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Description

Chapter Thirteen
Miles away from San Fran, beyond valleys, forests, and waters, farmland spread across the plains, dark and still for the most part. The moon glowed brightly with a white light, stars sprinkling like diamonds in the velvet sky. A few people were out and about, since it wasn't so late, but otherwise it was quiet.
Children played in lit areas where their parents or guardians can see them. They were young innocents who had no idea of the danger that was within their midst. To them, this was home, a place of safety and warmth, filled with people who couldn't or wouldn't hurt them. But there was a darker secret, hiding in plain sight, that even the adults were mostly unaware of.
A two level house stood at the end of a dirt driveway, whitewashed and shingled, like an old farm home in perfect care. Gardens of blooms, from lavender to roses, gleamed with dew under the moonlight. Inside the house was a perfect picture of country elegance, nothing out of place, but there was something odd about the atmosphere. One would think it was abandoned, despite the furnishings being pristine.
In spite of the homey décor, is a was cold, lifeless structure. In the kitchen, an oak door led to a basement just like any other, with crates and luggers meant for food and drink. But the feeling was darker here, as if someone had decided to hide death and despair in the blackness. On one wall, despite seamlessly matching into the rest of the gray cinder blocks, a symbol for fire was etched, which could be lit by the strike of a match.
It was a here a hooded figure, who had recently come into the home, stood, a matchbox in a pale, elegant hand. The figure lit the match and placed it inside the symbol, where it went from dark to bright orange. Gears could be heard as the mechanism sensed the heat from the small flame, turning and clicking into place. The door that blended with the wall opened quietly. The figure entered the chamber and the door closed behind them.
Inside, gas lamps were lit, the gleaming statues of dragons rearing dominating the room with silent roars. The person moved farther inside, heading to the throne that sat between two gold dragons, which bowed in reverence to the empty gilded chair. Two servants, young women, came forward, their heads down in fear. The removed the robe, revealing a woman in her late teens, perhaps nineteen years of age, with a beautiful but cold countenance gracing her features.
She shooed the servants away, saying, "Bring me Chan, now."
The two girls scampered off to do their Mistress's bidding as she herself sat on the throne. Her dark brown, almost black hair, gleamed in the light, an elegant topknot held with a gold flame band. Her lipstick was flawless, but she didn't bother to add any other highlights to her perfect face.
It wasn't too long before the man arrived, who bowed in reverence to her. She knew he desired her and she him, but the both of them knew nothing would come of it, so they indulged every now and then. Falling in love seemed impossible for someone who ran the whorehouse. Pleasure was the only thing that mattered to the Mistress, because it didn't require emotions, only the physical.
She spoke in a low voice. "What did you find about the boy?"
He raised his head, though he was careful to stay kneeling until told otherwise. "It is as you have guessed, Your Highness. He has made it to San Francisco the day before and is staying at a siblings house. He has yet to meet their father."
She contemplated this, tapping her blood-red nails on the armrest. Here's the admission: She hadn't believed that Aang Windstorm could escape. Perhaps she had been a little foolish, giving away a piece of information about his parents. Or parent, as it were. Josh was nowhere to be found, of course, but that didn't worry her. She had more than one card up her sleeve...
Standing, the Mistress wandered down the dais and approached him. He shivered in anticipation and fear when one nail scraped along the back of his neck. "Good work, Chan," she said quietly. "I'll reward you, personally, after I have had a word with our guest."
Chan looked at her, eyes dark and lustful, though a little questioning. "Mistress, what of the boy? Are we to attack this group to bring him back for your judgment?"
She smiled, though there was nothing comforting about it. It was a calculated smile, one that administers fear, subtle, and dangerous. "No, Chan, not yet. We want him to think he has escaped us. It is best to let him have his moment of "hope" so that when we strike, it will completely destroy him."
The idea seemed embolden him because he gently grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to it. She didn't mind it at all; it sent her pulse racing along with a familiar throb that ached only for him (most of the time).
Her breath stuttered when the young man's teeth bit at her wrist. His dark golden eyes met hers. "You are one beautiful viper, my Mistress."
Pleased at the reference, she said, "Like I told you, you shall be rewarded." She pulled her hand away, despite his pout. "Keep an eye on him, but don't let the agent too close. He needs to remain in the dark for now."
"Yes, Mistress," he replied with another bow before standing and leaving the room. The Mistress went to a door on the left wall that led to the lower chambers. From within her gown, she removed a thick key of iron and unlocked the door. Going down the spiral staircase, the lams lit themselves, casting an eerie glow upon her person with shadows dancing.
