by the cleaning ladies. It had been months since he had shared this apartment with his family and he realised that without the children it was a cold and sterile place. He angrily shook his head, it was not the time to dwell on what had been. If Francesca wanted a fight, he was going to win.

Douglas stood and paced towards the calendar on the wall, tapping the boldly written date with a thick finger. In two days he would be seeing his lawyer and then the Prince family wouldn't know what hit them. He was confident that if Francesca persisted with this foolishness he would win the case. He was stable, caring and they had no proof that he had ever laid a hand on her before. Of course, he would rather retain Francesca as well, having a beautiful, talented woman on his arm gave him a certain kudos among his peers that was hard to buy.

The sudden knocking drew him to the front door. Having been left with no bodyguard when he was thrown out, Salvatore had confiscated both Savage and Snake, Doug had to be cautious. He turned on the surveillance camera located above the door and assessed his visitor. Since a glut of shootings a couple of years ago, peepholes had been quickly phased out; it was too easy to shoot the homeowner through the door. Running a cursory eye over the beaming face outside, he opened the door.

"I didn't expect you today." His voice was rough from the alcohol.

"I thought you could use a little company." An elegant hand lifted up a bottle of Champaign.

"What the hell have I got to celebrate?" His brief good mood was beginning to sour.

"You're going to be free very soon." The tall, lean woman purred as she walked over to the couch.

Douglas looked at her, lounging on the plush leather. She was like an animal, all passion and fire. He had met her almost a year ago, she was so different from his wife. This woman was strong, resourceful, sexual and she really turned him on. She didn't cry when he smacked her a little, she relished it, begged him for it. She liked it rough, this was the woman that he needed. She was a hooker, but she looked good. With enough money he could make her a princess. Not quite the prize that his wife was, but owning her, possessing her would never be dull.

A loud pop drew his attention back to her as foam spilled over her hand. She extended her velvet tongue and licked it off her fingers. A huge grin spread across his sullen face.

"You gonna' share?"


Hunter stood in the garden, holding Rebecca in her arms. The little girl sat perched on her hip with her arms rapped tightly around the warriors neck. The pair silently watched the antics of the other two children as they ran through the grounds being chased by their mother. Becca was still too weak to run around, but she didn't mind, she liked to be with Hunter.

Rebecca rested her head on the muscular shoulder and watched her mummy play. She looked so happy that the little girl was glad that her daddy had gone away. In her short life she had never seen her mother smile like she had in the last three days and she liked it. Not that she didn't love her daddy, he played with her, read her stories and carried her, but Hunter could do that stuff. She didn't really need daddy while she had Hunter.

Thinking about the slave whose arms she was wrapped in the child's thoughts naturally turned to her two friends, Polar and Grizzly. Mummy had explained that the two men had been hurt really badly in the accident and that they hadn't got better. Rebecca could still feel the pain of her injuries, so she knew that they must have been hurt a lot. She didn't really understand what dead meant, but she knew that they weren't coming back and that she would probably be really old before she saw them again.

She was starting to get tired from being out in the fresh air. She snuggled closer to Hunter who tightened her embrace so that she wouldn't fall. The child couldn't really understand why her mummy was acting differently around Hunter since daddy left. First of all mummy had hated the blue haired slave, then she liked her a lot and now mummy was really cautious around her. She had even called her a weird name a couple of times, but Hunter didn't seem to like that at all. Adults were way too complicated.

"Feeling tired Tiny?" Cooed the warrior.

"I am not tiny." A yawn split her cherubic face.

"But you are tired. Lets go tell your mum." Rebecca could feel the rhythm of Hunters steps as she walked to the laughing group.

" 'kay." The sleepy response trailed off as she fell asleep. Hunter's hair isn't blue anymore, was her last though before dreamland.


Douglas laid on his back, satiated and completely oblivious. He was floating somewhere between asleep and awake, feeling like a million dollars. He felt like a God who had been thoroughly worshipped by a very skilled acolyte. He allowed himself to be further lulled by the sounds of her soft breathing as she slept beside him. He pulled the covers closer to his chin and drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The lithe body turned and studied the peacefully sleeping man. A smirk spread across the angelic face as she allowed her eyes to focus in the dim light of the bedroom. It looked different when somebody was living here, it was something she had noticed on her previous visits. When the whole family were living in the apartment it was filled with energy, an almost hyperactive aura hung over the place. Douglas lent the place an air of lethargy and casual aggression. When empty the place held an almost ethereal calm.

