(Simon)
Identity: most people held to it as their very existence. Your name made you who you were. It littered your mail. It was what your friends and family called you when they wanted your attention. It provided status in some cases. When people knew your name, it gave you power of presence.
I was more interested in those who had no power. Who had no sense of being or success in life. My job was the nameless. The pretty and misplaced. I lurked through the streets, appearing normal so I could blend in with society. But I wasn't normal. I was a predator to the weak—a hunter amid the horde.
Most didn't notice me—not until our eyes met. Life had a way of keeping people occupied with their own daily activities, but I held something inside that awakened them from the hypnotism of humanity. They saw within me their greatest fears. Nightmares few could only imagine.
There was no hiding the deadness inside. It was like a beacon that cleared the fog in my victim's minds. They could always tell the difference in my demeanor when we really looked at each other. But our final meetings never lasted long. And their reaction of defense was delayed by their fight or flight response. Even when it did dawn on them to react, they were never fast enough. And they sure as hell couldn't overpower me. My body was my life. It was my weapon, and my own defense of survival. It was lethal in more ways than one. It had to be in my line of work.
I was a scout for Obsidian—a killer if I had to be. A deliverer of deranged fantasies and death. The Masters who eventually bought my chosen no doubt killed them within the first year of their abduction. I knew this, and I didn't care. To have a conscience didn't work in this field. I only saw my job as two things: a means of existence, and fun. I had a job to do. Some beautiful, broken woman to take from her worthless life. It was a skill I was good at. I even got to sample the goods if I chose to. And it was all up to me how I wanted to take them. Where I usually just plucked the women from their destruction, I did, on rare occasion, take my time and fuck their bodies just as hard as I fucked with their minds.
Virgins weren't my field like it was with some of the others. My specialty consisted of the unique—of women who went beyond the typical beauty and stood out by a measurable degree. It was why I was so valuable to my Main Master. It wasn't easy finding a prize of that stature who could disappear without an uproar. And society wouldn't miss Katherine Morrison.
Alcoholic. Occasional druggie. High school dropout. Magnet for the deadbeat and one night stands. She was a train wreck of one drunken episode after the next—a statistic early in her youth, but what did it matter now? She was about to become the biggest statistic to date. She'd be gone to the outside world, and what was held for her in Obsidian was yet to be seen. Maybe the auction would be good to her. Maybe some Master would just beat and rape her, but let her live. Doubtful, but it was known to happen. I didn't care either way. All I saw was my new toy. My new game.
"Thank you," she mumbled. "For...helping me."
Traffic brought us to a standstill, and I glanced at the driver, knowing he didn't give a shit for our blasé conversation.
"Don't mention it. You don't look well. How do you feel?"
Her lids closed and her fingers came to press against the side of her forehead.
"I don't know. A little sick, maybe? I think I partied too hard last night."
That was the understatement of the century. She'd been incoherent, and pretty much still was. It was eight in the morning, and she'd yet to go to sleep or head home. She was wearing the same little black number she'd sported at every club that let her and her so-called friends in. Which was almost every fucking club. I had dropped thousands to get through some of their doors, and I'd almost taken her then, just to save on the headache, but I couldn't, not with her surrounded by so many people. It was way too risky, and my loyalty was to Obsidian. The Main Master, Ed Obsidian, was no one to mess with. He'd snap his fingers and I'd be a speck of never-was. I thought by his supposed murder I would get some leeway from the Main Master who took his place, but Ross Greer, his former best friend, hadn't been as smart as he'd thought. Ed hadn't been killed, and the wrath he brought upon his return was still underway within the mountain housing the elusive fortress.
Guards were disposed of. Security was beefed up beyond comprehension. You couldn't get close to the place without Ed knowing. And that was on the outside. The inside was worse. He watched every move through surveillance. He killed the Masters who showed signs of rebellion against him. And he searched to no avail for the slave who rose to the top of the ranks and outsmarted him with her escape. He loved her, and it was her—twenty-four-six-ninety—who held his damaged heart. I'd known the old Ed. He was a monster before, but now he was the devil himself. To anger him would be a mistake—one I wasn't making.
"Do you smoke?" Twisting my mouth, I shook my head at the inebriated beauty who could barely hold her eyes open. A frown took over Katherine's face, and she sighed, dazing back out the window. "I should quit," she mumbled. "I keep saying I'm going to, but I haven't even tried."
"It's a bad habit. Luckily, one I've never had to deal with. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Twenty-one."
"You're still young. You have plenty of time to quit." I angled myself more toward her so I wouldn't appear standoffish. "You're very tall. Are you a model or something? Basketball player?"
She laughed, but the frown returned as she yawned. "I used to model in my teens. It didn't go anywhere. Probably because I was too distracted by other things to take it seriously."
"Other things?"
"Yeah. Stupid things."
"It's not too late for that either, you know."
She stayed quiet. Relief set in as she leaned against the door, staring at the blurring scenery of old buildings. Even though I was good at small talk, I detested it. What was the use when you already knew everything about the person? It was a waste of my time. There were only a few things I longed for. The luring. The stalking. The taking. The games.
Minutes went by as the traffic crawled along. I messed around on my phone, making the disinterest noticeable in case the driver remembered either of us. He wouldn't recall attraction or appeal for her on my end. He probably wouldn't even remember what I looked like. I wasn't a handsome man, but I wasn't unappealing either. I was slightly above average, if I wanted to be honest. My build and height set me higher on the scale, and I was okay with that. But my size wasn't really showing with me slouching in his backseat in my oversized suit. If anything, he probably thought I was overweight. Perception was everything, and the farther from the truth he was, the better.
"Can I ask you a question?" She paused, waiting for me to look at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't get your name. I'm Katherine."
My teeth clenched as her hand outstretched. Not because I had to introduce myself, but because she had stated her name out loud. It wasn't a common name for a female. The driver, regardless of whether he was paying close attention or not, would have picked up on it—even subconsciously.
"Oscar Jackson." A common name, but mind tricks. One that didn't even go with my ethnicity.
"Nice to meet you, John. Were you serious when you said it wasn't too late to start modeling again? I mean, do you really think I stand a chance? I'm not really fit like I used to be. Or as pretty. I just...no one's said that to me in a long time. You surprised me by even insinuating you thought I was one."
A smile tugged at the side of my lips. "I think, if you got your life together, then absolutely. You have the look. You just have to want it bad enough. You have to feel it here," I said, patting against my heart.
Katherine's brow drew in, and she turned back to the window. For the longest moment, she didn't speak. When she did finally turn to me again, her eyes were clouded with tears. "I've always wanted it. Drive isn't the issue. I am. People think happiness is defined by the size of your clothes, by the money you have, or by the attractiveness of your face. It's all a lie. Sometimes, no amount of inspiration or truths can erase the damage that's been done. How do you find joy in life when you don't know what it is?
Blue eyes stared into mine, searching, looking for an answer that wouldn't immediately come to me. I hadn't expected her to be so deep, and in truth, I didn't fucking know how to answer her.
"I'm sorry. I'm not normally so outspoken or morose. It's just been a really bad last few months—years," she corrected.
"It's okay. I think we all go through periods like that. Some longer than others, but we always bounce back." I smiled as thoughts of her beaten and bloody eased into my mind. "No more worrying, Katherine. Something tells me your life is about to change. Forever."