Upon reaching the bottom, she strolled down the dark amber-colored hall, the lamps once more turning on in her presence. On either side, door led into the pleasure rooms. Stopping at the one in the center, she recalled one day when Aang had occupied this very space. A little girl, no more than thirteen, had been dragged in here in order to get him to sleep with her. It was a way of initiating a new member.
When he had refused to service someone who had been scared of being there, she had to take drastic measures. One of the guards who had brought the girl there was in lust of her and decided to let him have his way. Right there in Aang's room. There had been a lot of screaming, crying, and kicking.
This had happened three weeks ago.
(***)
The girl, Violet Tresser, was demanding where they were taking her. "Why are you doing this?" she yelled. With an hourglass figure and large eyes the color of her name, she was an exotic beauty, with smooth skin and the features of a Native American. Her long black hair was loose from her ponytail.
The guard on her left leered at her. "You'll find out soon enough, sweet-cakes."
Though the Mistress couldn't see, she could feel the glare the girl gave the lecherous man and at her back. "It would be best to listen and be silent, girl, or there will be trouble."
She whimpered, but she understood, as the Mistress believed, that her threats were not to be toyed with. They marched along the corridor, screams of pleasure and sadness echoing from behind closed doors. Her pets were doing well, bringing in the funds and giving what was demanded. She will admit, at least to herself, that some of the customers' methods were disturbing, but as long as her pet recovered, all was well.
Stopping outside a door, she opened it without knocking, knowing it would hold only Aang. He sat curled on the bed, staring listless at the wall. He stirred when he heard the door open and fear flashed in his eyes. "Mistress," he stammered, straightening up at once. "What can I do for you?"
Ever since the first day he had been brought here, she knew Aang was going to bring in the most value. His storm gray eyes would sometimes turn hazel in the light, or when he was feeling something like anger or sadness. His features, soft but angled, would attract many customers.
So far, in the last two years, he had not disappointed her.
The Mistress said, "We have a new recruit." She gestured the guards to bring the girl forth. "This is Violet." No last names were needed, or sometimes she would force them to have different names, alias's, to keep some identities a secret.
But in this case, and the case of Aang, they got to keep their names. If they tried to tell someone who they were to get help, well...it would be bad for all those involved.
Aang looked shocked to see a beautiful young girl in his chambers. "Why did you being her here?" he demanded, looking at the guards.
The Mistress smirked at him, feeling pleased at his reaction. "Isn't it obvious, Aang? You were chosen to break her in."
The blood drained from his face as he comprehended her meaning. "No," he gasped, getting off the bed and backing away. "I won't do it," he said firmly with a head shake. "I refuse to rape anyone!"
She laughed, cruel amusement swallowing her dark heart at the fierce frown he gave them. "You really don't have much of a choice, boy. I've heard from some of your clients that you can be very gentle. In this instance, you are the perfect choice, rather than the guards."
Violet was hyperventilating, as if she finally understood why she had been brought here. Her struggling doubled. "I don't want to be a whore!" she screamed fearfully.
For a moment, Aang eyes seemed to glow. His gray eyes hardened in hatred. "Let go of her!" he roared and did something that surprised even her. Aang charged at the two men holding the girl and punched Sam, the dark-hared one, in the face. The older man fell back and released Violet. The other man, Chong, looked unsure whether to keep the prisoner or confront the boy.
The Mistress bared her teeth at him as Aang waited for another hit. "Give me the girl, you fool," she demanded, grabbing her, "and take care of him!"
The sandy-haired man tried to grab Aang, but the boy was agile, despite his time underground. He dodged him and kicked the man in the shin, and there was an audible snap. Chong screamed in pain and fell, grasping his leg.
The Mistress pulled out a gun from a hidden holder in her gown and placed it on Violet's temple. The girl cried and whimpered but stopped moving the moment the gun was on her. Aang, who had been about to attack her Highness, stopped dead in his tracks. Aang was flushed with anger, bitterness twisting his mouth.
He yelled again, "Don't hurt her!"
She hated when others gave her demands. The Mistress was the one in charge, not peasants, no matter how good-looking they were. She could see Sam stagger to his feet, looking at the boy in murderous rage, and decided to hell with gentleness. She was going to prove her superiority in the only way she believed in.
Lowering the gun, she pushed Violet to the man and he grabbed her. The girl was screaming and crying, kicking to get away, but she was weaker than him. Still holding the gun, she snarled, "Do it here, Sam, and make sure he sees everything."
Aang's eyes widened in horror. "No, don't!" he cried. "She's already been through enough! Why does she have to take his punishment?"
The Mistress sneered and yelled over the cries, "You should have thought about that before turning against me, boy!" She pointed the gun at the squirming girl. "Violet could have been tamed easily by you, but I can see that I should have done it the way we usually would."