She rose slowly, careful not to disturb his sleeping form. She stood beside the bed and stretched languidly, idly noting the popping as her spin realigned itself. She paced softly to his side of the bed, noting the heavy wooden bat that he kept there for his own protection. Moving beyond him she picked up her bag and headed into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her.

Flicking on the light she had to squint so as not to be blinded by the brightness, once she was comfortable she set to work. Pulling out a pair of latex gloves and slipping them on she was ready to pull on a black cat suite, shoes and a hood. She meticulously made sure that no hairs escaped from the hood. Settling the rest of her belongings in the bag she hefted it and walked into the lounge. Scooping up the Champaign bottle and glasses she threw them in with her clothes. Brushing off any hair on the sofa, using adhesive tape, she straightened up and moved to the next room.

Once more in the bedroom she lent over her side of the bed. Once again she removed any hair fibres, also removing as much skin debris as was possible. She straightened the sheets and smoothed the pillow. There was no evidence that she had ever been in the house, let alone in the bed. Now she was finally ready.

She climbed onto the bed, straddling the prone form. Letting her weight rest totally on his stomach. Douglas awoke with a whoosh as all of the air left his lungs with the sudden impact. For a moment he thought he was dreaming until his eye's focused on the dark figure looming over him. He frantically looked around for his bed-mate, worried for her safety when he couldn't see her. He was ready to lung for his assailant when he saw the hooded head shake in censure.

A hand reached over him and came back holding his bat. All of this had happened in moment, leaving him too stunned and bewildered to realise that he should call for help. By the time that his brain caught up with his heart it was too late. He opened his mouth to scream when the bat came down heavily across his skull, breaking his jaw and turning any he scream into a gurgle.

The first blow disabled the man below her, leaving him gasping through the bloody pulp of his mouth and nose. His eyes looked at her pleadingly, his fear palpable in the quite room. The only sound was his breathing and the rustle of the sheets beneath them. Once again she hefted the bat high above her own head before bringing it down with crushing force against his temple, again and again until with a satisfying crunch his skull shattered. In the dim light she could make out the grey matter as it oozed out of his head. He was still breathing shallowly, his body spasming spastically. With one final blow his head totally caved, his body stilling. The room became utterly silent.

Replacing the bat where she had found it, leaning against the wall, she stood carefully. Padding across the floor, avoiding the patches of blood and gore near the bed she moved to her gear. Moving once again to the bathroom she stripped of the black clothing and bundled them into a plastic bag, sealing it before replacing it in her pack. Quickly showering, using a fresh pair of latex gloves, she dressed in the clothes she had arrived in. She skill fully cleaned the shower, then with high heeled shoes in hand she walked to the door. Using the door camera she scanned the empty hallway before slipping out and disappearing back into the night.


"Thank you." It was said quietly, breaking the uncomfortable silence that hung between them.

"For what?" Francesca turned to look at her companion.

"Um... For letting Shep, I mean Wolf and Phoenix spend the evening together. They were really shaken up about the twins dieing. What with Snake and Savage guarding the house they were starting to snipe at each other a little."

"It's hardly a chore Hunter, I love my children and sitting on a soft couch outside their room is a pleasure."

She looked thoughtful for a moment. The two women were still uncomfortable around each other. Hunter's revelation still hung between them and there was still so much that Francesca wanted to ask, but was too afraid to alienate her old friend. When her father found out about Douglas he had been furious. His anger had been focused at the other man, but had almost seeped over at his family. He felt powerless and Francesca could see why. Hunter had stepped into the maelstrom, explaining what she knew to Salvatore and taking the abuse he threw at her. He was angry that nobody had told him about it and Hunter was a scapegoat. Francesca had only allowed that to last a day before she started to open up to her father.

She wanted to have a conversation. "So, Wolf's name is Shep?"

"Actually, it's Mathew and Phoenix is Megan. Savage never lets on about his real name, like me I guess. We don't know why. Snake used to be called Colt, but that was another stage name. He was never given a real name." Hunter had turned on the couch to face the other woman.

"I don't really understand, weren't Wolf and Phoenix born into slavery?"

"Sometimes the breeders allow the infants to be named by their parents. They then give the baby the company name as a last name. Wolf is Mathew Shepherd, Shepherd Haulers Ltd."