Violet, without her Highness knowing, met Aang's gaze. Fear and anguish filled her purple eyes as she was tossed down on Aang's bed, her clothes being torn off until she was only in her bra and panties. The latter was ripped off, exposing her most intimate part. The Mistress looked, feeling smug for her actions. "Yes," she purred as Sam released a throbbing erection, causing a burn to begin between her thighs. There was going to be some fun later, after everything was done. "Finish it, so no one will undermine me again."
As the man was about to enter the virgin, she didn't see Aang grab a hardcover book from his nightstand and throwing it at her head. She grunted, letting the gun fall from her hands, as he raced to pick it up, but she managed to grab it at the same time he did. They wrestled with it, both trying to get the upper hand.
Aang was stronger than she believed, as they were evenly matched, thanks to her combat training. As they rolled on the ground, shots went off, and there was a thud as the heavyset man fell from the girl. The Mistress looked at him, her lustful urges changing into one of deep hatred and revenge.
There were bloody wounds going from one temple and out the other. His muddy brown eyes were vacant, mouth open in gruesome surprise.
Aang spotted the girl and cried out, "Run!"
Violet started to run, despite her lack of dress, and Aang managed to grip the gun in his hands, but the Mistress was not going to let the girl get away. She kicked his stomach and grabbed his wrists, making him point the muzzle in the child's direction. With a pressure point that one of her old friends had taught her, she dug into it, causing his trigger finger to push, and a bang resounded in the fairly large chamber.
Everything stopped as Violet's body froze, arching in pain, as the bullet pierced one of her lungs.
Aang stared at her, wide-eyed in fear, as the gun slipped from loose fingers. As the girl started falling, he stood and ran to her before she could hit the ground. He was crying, and the Mistress could see blood running out of the girl's mouth as her breath rattled. She made no move to call for help. The girl was beautiful, but she was a nuisance.
Aang glared at her with such hatred and disgust that it almost made her back away in fear before she remembered the gun. Picking it up and hiding it, she said, "Her fate is your fault."
He snarled, holding the dying girl in his arms. "You're a monster," he whispered shakily, gritting his teeth.
She shrugged, pretending that the word didn't sting as much as it had. "My own mother thought I was a monster when she saw me decapitating dolls. It doesn't matter what you think, Aang. This girl will perish because you didn't listen to my order."
Savage satisfaction curled in her when Aang started crying full out sobs. He was a valiant sort, someone who would die to protect others. He was willing to die right then it if meant saving the girl. "You can't let her die," he whispered. "Do whatever you want to me, but let her live. Save her!"
His begging was amusing and her laughter showed it. Oh, how she enjoyed tormenting her pets. "How hilarious!" Her face went stern, but a small smirk graced her lips as she tried to replace loose her hair. Looked like she was going to her personal baths after this. "But it is too late for her."
Aang looked down at the girl and fresh tears fell from his eyes as her breathing slowed to gurgling. He wiped the red liquid from her full mouth and, in a broken voice, murmured, "I'm sorry."
Violet tried to tell him something, perhaps to accept his apology or some such nonsense, the Mistress was sure, but her breath caught in a hiccup, her eyes dimmed, and her body went limp.
He closed his eyes, face contorted in pain at the loss of life, but the Mistress held no sympathy for the boy. Aang caused trouble today, killing one guard and injuring the other. Now, one of her new pets was dead because her hand was forced.
He said quietly, "You forced me to shoot." His tear-glazed met her dry gold ones. "Why did you do that?"
The Mistress snarled. "You and that child left me no choice, boy. She would have been an excellent addition to the company, but you fought to free her, and the freedom came with a price."
"Then why didn't you kill me during the scuffle?" he yelled. "I don't want to be here! She didn't to be here! AT LEAST VIOLET WON'T HAVE TO BE A SLAVE!" He was breathing heavily, still holding the corpse. There was blood all over his fine clothes. "In fact, you should have killed me the moment I was brought to this hell!" His loud voice lowered as he stared at her with all the loathing a person could have. "At least then I wouldn't be your toy."
Aang was right; there were a couple of opportunities to kill him, especially after breaking the nose of his first male client. But she had been sure that after the beating, he had come to his senses, to realize that he was her property for good.
Looking at him now, she had to wonder. Would his spirit truly be broken? After the girl was brought in here, something had shifted. He had become angry, to the point of attacking her employees and trying to hurt the Mistress. Another lesson seemed to be in order.
She smirked. "First of all, I made you shoot her to impart the control I have here. You can't escape the guilt. Second, instead of death for your punishment, you shall live with the guilt of ending another life."
Aang shook his head. "But you made me do it! You're just as fucking guilty, you heartless creep!"
She scoffed, not even a twinge of remorse for doing what was necessary. "However you believe, you still pulled the trigger, and someone died." She didn't bother to mention the man with the bullet holes or the other who had gone unconscious from the broken leg. They will be seen to properly. Pulling her sleeve back, she activated her sleek black wrist communicator. "Two dead, one unconscious and injured. Aang's room."
After confirmation that paramedics, the Undertaker, and a couple of guards were coming, she met his gaze. "As for you, dear boy, you will face the consequences of what has transpired here."
Aang looked away, lowering the corpse to the floor gently, as if he didn't know that her body was going to be incinerated. "I don't care anymore," he whispered, voice heavy with regret and shame. "You've won."
Satisfied at his answer, at the defeat in demeanor, she backed away as the people she requested did her bidding. The Undertaker as well as another man took the corpses, the medics with the injured, and two guards lifted Aang to his feet. Lee and Chan looked at the boy, former with an unreadable express as he took in the devastation, the latter with glee. Chan looked at his mistress. "What shall we do with him, Your Highness?"
"Beat him, but mark his ribs. Bruise them, waterboard him, suffocate him, but don't kill him. I want the boy to live with his guilt, while knowing that his life is mine. Afterwards, take him to the attic until I deem him ready for work again."
They bowed their heads and carried Aang out of the room to her bidding.
It was the last time she saw Aang Windstorm.
(***)
The last thing anyone expected was the bars on the blackout window to be removed. No one knew how he could have gotten them loose, must less taken out, but she smelled a traitor in their midst. Someone had helped him escape, and now, they were forced to find him, which they had, and now she was going to end his life after he had gotten comfortable.
She brushed back her bangs in frustration. Until recently, she hadn't known where he could have gone. Then, a few days ago, she recalled telling about his parents moving to San Fran, but in truth, only his mother was there. He didn't need to know about his idiotic father searching for him.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she walked farther down the hall until she reached the very last one and unlocked it. Inside was drab but livable. Even unwanted guests needed somewhere to be comfortable.
In a chair by the plain wooden desk, a man in his late thirties, with wild, dark brown hair and lithe build was frowning into nothing, eyes hazel in the light. But she knew his orbs, much like someone else she knew, was naturally gray, like storm clouds. When she entered the room, he looked up, eyes turning silver in sorrow and anger. "What do you want?" he asked lowly.
His voice was gravelly, causing a shiver in her stomach. It was no secret that she desired him, but in the two years he had been here, he refused to let her touch him. It frustrated her that he would not take her to bed. She could imagine his rough hands on her smooth skin, between her legs, but so far that had only been fantasy. He was married, and loyal, only to his wife, though she seemed to believe he was dead.
The Mistress smiled at him, though a part of her knew it was futile. "Well, handsome, I know it can be lonely down here. I thought you might like some company."
He sneered at her, folding his arms. "I don't need your so-called company. Go find another whore to mess with."
Her gold eyes flashed and loathing came into her heart. She stalked towards him, to hurt him, but he stood to his full 6' 4" height and met her gaze, daring her to slap him, mark him up, anything to lose control. It was an effort, but she smiled coldly. "I dislike that word, Mr. Windstorm," she whispered.
Aang's father, Joshua Windstorm, frowned at her. "You run a whorehouse, and yet you don't consider yourself one." He tilted his head, a strong, handsome face much like his son's, regarding her almost thoughtfully. "I would think you are delusional."
She snarled, and before she could stop herself, her hand slapped his face with a loud smack. He didn't cry out, didn't flinch, as his head was whipped in the direction of the slap. She breathed deeply, refusing to fall as his word vibrated in her skull. Her mother believed she was mentally sick, her father told her that she was perfect to be his daughter. In her nineteen years she believed her father more.
In his eyes, she was pure.
But in her mother's, she was a demon.
She got right into Josh's face and murmured darkly "You have no idea who I am, you peasant." Backing away, she added a half-truth. "Behave yourself, Mr. Windstorm, or your son will suffer the consequences."
As she was about to leave on that note, his desperate voice called out, "Wait!"
One she met his gaze, feeling her walls raise up against the pain in his, he said, "At least tell me my son is alright."
She remembered all the times he had demanded to see Aang, but she didn't budge. It was best to leave him in the dark. The only thing she told him was that Aang was alive and...somewhat well. "Oh, you don't need to worry about your little brat. He's alive; that is all you need to know." Not to mention the fact that he somehow escaped. He didn't need to know that the kid has slipped away into the night.
Josh closed his eyes, grimacing, knowing that was all he was going to get. "Okay," he muttered, turning her back on her as she closed and locked the door.
Joshua Windstorm was going to learn about his son soon enough.
Because she was going to crush the boy in front of his eyes.
It was all because of that little girl.
Of Aang disobeying her rule.
And Azula Hellfire did not keep traitors.