"Oh." A pregnant pause. "What were the twins called?" The guilt was clear in her voice.

"They never had a different name. I think they were named after their father. He was called The Bear, made them look small. I saw him fight once, it was all raw power. He got killed about eight years ago." Even as she spoke she could see the questions swimming in the other woman's eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Hay, I'm yours."

"Funny. You don't have to answer this, okay?" On receiving a nod she continued. "I read the literature about you and it said you killed one of your owners, is it true?"

Knowing that a simple yes or no wouldn't be enough Hunter took a deep breath. "Until I was eleven I was a sex slave. All the times that I came back here covered in bruises, they were from servicing men...Well, some of them were from punishment, but mainly they were gained in service. I was used to it, I'd probably still be doing it now, but one day a customer came to the club that my master owned and started to assault one of the maids. She was my friend, so when I saw what was going on I knew I had to help her. I grabbed the handle from a broom she'd been using and hit him in the head as hard as I could. I must have caught a soft spot because I knocked him out cold. Unfortunately I was seeing red and dived on his unconscious body and strangled the guy. He died."

"What happened to the girl?" Francesca was pretty sure who the maid was, but needed conformation.

"They were going to have me exterminated, killing the free is a big 'no-no'. Jordan, the maid, told them what had happened, but that didn't save me. It was the fact that I had killed him with my bare hands that kept me alive. My master sent me to a gladiator stable so I could still make him money. He knew I was friends with Jordan, so to keep me sweet he let her visit me and made no reprisal against her."

"What happened to her? If she was free, why did she still work in a place like that? You told me about a girl called Jordan the last time you came home, you said she was four years older. Why was she working?" The questions flew out of her mouth before she could censor them.

"Her mum was a maid, she would come and help her out when she wasn't at school. Mainly the guests left the free girls alone, they were mainly too old for their tasts anyway. Her family had been working for my master for years, that's why they stuck around." She had to look away from the other woman, letting her eyes drift down to her hands in her lap. "She was my lover, after a while. We loved each other a lot, so even when she could get another job she stayed to be with me. I started a bit of a revolt when I was sixteen. I was idealistic and thought we should be free, it scared the establishment. They tortured me a lot but I just kept on going. I should have stopped, I wish I had every day. They killed her to teach me a lesson. They showed me her mangled body a couple of days after they told me. There was no doubt it was her."

Francesca found herself once again stunned by the tragedy of the other woman's life. I must not cry reverberated through her mind, she knew that Hunter would not appreciate it. "Is that why you didn't want me to know who you were?"

A bark of mirthless laughter. "That's why I stopped caring."

"Mama, I need a glass of water!" The sound of Terrance's voice stopped any response Francesca may have made. She looked sheepishly at her companion before she went to fulfil her son's demand.

As she passed through the door to the temporary nursery, she heard Hunter whisper. "Damn you and your kids for making me start again." Francesca had to stifle a sob on hearing those words. She quickly moved towards her little boy, who seemed to have gone back to sleep.


Sabina let herself into the apartment at ten. She came every Monday, Wednesday and Friday to clean up Mr Rose's home. Considering he had only been home for a few days he had managed to mess up the place quite well. This was only the second time that she had cleaned since he had arrived on Sunday and to her amazement the place looked rather tidy. Knowing that Mr Rose rarely made his own bed she made her way to his room first, ready to start her routine.

Lifting her cleaning supplies in her left hand she reached out with her right to open the door. She pushed it open and headed in. Her forward momentum was halted as she looked at the bed and the carnage that lay around it. There lay Mr Rose, or what she thought was Mr Rose, in a pool of his own blood. The bed was saturated, gore from the head had oozed onto the pillow and the carpet.

Sabina stood transfixed by the horror until her stomach rebelled and she found herself on the floor retching onto the carpet. Once she finished vomiting she ran from the room with the taste of bile fresh in her mouth. The frantic woman rushed to the phone, knocking over a flowerpot in her haste. She dialled the emergency number and waited impatiently.

"This is emergency, which service do you require?" The operators voice was bland and emotionless.

In speech almost too rapid to be understood the cleaning lady relayed what she had found. At once a squad car was dispatched to the scene. Poor Sabina would have to stay with the body until the authorities arrived. The receiver hit the floor with a thud as the young woman feinted.

To be continued in Part 10

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