Description

Chapter Thirteen
Miles away from San Fran, beyond valleys, forests, and waters, farmland spread across the plains, dark and still for the most part. The moon glowed brightly with a white light, stars sprinkling like diamonds in the velvet sky. A few people were out and about, since it wasn't so late, but otherwise it was quiet.
Children played in lit areas where their parents or guardians can see them. They were young innocents who had no idea of the danger that was within their midst. To them, this was home, a place of safety and warmth, filled with people who couldn't or wouldn't hurt them. But there was a darker secret, hiding in plain sight, that even the adults were mostly unaware of.
A two level house stood at the end of a dirt driveway, whitewashed and shingled, like an old farm home in perfect care. Gardens of blooms, from lavender to roses, gleamed with dew under the moonlight. Inside the house was a perfect picture of country elegance, nothing out of place, but there was something odd about the atmosphere. One would think it was abandoned, despite the furnishings being pristine.
In spite of the homey décor, is a was cold, lifeless structure. In the kitchen, an oak door led to a basement just like any other, with crates and luggers meant for food and drink. But the feeling was darker here, as if someone had decided to hide death and despair in the blackness. On one wall, despite seamlessly matching into the rest of the gray cinder blocks, a symbol for fire was etched, which could be lit by the strike of a match.
It was a here a hooded figure, who had recently come into the home, stood, a matchbox in a pale, elegant hand. The figure lit the match and placed it inside the symbol, where it went from dark to bright orange. Gears could be heard as the mechanism sensed the heat from the small flame, turning and clicking into place. The door that blended with the wall opened quietly. The figure entered the chamber and the door closed behind them.
Inside, gas lamps were lit, the gleaming statues of dragons rearing dominating the room with silent roars. The person moved farther inside, heading to the throne that sat between two gold dragons, which bowed in reverence to the empty gilded chair. Two servants, young women, came forward, their heads down in fear. The removed the robe, revealing a woman in her late teens, perhaps nineteen years of age, with a beautiful but cold countenance gracing her features.
She shooed the servants away, saying, "Bring me Chan, now."
The two girls scampered off to do their Mistress's bidding as she herself sat on the throne. Her dark brown, almost black hair, gleamed in the light, an elegant topknot held with a gold flame band. Her lipstick was flawless, but she didn't bother to add any other highlights to her perfect face.
It wasn't too long before the man arrived, who bowed in reverence to her. She knew he desired her and she him, but the both of them knew nothing would come of it, so they indulged every now and then. Falling in love seemed impossible for someone who ran the whorehouse. Pleasure was the only thing that mattered to the Mistress, because it didn't require emotions, only the physical.
She spoke in a low voice. "What did you find about the boy?"
He raised his head, though he was careful to stay kneeling until told otherwise. "It is as you have guessed, Your Highness. He has made it to San Francisco the day before and is staying at a siblings house. He has yet to meet their father."
She contemplated this, tapping her blood-red nails on the armrest. Here's the admission: She hadn't believed that Aang Windstorm could escape. Perhaps she had been a little foolish, giving away a piece of information about his parents. Or parent, as it were. Josh was nowhere to be found, of course, but that didn't worry her. She had more than one card up her sleeve...
Standing, the Mistress wandered down the dais and approached him. He shivered in anticipation and fear when one nail scraped along the back of his neck. "Good work, Chan," she said quietly. "I'll reward you, personally, after I have had a word with our guest."
Chan looked at her, eyes dark and lustful, though a little questioning. "Mistress, what of the boy? Are we to attack this group to bring him back for your judgment?"
She smiled, though there was nothing comforting about it. It was a calculated smile, one that administers fear, subtle, and dangerous. "No, Chan, not yet. We want him to think he has escaped us. It is best to let him have his moment of "hope" so that when we strike, it will completely destroy him."
The idea seemed embolden him because he gently grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to it. She didn't mind it at all; it sent her pulse racing along with a familiar throb that ached only for him (most of the time).
Her breath stuttered when the young man's teeth bit at her wrist. His dark golden eyes met hers. "You are one beautiful viper, my Mistress."
Pleased at the reference, she said, "Like I told you, you shall be rewarded." She pulled her hand away, despite his pout. "Keep an eye on him, but don't let the agent too close. He needs to remain in the dark for now."
"Yes, Mistress," he replied with another bow before standing and leaving the room. The Mistress went to a door on the left wall that led to the lower chambers. From within her gown, she removed a thick key of iron and unlocked the door. Going down the spiral staircase, the lams lit themselves, casting an eerie glow upon her person with shadows dancing.
Upon reaching the bottom, she strolled down the dark amber-colored hall, the lamps once more turning on in her presence. On either side, door led into the pleasure rooms. Stopping at the one in the center, she recalled one day when Aang had occupied this very space. A little girl, no more than thirteen, had been dragged in here in order to get him to sleep with her. It was a way of initiating a new member.
When he had refused to service someone who had been scared of being there, she had to take drastic measures. One of the guards who had brought the girl there was in lust of her and decided to let him have his way. Right there in Aang's room. There had been a lot of screaming, crying, and kicking.
This had happened three weeks ago.
(***)
The girl, Violet Tresser, was demanding where they were taking her. "Why are you doing this?" she yelled. With an hourglass figure and large eyes the color of her name, she was an exotic beauty, with smooth skin and the features of a Native American. Her long black hair was loose from her ponytail.
The guard on her left leered at her. "You'll find out soon enough, sweet-cakes."
Though the Mistress couldn't see, she could feel the glare the girl gave the lecherous man and at her back. "It would be best to listen and be silent, girl, or there will be trouble."
She whimpered, but she understood, as the Mistress believed, that her threats were not to be toyed with. They marched along the corridor, screams of pleasure and sadness echoing from behind closed doors. Her pets were doing well, bringing in the funds and giving what was demanded. She will admit, at least to herself, that some of the customers' methods were disturbing, but as long as her pet recovered, all was well.
Stopping outside a door, she opened it without knocking, knowing it would hold only Aang. He sat curled on the bed, staring listless at the wall. He stirred when he heard the door open and fear flashed in his eyes. "Mistress," he stammered, straightening up at once. "What can I do for you?"
Ever since the first day he had been brought here, she knew Aang was going to bring in the most value. His storm gray eyes would sometimes turn hazel in the light, or when he was feeling something like anger or sadness. His features, soft but angled, would attract many customers.
So far, in the last two years, he had not disappointed her.
The Mistress said, "We have a new recruit." She gestured the guards to bring the girl forth. "This is Violet." No last names were needed, or sometimes she would force them to have different names, alias's, to keep some identities a secret.
But in this case, and the case of Aang, they got to keep their names. If they tried to tell someone who they were to get help, well...it would be bad for all those involved.
Aang looked shocked to see a beautiful young girl in his chambers. "Why did you being her here?" he demanded, looking at the guards.
The Mistress smirked at him, feeling pleased at his reaction. "Isn't it obvious, Aang? You were chosen to break her in."
The blood drained from his face as he comprehended her meaning. "No," he gasped, getting off the bed and backing away. "I won't do it," he said firmly with a head shake. "I refuse to rape anyone!"
She laughed, cruel amusement swallowing her dark heart at the fierce frown he gave them. "You really don't have much of a choice, boy. I've heard from some of your clients that you can be very gentle. In this instance, you are the perfect choice, rather than the guards."
Violet was hyperventilating, as if she finally understood why she had been brought here. Her struggling doubled. "I don't want to be a whore!" she screamed fearfully.
For a moment, Aang eyes seemed to glow. His gray eyes hardened in hatred. "Let go of her!" he roared and did something that surprised even her. Aang charged at the two men holding the girl and punched Sam, the dark-hared one, in the face. The older man fell back and released Violet. The other man, Chong, looked unsure whether to keep the prisoner or confront the boy.
The Mistress bared her teeth at him as Aang waited for another hit. "Give me the girl, you fool," she demanded, grabbing her, "and take care of him!"
The sandy-haired man tried to grab Aang, but the boy was agile, despite his time underground. He dodged him and kicked the man in the shin, and there was an audible snap. Chong screamed in pain and fell, grasping his leg.
The Mistress pulled out a gun from a hidden holder in her gown and placed it on Violet's temple. The girl cried and whimpered but stopped moving the moment the gun was on her. Aang, who had been about to attack her Highness, stopped dead in his tracks. Aang was flushed with anger, bitterness twisting his mouth.
He yelled again, "Don't hurt her!"
She hated when others gave her demands. The Mistress was the one in charge, not peasants, no matter how good-looking they were. She could see Sam stagger to his feet, looking at the boy in murderous rage, and decided to hell with gentleness. She was going to prove her superiority in the only way she believed in.
Lowering the gun, she pushed Violet to the man and he grabbed her. The girl was screaming and crying, kicking to get away, but she was weaker than him. Still holding the gun, she snarled, "Do it here, Sam, and make sure he sees everything."
Aang's eyes widened in horror. "No, don't!" he cried. "She's already been through enough! Why does she have to take his punishment?"
The Mistress sneered and yelled over the cries, "You should have thought about that before turning against me, boy!" She pointed the gun at the squirming girl. "Violet could have been tamed easily by you, but I can see that I should have done it the way we usually would."
Violet, without her Highness knowing, met Aang's gaze. Fear and anguish filled her purple eyes as she was tossed down on Aang's bed, her clothes being torn off until she was only in her bra and panties. The latter was ripped off, exposing her most intimate part. The Mistress looked, feeling smug for her actions. "Yes," she purred as Sam released a throbbing erection, causing a burn to begin between her thighs. There was going to be some fun later, after everything was done. "Finish it, so no one will undermine me again."
As the man was about to enter the virgin, she didn't see Aang grab a hardcover book from his nightstand and throwing it at her head. She grunted, letting the gun fall from her hands, as he raced to pick it up, but she managed to grab it at the same time he did. They wrestled with it, both trying to get the upper hand.
Aang was stronger than she believed, as they were evenly matched, thanks to her combat training. As they rolled on the ground, shots went off, and there was a thud as the heavyset man fell from the girl. The Mistress looked at him, her lustful urges changing into one of deep hatred and revenge.
There were bloody wounds going from one temple and out the other. His muddy brown eyes were vacant, mouth open in gruesome surprise.
Aang spotted the girl and cried out, "Run!"
Violet started to run, despite her lack of dress, and Aang managed to grip the gun in his hands, but the Mistress was not going to let the girl get away. She kicked his stomach and grabbed his wrists, making him point the muzzle in the child's direction. With a pressure point that one of her old friends had taught her, she dug into it, causing his trigger finger to push, and a bang resounded in the fairly large chamber.
Everything stopped as Violet's body froze, arching in pain, as the bullet pierced one of her lungs.
Aang stared at her, wide-eyed in fear, as the gun slipped from loose fingers. As the girl started falling, he stood and ran to her before she could hit the ground. He was crying, and the Mistress could see blood running out of the girl's mouth as her breath rattled. She made no move to call for help. The girl was beautiful, but she was a nuisance.
Aang glared at her with such hatred and disgust that it almost made her back away in fear before she remembered the gun. Picking it up and hiding it, she said, "Her fate is your fault."
He snarled, holding the dying girl in his arms. "You're a monster," he whispered shakily, gritting his teeth.
She shrugged, pretending that the word didn't sting as much as it had. "My own mother thought I was a monster when she saw me decapitating dolls. It doesn't matter what you think, Aang. This girl will perish because you didn't listen to my order."
Savage satisfaction curled in her when Aang started crying full out sobs. He was a valiant sort, someone who would die to protect others. He was willing to die right then it if meant saving the girl. "You can't let her die," he whispered. "Do whatever you want to me, but let her live. Save her!"
His begging was amusing and her laughter showed it. Oh, how she enjoyed tormenting her pets. "How hilarious!" Her face went stern, but a small smirk graced her lips as she tried to replace loose her hair. Looked like she was going to her personal baths after this. "But it is too late for her."
Aang looked down at the girl and fresh tears fell from his eyes as her breathing slowed to gurgling. He wiped the red liquid from her full mouth and, in a broken voice, murmured, "I'm sorry."
Violet tried to tell him something, perhaps to accept his apology or some such nonsense, the Mistress was sure, but her breath caught in a hiccup, her eyes dimmed, and her body went limp.
He closed his eyes, face contorted in pain at the loss of life, but the Mistress held no sympathy for the boy. Aang caused trouble today, killing one guard and injuring the other. Now, one of her new pets was dead because her hand was forced.
He said quietly, "You forced me to shoot." His tear-glazed met her dry gold ones. "Why did you do that?"
The Mistress snarled. "You and that child left me no choice, boy. She would have been an excellent addition to the company, but you fought to free her, and the freedom came with a price."
"Then why didn't you kill me during the scuffle?" he yelled. "I don't want to be here! She didn't to be here! AT LEAST VIOLET WON'T HAVE TO BE A SLAVE!" He was breathing heavily, still holding the corpse. There was blood all over his fine clothes. "In fact, you should have killed me the moment I was brought to this hell!" His loud voice lowered as he stared at her with all the loathing a person could have. "At least then I wouldn't be your toy."
Aang was right; there were a couple of opportunities to kill him, especially after breaking the nose of his first male client. But she had been sure that after the beating, he had come to his senses, to realize that he was her property for good.
Looking at him now, she had to wonder. Would his spirit truly be broken? After the girl was brought in here, something had shifted. He had become angry, to the point of attacking her employees and trying to hurt the Mistress. Another lesson seemed to be in order.
She smirked. "First of all, I made you shoot her to impart the control I have here. You can't escape the guilt. Second, instead of death for your punishment, you shall live with the guilt of ending another life."
Aang shook his head. "But you made me do it! You're just as fucking guilty, you heartless creep!"
She scoffed, not even a twinge of remorse for doing what was necessary. "However you believe, you still pulled the trigger, and someone died." She didn't bother to mention the man with the bullet holes or the other who had gone unconscious from the broken leg. They will be seen to properly. Pulling her sleeve back, she activated her sleek black wrist communicator. "Two dead, one unconscious and injured. Aang's room."
After confirmation that paramedics, the Undertaker, and a couple of guards were coming, she met his gaze. "As for you, dear boy, you will face the consequences of what has transpired here."
Aang looked away, lowering the corpse to the floor gently, as if he didn't know that her body was going to be incinerated. "I don't care anymore," he whispered, voice heavy with regret and shame. "You've won."
Satisfied at his answer, at the defeat in demeanor, she backed away as the people she requested did her bidding. The Undertaker as well as another man took the corpses, the medics with the injured, and two guards lifted Aang to his feet. Lee and Chan looked at the boy, former with an unreadable express as he took in the devastation, the latter with glee. Chan looked at his mistress. "What shall we do with him, Your Highness?"
"Beat him, but mark his ribs. Bruise them, waterboard him, suffocate him, but don't kill him. I want the boy to live with his guilt, while knowing that his life is mine. Afterwards, take him to the attic until I deem him ready for work again."
They bowed their heads and carried Aang out of the room to her bidding.
It was the last time she saw Aang Windstorm.
(***)
The last thing anyone expected was the bars on the blackout window to be removed. No one knew how he could have gotten them loose, must less taken out, but she smelled a traitor in their midst. Someone had helped him escape, and now, they were forced to find him, which they had, and now she was going to end his life after he had gotten comfortable.
She brushed back her bangs in frustration. Until recently, she hadn't known where he could have gone. Then, a few days ago, she recalled telling about his parents moving to San Fran, but in truth, only his mother was there. He didn't need to know about his idiotic father searching for him.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she walked farther down the hall until she reached the very last one and unlocked it. Inside was drab but livable. Even unwanted guests needed somewhere to be comfortable.
In a chair by the plain wooden desk, a man in his late thirties, with wild, dark brown hair and lithe build was frowning into nothing, eyes hazel in the light. But she knew his orbs, much like someone else she knew, was naturally gray, like storm clouds. When she entered the room, he looked up, eyes turning silver in sorrow and anger. "What do you want?" he asked lowly.
His voice was gravelly, causing a shiver in her stomach. It was no secret that she desired him, but in the two years he had been here, he refused to let her touch him. It frustrated her that he would not take her to bed. She could imagine his rough hands on her smooth skin, between her legs, but so far that had only been fantasy. He was married, and loyal, only to his wife, though she seemed to believe he was dead.
The Mistress smiled at him, though a part of her knew it was futile. "Well, handsome, I know it can be lonely down here. I thought you might like some company."
He sneered at her, folding his arms. "I don't need your so-called company. Go find another whore to mess with."
Her gold eyes flashed and loathing came into her heart. She stalked towards him, to hurt him, but he stood to his full 6' 4" height and met her gaze, daring her to slap him, mark him up, anything to lose control. It was an effort, but she smiled coldly. "I dislike that word, Mr. Windstorm," she whispered.
Aang's father, Joshua Windstorm, frowned at her. "You run a whorehouse, and yet you don't consider yourself one." He tilted his head, a strong, handsome face much like his son's, regarding her almost thoughtfully. "I would think you are delusional."
She snarled, and before she could stop herself, her hand slapped his face with a loud smack. He didn't cry out, didn't flinch, as his head was whipped in the direction of the slap. She breathed deeply, refusing to fall as his word vibrated in her skull. Her mother believed she was mentally sick, her father told her that she was perfect to be his daughter. In her nineteen years she believed her father more.
In his eyes, she was pure.
But in her mother's, she was a demon.
She got right into Josh's face and murmured darkly "You have no idea who I am, you peasant." Backing away, she added a half-truth. "Behave yourself, Mr. Windstorm, or your son will suffer the consequences."
As she was about to leave on that note, his desperate voice called out, "Wait!"
One she met his gaze, feeling her walls raise up against the pain in his, he said, "At least tell me my son is alright."
She remembered all the times he had demanded to see Aang, but she didn't budge. It was best to leave him in the dark. The only thing she told him was that Aang was alive and...somewhat well. "Oh, you don't need to worry about your little brat. He's alive; that is all you need to know." Not to mention the fact that he somehow escaped. He didn't need to know that the kid has slipped away into the night.
Josh closed his eyes, grimacing, knowing that was all he was going to get. "Okay," he muttered, turning her back on her as she closed and locked the door.
Joshua Windstorm was going to learn about his son soon enough.
Because she was going to crush the boy in front of his eyes.
It was all because of that little girl.
Of Aang disobeying her rule.
And Azula Hellfire did not keep traitors.